I Don't Have Any Photos of You

I don’t have any pictures of my brother. I went looking for one today, because it’s his birthday and he’s nineteen and on people’s birthdays you’re supposed to type out a lot of already-said words and make sure social media sees them. Especially when it’s your brother.

But my half-hearted plan was foiled today because after a search through albums of less-than-quality phone pictures I discovered that there’s not a single one of my brother there. It makes sense, really. I don’t take many photos of people, preferring to capture my books or my curtains or my trees or the clouds. It’s mostly practical – clouds don’t complain that they look fat or ugly and make you delete the picture. But the photos are really more for some personal sense of aestheticism than preserving memories.

I can’t capture memories through a camera. It’s not my medium. I have nothing more than a casual interest in photography and a healthy appreciation for people who do communicate with a lens. But I can’t do it. I use words.

My brother’s not around a lot. And it’s not his fault and it’s not my fault, it’s just that life has a way of tugging people down different paths and while I’m worrying over my grades he’s worrying over what to do for tomorrow’s breakfast. (sometimes I worry about his breakfast too.) But I’m slowly learning that the world sees spending time with those you love as a luxury and not a necessity. It’s true, our minds starve slower than our bodies do, and using your paycheck to pay your utility bill is probably more important than spending it on a ticket to a movie you’ve already seen.

So, because of the world’s hierarchy of priorities and because of our conflicting interests, I don’t see my brother lots. It’s good sometimes. For the better part of my life I've put him on a pedestal far higher than anyone can reasonably live on. For my own sake I needed some distance, some time, so that I could say things like, “This is a band I found on my own. They’re really good, you should check them out. These are my friends, and they’re not even your castoffs. How’s Moses doing? I miss you.”

And the last bit is true. I miss him. I miss him because I know other people miss him too. Mom still talks about drinking coffee with him in the mornings a lot. But honestly, the moment I see him I remember why he’s gone. He’s his own person and he needs to learn that you can be true to yourself even when you’re surrounded by people who love you and want your best. And all these words well up within me, the ones I’m only able to say today, and I end up saying nothing to him or saying it awkwardly or worse yet, saying things I don’t mean. And the last thing that’s on my mind is taking a picture.

I don’t need a camera to remember you, Mark. You are an iconoclastic soul, and you are the focal point of any room you enter. It’s not the height, it’s not the hair, it’s the way you can remember lines from movies we haven’t watched since we were four and seven. It’s your Doctor Nefario impression. It’s the reason so many songs still belong to you even though millions of other people listen to them every day. It’s why I reach for my Bible when I wake up every morning because when we were kids you would bug me about opening a book before I read it. It’s a million things that could never be caught on film, and there’s really no need for them to be. I have a crappy, selective memory but I remember so many things about you. How I always wanted to make you laugh, because it seemed like I was returning the favor. You bring so much laughter with you wherever you go. And I know that laughter often conceals a broken heart and I can’t change that. But hearts heal and grow and reach out, because love wasn’t meant to be alone. And the best thing ever is when the hearts your heart is reaching out to love you back. 

You’ve got it. You’ve got the best thing ever.

Come visit any time, Brother. I’m still young enough to always have the time. We’ll laugh and we’ll skirt around the elephants in the room and one day we both might just heal from it all. I promise I won’t have to take a picture to remember. My pictures never were much good anyway.

~Margaret  

Happy Birthday

Today is this blog's 2nd birthday. When I clicked that link two years ago today I could have never imagined it would end up like this, with viewers in the dozens and commenters in the twos and threes. I never thought I'd get a chance to say this but..... I'd like to thank the Academy. *sniff* My friends and family.....my mom, *sniff* my sister Faith (you are my rock Faith), and my haters.....*sniff*......for inspiring me to be better......*sniff* I am what you all have made me. *sniff* Thank you all.

~Margaret

The Names of God

Do you ever think about the names of God? I do.

Because though the Almighty God, who supersedes and transcends all of our human wisdom, is too great to be explained in words, we still try. God must have a lot of grace for our foolish determination.

We live out our lives trying to express. Being expressed is one of this generation’s most pressing needs. And so it makes sense that we would try to make our way around the enormity of God by giving Him titles like “Savior” and “Shepard” and “Emmanuel.” John was right in his gospel when he simply called Christ “the Word.” The Word, being the pinnacle of vernacular, the very essence of language as the endeavor to sum up everything we cannot but try to.

