Show Notes: Ep 2 When The Christmas You Plan Isn't The Christmas You Get

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness, a light has dawned.--Isaiah 9:2

Looking around on social media and talking with friends, it seems to me that Christmas spirit is running a bit low this year. I think one reason Christmas feels so hard for some of us is because we want what we've been sold. And what we've been sold is the picture of a perfect, cozy holiday where all the hard things are shored up just in time for Christmas. In reality, hard things don't take off for the holidays. Stress, illness, divorce, brokenness can be deal with or overlooked for the sake of the day, but it isn't resolved. And we crave that resolution. We want what we've been promised and we want it with some twinkle lights and a red bow and some hot cocoa.

So what do we do? If you're me this year you complain. A lot. And then you have a breakthrough. What if all the hard is supposed to help us pare down? What if the struggle is designed to make us go slow?

In days gone by, when the church year organized daily life and the darkness of winter had greater impact, Advent was a time of reflection, resting, retreating before the big celebration. We've lost that over the centuries and I think something precious was stolen from us. The Christmas season now is so bustling full, there's no room for the real light to break through. And that's what we really need. That's what we were actually promised.

Humans haven't had perfection since Eden and the fall. Thought we've been duped with the image of it ever since. The false perfection only creates more anxiety, more isolation, more hunger. We must learn to let it go so we can hold the true perfection.

It came in the form of a baby boy. Helpless, wriggling, squishy, crying baby. The fullness of God, salvation, and the longed for perfection emerged from a woman's womb into a dark stable on a starlit night. It's a far cry from a Hallmark movie.

But in this breakthrough from Heaven, in this bold incredulous move by the Godhead, we humans can have what we truly crave. Restoration, peace hope, perhaps even joy. Oh, the hard doesn't go away. The hard came for Jesus and sent his family fleeing to Egypt. The hard found him thirty years later and nailed him to a tree. Yet in His suffering, he bought our freedom. And in our suffering, we learn to love and trust and live like he did.

It isn't easy. We don't have script writers, directors, editors, and make-up artists working out all the flaws. Instead, we have the Author and Perfecter of our faith. Indeed, we have the Word made flesh.

In Him was the life and the life was the light of mankind. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. --John 1:4-5

Gather the Good

"Mary had several plans for her first Christmas at Appleshaw but none of them materialized. That, she thought, was the way of Christmas plans. There was something disruptive about Christmas and not only in the merely material way. The original Christmas had proved exceedingly disruptive to the entire world and the tremors of the original event vibrated through every life year by year.--The Scent of Water, by Elizabeth Goudge. 

This December hasn't gone according to plan. The vision I had for this season has fallen apart. The lists we joyfully checked off last year have been a hot mess this year. I've not handled it graciously. But there is still good to be gathered. As I'm learning--you take the best and you leave the rest.

So here is my best of December 2019:

I've already recommended Joel Clarkson but it bears repeating. We also love For King and Country's Christmas Album. It's been a favorite for a few years but we were blown away by their performance on CMA Country Christmas. I hear that's playing again on Christmas Eve so you might want to check it out, or you can always YouTube it [or read this post on Little Drummer Boy. Their clip is at the end.] I also recommend Rend Collective's Campfire Christmas. It's a really great album, super fun songs, and also some really poignant songs. Definitely check it out.

Also for your listening enjoyment, I recommend the podcast 'Speaking With Joy'. Hosted by Joy Clarkson, yes, that's Joel's sister, she delves into the themes of Advent and presents up with beautiful art, music, and literature. I know it's later in the season but turn it on while you drive or wrap gifts. You'll be glad you did. I absolutely love this podcast. I've learned a lot.

And last I'm ending with some clips of my kids. My seven year old learned to play a little bit of piano this December. He also wanted to recite his memory verse. And of course, my almost four year old couldn't be left out, so she sings her little remix of 'Jingle Bells'.

