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.

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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