What was the last time you were struck by the wonder of God? Do you think about it at all? It is so easy to pass by without stopping to look in. But, come on, God. There is an all-powerful, all-seeing Being who exists in dimensions we cannot even begin to wrap our minds around, who made all and judges all and yet with all this power and perfection we are even on His radar? Crazier still, He loves us, a term which we are told we have not even begun to understand, and He has even offered to fix our blundering mistakes. The existence of God is mind blowing in the most essential sense of the term.

And we confine Him to a good post on Facebook, or an Instagram caption, or a church billboard.

God will blow your mind if you take a second to pay attention. He is enormous.

I would like to point out a feeling that I have not always been able to put into words. We don’t like enormous things. We are afraid of them. Yet instead of hiding from them or putting them in a safe, we drag them out into the open. We are obsessed with sex and science and inspiration, thinking that if we talk about the secret long enough, we will come to understand it.

The very nature of God counteracts this philosophy, offering an alternative in its place. There is insurmountable beauty in accepting something you don’t understand and will never understand. Where does the melody come from when I try to write a song? I have no idea. Does the universe have an end? Both questions are on the same level. God gave us both mysteries with the implicit knowledge that if you try to reveal an answer you are not capable of understanding, you have only ruined the gift. Becoming all-knowing is not something God offers us.

So what about the names of God? Our feeble attempts to label the Un-labelable? Because truthfully, I do not believe that it is all folly, or God would not have used these names Himself. But no one title succeeds in capturing all facets of God’s character. This makes Him different from the sovereigns or leaders of countries or corporations. “King” represents a position, and the man who holds the title cannot be that and something else. But have you ever heard of someone who was called a servant and a king? A lion and a lamb? There is a reason God introduced Himself to Moses as simply “I Am.” He Is. 

Everything.

But of course, God knows us better than we know ourselves. He knows that if we don’t have a label for something we will label it ourselves as “fog” and “chaos” and leave it alone. So these names of His, they are gifts, little glimpses of His nature that we get to receive.

The names of God mean different things to me in different situations. When I am feeling worthless, I don’t want to hear about how God is going to smite my enemies, and when I’m happy I don’t particularly need Him to be a comfort. But often I need a Friend. I need the Physician to “stitch my wounds with holy sutures.” I know what it’s like to lie awake in bed at night with tears soaking your pillow and your mind screaming for the Messiah to come and save you. The picture is a familiar one.

Because I know that He is Hope, I rely on Him for my hope. Because I know that He is Good, I trust Him with my future and my potential. Because I know who He is, I expect Him to be who He is.

This is the gift God has given us: His definition. Knowing well that we can never come to fully understand His essence, and yet giving it to us. The identity of this priceless, precious God. And if that doesn’t make you feel like you’ve just been handed the greatest treasure you could ever imagine, well then your imagination is too small.

So why do I say this? What does it matter if we know who God is? On the surface that sounds horribly callous, but after all, if we’ve been given this gift to do nothing with it, it might not be that great of a gift. But I don’t believe that that is what God had in mind when He offered us His names. He expected us to use them.

I read a book lately about the power in a name. It left me thinking, because the writer had given this name the ability to drastically, visibly change things. The parallels to scripture were too strong to ignore, and I found myself thinking, “There is power in the name of Jesus. At the name of Jesus every knee shall bow, every tongue shall confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.” At His name. There is power in His name. He has put Himself into each of these titles, giving them His own strength. He didn’t just give us His definition.

He gave us Himself.

And this is why I cringe when my fellow Christians seem so unaffected by this revelation. This is why I fight for the awareness and the strength to give the mention of God’s name the respect it is due. This is why I have compassion for those who use God’s name in ignorance, because they are, with every curse, accessing the holy, perfect God, the Imaginer, the Creator, the Sustainer – and they have no idea. We should not be motivated to share the Gospel because it will keep sinners from eternal Hell, but because it will give them pure, unadulterated access to this ultimate Joy, ultimate Everything, forever. Since the birth of humanity God has been drawing us back to Himself.

Perhaps these names are the bridge, rebuilding the one sin burned down. Perhaps they are a key, unlocking a limitless storehouse of goodness and gratification. Perhaps the answer has been right before our eyes all along. The remedy to all our suffering and squalor and sadism.