From my family to yours, have a happy, imperfect, joyous Christmas. Happy Holidays!

10 Things I've Learned from Les Miserables

(Fair Warning: There will be plot spoilers so if you're unfamiliar, go rent/stream the 10th Anniversary Concert, the 25th Anniversary Concert, or the Hugh Jackman film and come back. Or, if you'd rather, here's a great synopsis.)

July 1994
On top of the Empire State Building

My backstory: 

I first saw Les Mis in 1994 with my dad on a hot summer's day in New York City. We were vacationing in relatively nearby Ocean City, New Jersey, and Dad took me up to the Big Apple for a day. I was nine-and-a-half years old. I remember on our drive into the city my dad explained two things to me. One, don't look at anyone in a raincoat because they might be a flasher (this stayed with me for years ). Two, for the purposes of seeing Les Mis, he had to explain prostitution. Of the two, the flasher thing was more traumatizing. I was wary of trench raincoats for years. 

I'm sure I barely understood what was happening in the show and I certainly didn't grasp the  profound themes of human nature, but something magical happened to me. Magic always happens with Les Mis and me. And on that hot July day, a spell was cast on me that has lingered for the last twenty-five years and shows no signs of fading. 

May 1998
7th Grade Choir Concert

When my dad purchased the three-disc complete symphonic recording I commandeered it and made it mine. Sorry, not sorry. I read the liner notes cover to cover multiple times. I learned about where the cast members were from and how they did the recording. And I poured over the lyrics to soak them up. I must've been about eleven or twelve by then. The second disc was my favorite. It had all of Eponine's songs. And I really loved me some Eponine. When I was thirteen, I got to sing "On My Own" for my first real solo at the seventh grade choir concert. I remember our director raising an eyebrow when I asked if I could, but he humored me and it remains one of the proudest moments in my personal history. (Incidentally, it's been twenty-two years and I can still sing every word with as much feeling and gusto as I did then. Probably more.)  

April 2011
Playhouse Square

Les Mis has a way of surfacing when I need it. As a teenager it gave me music for my emotions. As a twenty-something it was a declaration of the triumph of grace and light. As a worn out mom in my mid-thirties, it refills my cup with the fullness of music, story, and magic. I got to see the 2019 staged production in a cinema showing on my thirty-fifth birthday the other night. It was everything I needed and more.

The deep connection I've had with this show for twenty-five years has proven to be rich and enriching. I've grown up, like a little Cosette, with the story and songs of Les Miserables as a sort of soundtrack running in the background of my life. I certainly had no idea as a wide-eyed nine-year-old little girl of the gift I was given that summer day in New York City, but it's one I now hold very dear indeed. 

The lessons: 

The themes of grace, redemption, love, mercy, justice, friendship, comradeship, sacrifice, light, and dark didn't become clear to me until I hit adulthood. There are about as many themes as there are characters and scene changes in Les Miserables (so a lot). Every time I do a deep dive back into it I resurface with some new truth uncovered. Reading the novel enhanced that by about a billion. It's a hefty tome, but I recommend reading it at least once. The character development alone is enough reason to power through the girth. In the rest of this post, I'll share with you just ten lyrics that have taught me something or resonated deeply with me over the years.

1. To love another person is to see the face of God: This is hands-down my favorite lyric from any show or any song ever. And my favorite book of the Bible is 1 John. What in the world do these two things have in common? This verse right here, which I'm sharing in the Amplified translation because I like how full it is. "No one has seen God at any time. But if we love one another [with unselfish concern], God abides in us, and His love [the love that is His essence abides in us and] is completed and perfected in us." (1 John 4:12) Because God is love and mankind is made in His image when we love, we are showing Him to others, and seeing Him in the object of our love. It's not easy to remember. Unselfish love is not the typical knee-jerk reaction when we're wronged or have our patience tested, but it is the manifestation of God within us. This kind of love changes both the giver and the recipient. This kind of love is actually divine.  