Perhaps it is in His name.

And thus, Himself.

(Update: I realized that I would be remiss if I didn't mention the post that started this whole train of thought in the first place. Click here to read it.)

~Margaret

"In the depths of my being, I meet my fellow humans..."

Being human.

There's so much more to it than simply waking up every morning; still breathing, still alive.

We were created to be together, with equal souls and a similar purpose.

My faith says that where I end up after this life will be different than where others will, my religion dictates the ways this belief manifests itself here on earth.
But destination aside, there is a common thread running through humanity, binding us together.

I can only point you to the wisdom of those who have understood it better than I:

"In the face of the oppressed I recognize my own face and in the hands of the oppressor I recognize my own hands. Their flesh is my flesh, their blood is my blood, their pain is my pain, their smile is my smile. Their ability to torture is in me, too; their capacity to forgive I find also in myself. There is nothing in me that does not belong to them too; nothing in them that does not belong to me. In my heart I know their yearning for love, and down to my entrails I can feel their cruelty. In another's eyes I see my plea for forgiveness, and in a hardened frown I see my refusal. When someone murders, I know that I too could have done that, and when someone gives birth, I know that I am capable of that as well. In the depths of my being, I meet my fellow humans with whom I share love and hate, life and death." -Henri Nouwen, With Open Hands 

"Soul is the constant commonality." -Jon Foreman

The Brilliance, "Brother"

 Lyrics:

When I look into the face
Of my enemy
I see my brother
I see my brother

When I look into the face
Of my enemy
I see my brother
I see my brother

Forgiveness is the garment 
Of our courage
The power to make the peace
We long to know
Open up our eyes
To see the wounds that bind
All of humankind
May out shutter hearts
Greet the dawn of life
With charity and love

~~~~~~~~~~

Our strength lies in our weakness without each other, our inability to be whole apart from "together."
The understanding that no individual has probed the levels of high or low that another person cannot reach. The idea that we are small in the face of something astronomically big: space, life, God.
We are all in this together.



~Margaret

Gratitude

As you are all aware, music is a big part of my life. So it will come as no surprise to any of you that I found myself on YouTube the other day, watching concert bootlegs.

I was watching a musician. He's been one for a long time, all of his adult life and some besides. A few years into his career, his band had a hit song. They've sung this hit at almost every concert since.

I watched him play this song, the one he's played thousands of times, the one he's experienced so much and probably forgotten a lot about. But the look on his face was sheer joy - a sense of wonder, that after twelve years there were still people wanting to hear this tune he wrote, these words that he penned an oblivion ago. I could tell what was going on in his mind. This amazement, this reminiscing. He was looking back over the decades of tours and long nights in the studio and red-eye flights back home to his family - and finding that it had been worth it. The thought crossed my mind, "Wow, he has so much to be thankful for."

Of course, as soon as I thought it I realized how ridiculous it was. He has a lot to be thankful for? Do I not?

I am convinced that if we see nothing in our lives worth being thankful for, we are not looking.

Life itself is a gift, salvation is the most mind-blowing, incomparable, overlooked gift we could possibly have. With the hope we have as followers of Christ, life could be Hell and it would still be worth living. But God doesn't stop there. He endows us with talents and privileges and blessings - ones that we take disgustingly for granted. I'm not saying it to guilt-trip anyone. I'm saying it because it's true. 

I live in the most opulent country on the planet. I am in the upper 90% of living conditions in the world. I eat three meals a day, have a closet full of clothes, and have access to the world's latest medical and educational care. And yet I still complain when the time change rolls around and I have to get up an hour earlier. I'm not trying to drag myself through the mud. I'm saying it because it's true. 

Last week was a bad one for me. Usually I would have qualms about saying something like that, but I was so extraordinarily down that I can't imagine it wasn't obvious. What made it bad? Guilt, mostly. Fear. Looking to the past and the present and seeing only the negative aspects of my history and my future.

Then I wrote a song. I called it Brown Eyes. It's no hit, but it's mine. It's the story of who I used to be - or more accurately, my desire to be that person again. There is no happy ending to my story thus far. Rather, I believe the joy had been with me all the way, I just haven't been looking for it.

Because that song brought back a flood of memories. Things I haven't thought about in years. I was crying - and it wasn't because the song was particularly good.

You see, that's what music does. It transports you. I've had many ideas about what I want to do with my life. But each time I have seriously considered a vocation, I realized that I could be just as happy doing something else as doing that... that thing, whatever it was. What a world we live in, that we would rather do with our lives, and leave no time for being. I asked myself today, "Could I honestly be happy in a career that doesn't include music?" I'm still answering that question. There is a defiant hope within me that yells, "No, never!"

What does this have to do with gratitude? Everything, depending on how you look at it.

Dissatisfaction says, "Yeah, you've written a song. You've got fifty more from the past year. But you know what? They're not good enough."

But gratitude is so very different. It is contentment, it is joy, it is progress. Gratitude says, "Look how far you've come!" and it finds exhilaration in saying, "Look how far you have yet to go!" Gratitude doesn't ignore the past and it doesn't fear the future. It is the strangest form of nonsensical honesty in this dead and dying world. Honesty. Have we really learned the meaning of the word? Why do we call truth cold and hard? It is the greatest gift we are given, except for love. The truth sets you free.

So I am not going to fear. I am not going to be driven by Guilt, that hideous, immobilizing demon of mine. If God wants me to sing, then I will sing until He takes my voice from me. If He wants me to write, I will write until He Himself takes away my pen or pencil or keyboard - but only Him. I will not listen to any voice that has not been cleansed by His truth, that does not see the world with His gratitude. And when I doubt this resolution I will remind myself. I'm saying it because it's true.

I don't know what's in store for me. As much as I would like to say that this life doesn't count, that our salvation is the only thing that's important and nothing we do here will ever matter in the trajectory of eternity, that's not true. How we live is important. And it is the hardest thing we will ever do.

I want to do it well. I believe God has created me with talents to use for His glory and the good of others. If He wants me to make music then I will make music, in whatever shape, fashion, or venue I can. Not every musician can have a successful career - successful by the world's standards, that is.

But I can still see it in my mind, dreams so vivid and real that they take my breath away. That stage one day, on a tour I've done so often that I've lost count, singing my song for the millionth time. And thinking, Oh God, I have so much to be thankful for. 



~Margaret

Sisterhood of the World

Hey guys! Sorry I went MIA for almost a month... I was so overwhelmed that I managed to post three times in two weeks that my brain imploded and it's taken me this long to reconstruct the knowledge of sentence structure it would take to write this post. Not that you cared.

Anyways, the fantabulous Megan over at Rustic Remains has given me a Blogger award called the... *squints* The Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award. Alright!

This is a lot like the Liebster award that I did a while back. The rules are:

1. Thank the blogger who nominated you and link back to their site

2. Put the award logo on your site

3. Answer the ten questions they asked you

4. Make up ten new questions for your nominees to answer

Now for Megan's questions!

Is there an inspirational quote that motivates you?

As far as creating goes, I love what Cesar Cruz said, which is "Art should comfort the disturbed, and disturb the comfortable."  

As far as life... Much of what I currently understand about God and theology has been influenced by the writing of C.S. Lewis. A quote of his that has always stuck with me is from a letter he wrote to a friend. "Try to remember that the 'bottomless sea' can't hurt us as long as we keep swimming."

 Would you prefer to write with pen and paper, or a keyboard and a document?

It would depend on what I'm writing. If it's fiction, or something like this blog post, then I do it all on my laptop. But I find that lyrics or poetry are much easier to physically write (preferably with an instrument nearby;).

Do you have a favorite song artist?

I love the music of Switchfoot and Sleeping At Last, as well as Rich Mullins and Colony House. (oops that was four...)

What is your favorite thing about blogging?

I guess it would be motivation. I write all the time, but there's a certain desire to write well when I know it's going to be on the Internet for all to see x) There are so many amazing, talented, encouraging bloggers on here. (I'm looking at you, Megan;P)

If you could travel to one place (in reality) where would you go?

Venice. Decidedly. But I'm also getting pretty pumped for my roadtrip to California this summer... Going back to your birthplace + ocean + trains = ahhhhmazing. 

What made you decide that you wanted to write novels/shorts/fan fictions/etc.?

I don't remember how I started writing... I suppose it was because I read so much and I wanted to get in on the action;) But I do know for certain that it was my best friend who kept me going. 

Do you prefer the mountains or the ocean?

The ocean. Going to the coast is a very spiritual experience for me. Many have tried to explain the feeling, none really have. But yes, I hold a very special place in my heart for large bodies of saltwater;)

What is your favorite movie, and why?

Oh dear.... I'm gonna have to go with The Magnificent Seven. Laugh if you want... But it's such a phenomenal cast. There are dozens of hilarious lines, but the depth of emotion and conflict the film portrayed can't be replicated. Plus, the score is legendary. (runners-up: Life of Pi, Shadowlands, the Emperor's New Groove. C'mon, you totally knew that one was coming.)

Your favorite Bible verse? (If you have more than one, feel free to share)

I've been reading 1 John lately, and a passage that continually comes back to me is 2:12-14. John takes on this beautiful poetic voice, when he says:

"I write to you, little children, because your sins are forgiven you for His name's sake. I write to you, fathers, because you have known Him who is from the beginning. I write to you, young men, because you have overcome the wicked one. I write to you, little children, because you have known the Father. I write to you, fathers, because you have known Him who was from the beginning. I write to you, young men, because you are strong and the word of God abides in you."

The way he repeats his words with only slight deviations catches my attention.... What is the significance of it? Your guess is as good as mine.

 Would you like to meet someone famous? If so, who?
If you go and read this post right here, you'll see that I kinda did already and it was amazing. If I could meet someone else, it would probably be Francis Chan, because I'd love to pick his brains on a few things, or Megan Whalen Turner, for the same reason. But different. But the same.

So. My nominees!

I actually hate this "nominate ten other bloggers" rule because I don't even think I consistently keep up with that many blogs... So here is my short-and-condensed list.

Caitlyn at isabela
Juliette at Thoughts and Writings of Juliette the Silent
Faith at Secret Agent Unicorn
Claire at Mother in the Making (get back on yer blog, Lightbulb)
Kate at A Ship Is Always Safe At Shore
Sammy at Operation: Fun and Love!
Sunshyne at A Ray of Sunshyne
Aaaaand lastly, Adelaide at Word Smudges and Wonder-Filled. She's super cool.

Dude, I know seven bloggers. Sweet.

And your questions:

1. What's the best book you've read recently?
2. What's your favorite song of all time? (aha, I've broken them. They'll never be able to answer this one)
3. What is a hobby or interest of yours that no one would expect? (Claire, your answer is rap)
4. What is currently stressing you out?
5. What is a reason to not be stressed out about that thing you answered in #4?
6. What is your favorite memory?
7. Who is your biggest role model, and why? ( you guys are not allowed to say me. I know it'll be tough, but... I don't make the rules. Oh wait, I do.)
8. Biggest pet peeve? (this question is so interesting to me... I don't know why.)
9. What is a misconception that you are learning to overcome?
10. Finally, what are you currently eating/wishing you were eating? (saved the best for last, I did)

Ahh, that was fun. Thanks again to Megan for tagging me in this adventure;) Until next time!


~Margaret

Why I Recommend Guitar

  January marks six months since I began playing guitar. I am in no way proficient yet. I'm not even good. But I am better; better than I was three months ago or even three weeks ago. It is a process I am glad to have stuck with for benefits and lessons from it I hadn't been aware of the first time I picked up Mom's old '89 Martin.

  I started playing at the end of last July. Actually, now that I look back, I realize that my motives for starting weren't all that healthy.

  I got back from a short one week trip to find that life had exploded while I was gone. When I got home, expecting to rest from that week, I found that it was the opposite - that those past seven days had been restful. Comparatively, at least. I was offered no break, no explanation from life, just thrust into the midst of a situation that had finally reached a breaking point.

  I'm not all that good at conflict. I've put many hours of thought into how I deal with it, and learned that I handle it one of two ways:

    1.) I hide. It's not a "I-hope-nobody-sees-me-in-this-hole" kind of hiding. It's a mask, the idea that maybe if I act my part well, no one will think to ask what's wrong.

    2.) I explode. I end up saying hurtful and not-too-well thought out things that I don't mean. I upset the people I love the most. I always regret my lack of filter after it's too late, because words said can never be taken back.

  In this particular case, it was the first. The first time I heard a song and thought, "I could play this," I simultaneously thought, "Oh look! It's something to hide behind! No one can accuse me of retreating when I'm so obviously being productive!" This may not make sense, but when you're a person who needs far too much time to think through and understand things, privacy is something of the greatest value. Add a load of pain and confusion to the situation and it just becomes that much messier.

  So I picked up guitar. It was my escape, the only one in view. I retreated to music - as I often have - to tell me what to think, to try to make sense of the emotions and motives that swirled around in my mind. I played until my fingers bled, and when I found out that you couldn't chord with band-aids, I pulled them off and kept playing. I felt like if it hurt, it had to be a good thing, because so many other things in my life were hurting, and people kept telling me they were good.

  It's strange to look back and see just how little self-esteem I had at that point. Though I have slowly reached a healthier view of myself, those feelings of self-hatred were very real. It wasn't so much that I wanted to be hurt, only that I felt like I deserved it. I resented God for not resenting me, His was the only love I could never disprove to myself. In public I said the right words, in private I cried over those same words that felt like lead in my mouth. I was tired. I was bewildered. I was angry.

  And through all of it, I kept playing. I found that I had begun to improve, that real skill was slowly but surely replacing clumsy efforts. Most of all, the songs were changing. I didn't want to pity myself any longer. I didn't want to be angry at people who weren't affected by how I felt. I wanted to talk about struggling and depression and messing up, but I didn't want to stay there. There was a light at the end of my tunnel. There's a lyric by Switchfoot that glibly suggests, "If we're adding to the noise, turn off this song." I heard that song. I listened to that song. I didn't want to stay where I was. I needed to move on, past the chaos of my situation, past the chaos of my own mind.

  What changed? Well for one, I got right with God. When I knew for sure that He was always backing me in my endeavors to change and to realize my own potential, it gave me the determination to do those things. But another thing that I think had a huge effect on me was simply playing my guitar. I learned what a beautiful form of self-expression it is. I started putting my own thoughts and feelings into words and melodies, instead of only mouthing what other people had written. I worked hard, and had the satisfaction of seeing it pay off. I grew in confidence in my ability, and I discovered an entirely new purpose for music. Yes, music can drag you down. But it can also be the rope that keeps you from falling. It connects us to each other with a magic we cannot understand. It shows us a life beyond ourselves, it brings us to realizations, it slips around our biases and opinions. It brings hope. It brings joy, genuine joy. And best of all, I was now a part of that magic. I was connected in soul with my fellow humans. Soul, which is our constant and only commonality. I was able to worship or to weep, knowing that no matter what form the outcome took, it would be beautiful. This was me. This was what I was capable of creating. These ties that draw us together, through the boundaries that push us apart.

  As I look back, I see how my motive has changed. I am no longer hiding behind this six-stringed wooden instrument, I am using it to attract attention. I am not trying to be quiet, I want to be loud. I want to shake the world up! I want to be around people who do. Music is something outside of myself, something directly from God, something that I am vastly privileged to be part of.

  I am not a proficient human. I'm not even a good one. But I'm better. Better than I was three months ago, or even three weeks ago.

  You see, the greatest secret of music is not its beauty, it's not how it draws us together, it's not its entertainment value or anything else of the sort. Music has the power to inspire - the greatest power any of the arts possess. The songs themselves are not changing me, but they are showing me how to change. It is a path I continually strive to follow: one toward beauty, toward acceptance, toward God. As I look back on the past six months I see that not one day of it was pointless. Though I couldn't see it then, it was a journey - it is a journey. Just as a song swells and fades, so does life. And just like a song, we all seek that eventual crescendo, the climax, the completion, when all the loose ends will be tied up. Unlike a song however, when the conclusion of our life comes, when that final note rings - it is only the beginning.

~Margaret

An Evening at the Ryman

Editing note: This post was actually written on the 16th of December, before promptly getting lost in a small black hole of drafts and portions of blogs. I'm posting it now, because after rereading it and beating it into shape a little bit, I found that I actually liked it. So, here it is.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The neon lights on Broadway and 5th reflected on the wet streets, as we pulled up beside the building many affectionately call the Mother Church - the Ryman Auditorium. We get our tickets and wander into the venue, trying to find our seats. After some awkward, anticipatory chatter - a crucial part of any concert - the lights dim and Andrew Peterson comes onstage. He thanks us for coming as a large handful of musicians file out on the stage behind him and silently take their seats. One of them happened to be my reason for travelling hours on a rainy Monday night to be here.

  Sometimes irony is cruel, in a slightly ridiculous way that you can only laugh at. I could see every musician sitting up there, except for a man in a fedora, who was blocked by a music stand. Normally it would have been fine, but that fedora-wearer happened to be Jon Foreman, and I was suddenly unwilling to put up with any shenanigans the Ryman had to pull. So after a couple songs, I moved to an empty seat, whose owner had conveniently failed to show up. 

  Andrew introduced the guests one by one and they each came up and played a song or two. There's nothing like an audience devoted to the musician, and the people of Nashville have an enormous appreciation for the art of music. They aren't shy or rude, and it was truly wonderful to see the warm welcome they gave to each artist, well-known or otherwise. I was taken completely unawares by the presence of Caleb Chapman, frontman of one of my favorite bands, Colony House, who's got a powerhouse of a voice packed into a budding twenty-something indie rocker. It was an eclectic mix of Nashville's homegrown, alongside music-makers from other scenes.

  Jon stepped up to the mike last of all, and asked the crowd, "I think what we need is a waltz, right?" The crowd laughed and he waited. "The answer is... yes!" Then he started into Only Hope, the very first Switchfoot song I fell in love with. The strings and piano sections behind him made it feel like the song had been pulled straight out of the record and was now echoing off the old walls. When he finished, he tuned his Taylor a bit and started into Your Love Is Strong, a favorite from one of his solo EPs. Another guitarist played along with him and Caleb backed rhythms on his electric.

  Moments, unironically, last for only a moment. It's strange to think that future we anticipate becomes further in the past every second we live. Jon finished his song and the crowd dissipated for intermission. And if the evening had ended there it would have been worth it.

  As we all settled into our seats again, Andrew started It Is Well With My Soul, singing softly. The audience joined in, and he stepped away from the mike as the sound of two thousand people singing in perfect melodies filled the air. The notes lingered as he sang a song written about and completed in the Ryman, and we listened once more. Then he and the band started playing through the Behold the Lamb of God record, guests reappearing on the stage one by one as the songs began. By the end, they all stood together, singing the last chorus of The Theme of My Song. They bowed together, and the concert was over.

  We waited in the lobby to see if any of the artists would come out, but the ushers started asking everyone to exit, and we reluctantly left. Outside in the cold, my dad gave the valet our ticket, and we waited by the door for our car. At that point the musicians did start coming out, on their way to their respective cars and homes.
 I waited aimlessly, attempting to not get my hopes up, but lo and behold, through the door comes this normal looking guy, guitar case in one hand, keys in the other. I looked at my dad and mouthed, "Get your camera!" and made a beeline for Jon.
 "Hi!" Oh my gosh, my voice is three octaves higher.  
  "Hey!" He smiled and I wrung his hand, keys and all. "Y'all enjoy the show?" I assured him that yes we did, absolutely. "I mean, the Ryman, right?"
  We chatted for a minute, and then I asked him if I could get a picture. "Yeah, let me just call my in-laws real quick." he replied. He put down the guitar and started dialing away at the speed of a dozen turtles, like any adult, and I stood somewhat awkwardly while he told the person on the other side of the line that he was on his way home. He hung up and someone else approached him and began talking. I thought, Oh no! I didn't just lose my chance, did I? But as soon as the fan left, he turned to me. "You wanted a picture, right?" We took a quick photo, and I thanked him and he moved on as someone else quickly struck up a conversation.
  My dad was scrolling through his phone with a confused expression on his face. "It's not here. All the other pictures I just took are on here, except for that one."
  "What?!"
  "Hang on, we'll take it again." He walked up to Jon and explained, and Jon came over again.
  "We did that on purpose." I laughed, as we took the picture for the second time. As I shook his hand, there was so much I wanted to say. I wanted to thank him for the humility that permeates his music and his philosophy. I wanted to tell him that Hello Hurricane had been getting me through the last four months of getting out of bed bleary-eyed, and that Restless will be my anthem until the day I die. I wanted to ask about the upcoming EPs and the next record they were working on as a band. I wanted to know what he thought of Francis Shaeffer and Shaeffer's opinion on Soren Kierkegaard, to talk about how hard music is to create and to play.
  I said, "Thank you."
  He said, "Have a good night."
  And the valet came and took us to our car.
  Jon shouted "Merry Christmas!" to the small crowd still hanging around the entrance, and walked himself out to a little white rental, which he piled his things into and drove away. I watched him go, and seldom has the feeling of surrealism been so strong. I knew, in that moment, that it very well might never come again. That whether or not he would remember, a very real connection had been made between a San Diego songwriter and a girl who wanted to survive in the same meaningful way.

  There is acceptance to be found in moving on from events you can neither change nor re-experience. I treasure this memory, tinged with the regret that time will warp it into something it was not, that perhaps it already has. It didn't change the way I listen to his songs, the way some of them fill me with a higher longing for something I can't yet perceive. But I am so thankful for this good moment in my past. Life can be too full of bad ones. Perhaps the joy is lost from life not through its absence, but by the fact that it is so often ignored. I am thankful for Jon. I am thankful for his kindness and his genuine love for his fellow man. I am thankful for a character which permitted me to tell my dad, "No, he's not a star. He's just a guy." I'm thankful for the struggles in his life that have allowed him to create such deep and meaningful art, and I am thankful, as strange and as hard as it is to say it - for my own struggles. I will look back on my life and find that it has held meaning. This is a truth I wake up to, and this is the truth I will live my life trying to affirm. I am thankful for Jesus, the reason for this evening and my existence in the first place.

~Margaret

Taking Steps

Today is not the first step. Today is not the beginning of the rest of your life. Today is the continuation of a journey that began before you were aware enough to think your own thoughts. Many things will happen in 2015. If I had to guess, I'd say they'll be both bitter and sweet. But nothing that happens this year will be the deciding factor of your life, because no event can define you. Not like that.

  I have always preferred different measures of time than the changing of numbers at the end of a twelve month cycle. Other things communicate the passage of time to me better than a date. School, hobbies, the day I was born. These are the things with a greater impact.  Yet today is the day the world has chosen, a day of new beginnings, fresh starts. Many practical and intangible goals are made today, most never to be reached. Why do we make these resolutions? What are we looking for?

  I would chalk it down to two things: Self-definition and self-worth. Both are intangibles that can never be reached through accomplishing a list. The heart of both issues is simple. "Never let your worth depend on something you may lose." What defines you? Your body? Money? A talent or a hobby? Believe me when I tell you that if this is all you are, then you will assuredly lose it and with it, yourself. Worth cannot be found in what others see. Who we are comes from within.

  Are resolutions totally in error, then? Of course not. But as someone I used to know said, "If you fail to plan, you plan to fail." The issue does not lie in the resolution necessarily, but in the way you approach it. I don't think that the beginning of a new year is a good enough reason to start something. It has to go beyond that, beyond forms or conventions, beyond your desire to appear good before others. It must be a desire voiced by your soul above all else. If you do not believe in it, why do you think you will allow it to change you?

  All that to say, I have made resolutions myself. There are things which I want to accomplish in the future, yet the fickle nature of Time means I cannot put a date on when I hope to see them completed. They are not new things, rather those elusive tasks that are revealed after many days of searching for truth in the wrong places. I want to be a better person. I want to live intentionally, which promises a great amount of guilt but even more productivity. I want to love people based on the soul that we have in common, instead of writing them off for the superficial discord they bring to me and my ideology. I want to continue learning about my Creator, the One I thought I knew so well, though I have discovered in recent months that my ideas of Him may turn out to be very mistaken.

  I'm learning just how much I do not know. I have discovered that most of my life has been lived in unconscious confidence in myself and my opinions. That confidence is fading. The universe is wide open to me now, and I am becoming more and more prepared to learn its ways as each day passes. I believe in a God who loves me and knows me by name, who I speak to every day and who answers me, for He holds all the answers within Himself. I know right and wrong, but it is the grey areas I am eager to penetrate. I have learned that compromise is the difficult and beautiful line on which our existence balances, that without polarity, meaning has no place.

  As this year begins, with its freshness and possibilities, I am looking for answers. I am looking for myself. I am looking for a hope beyond my own, for a day on which the sun does not set, for a land where pain has vanished and peace is overpowering. I am looking for the meaning in the suffering, for the light at the end of the tunnel, for something that brings freedom from the chains, protection in the fight, and joy in the journey. This is the path I will walk, because I see no other that can promise anything I want. Tell me, what are you looking for?



~Margaret