2. "Another story must begin!": Okay, so honestly, I used to gloss over the beginning because I was all about the students later on. But then, as I grew older, I realized that the most incredible thing happens in the prologue. After Valjean is released from prison, he's treated abominably by people in the villages where he tries to make a life. Then, the kind old Bishop of Digne invites him to stay for the night. This scene is even more powerful in the book as Hugo tells us what the Bishop's servants think (Bishop be crazy) and how precious the silver really is to the Bishop. In the musical, we see Valjean marvel at the foolishness of the Bishop in trusting him as he steals the silver. He's caught and arrested (as a kid, I always thought maybe he wouldn't have been caught if he didn't sing about it so loudly. *shrug*) and brought back to the Bishop. Valjean has told his captors that the silver was a gift from the Bishop, and shockingly, he corroborates the story. In an act of heaping mercy, the Bishop also gifts Valjean the silver candlesticks which he had left behind. As he does he tells him that he must use the profit from selling the precious silver to become an honest man, that in his act of forgiveness and mercy, he is showing him God's love, and it must change his life. This single act of radical kindness changes the trajectory of Valjean's life which then in turn saves the lives of Cosette and later Marius. Because Valjean experiences the sacrificial, radical love of God through the Bishop, he has to grapple with his own sin and hatred. He recognizes that this is a crossroads. Does he allow himself to be changed by this love? Or does he cling to what he knows? For Jean Valjean, he must literally create a new identity and begin again, but I find this a brilliant example of how we are all made new in Christ. Valjean becomes a new creation through redemptive love and mercy, and although we aren't convicts fresh off the chain gang, we too must be made new in Christ. And in that new identity, there is freedom to love and forgive generously.

3. "Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise." : Darkness doesn't get to win; light is always the victor in the end. This line is taken from the epilogue, when all the characters who have died return as a somewhat ghostly chorus. It begins very softly and faintly, but it is "the music of a people who are climbing to the light." By the time the last notes ring out, it's a full fanfare about the victory that's promised "when tomorrow comes." I am one who often has to climb to the light. To put it as simply as I can, depression is hell. When I'm experiencing depression, it cuts off all that is good, healthy, and light from my experience. I know it's out there, but I can't reach it. I can't make it mine. Still, I climb for the light not just because I know it's there, but because I am a child of God. There's a fullness of life that is my birthright now. It is absolutely worth the struggle--I am worth the struggle--to fight the darkness of the night, and sing as the sun rises.

4."It is time for us all to decide who we are...": Very recently I realized how intensely devoted almost every character is to something or someone, and they each have a point at which they're willing to die for it. Fantine is desperately devoted to the well-being of her beloved child. Javert is devoted obsessed with justice; Enjorlas with equality and freedom. Grantaire is devoted to both wine and his friendship with Enjorlas (usually in that order). Eponine is devoted to Marius. Marius is devoted to both the cause of equality and to his new found love, Cosette, and ballads passionately about the conflict. Cosette is devoted to her father and to Marius. And Jean Valjean, the star, he's devoted to loving and protecting Cosette, and honoring God and using every bit of the redemptive grace he was given for the good of others. Devotion abounds, people, it's dripping off the walls. It's probably embarrassing it took me two and a half decades to really notice it. (continued in #5)

5. "We're the ones who make it in the end." : The exception to all this devotion is the Thernadiers who care only for themselves and self-preservation. The contrast, in fact, is startling. As they tell us, they're the ones who make it in the end.  And they're right. Spoiler: by the time the curtain falls, only four characters are still alive--the young lovers, Marius and Cosette, and the stinking Thernadiers. But what is the survival of the Thernadiers for? Their legacy is worthless. Utterly and entirely worthless because it only serves themselves and their good fortune is only ever temporary. On the other hand, the lives and sacrifices of (almost) all the others are beautiful. To love deeply and truly, and to be devoted sincerely to an ideal gives meaning to their lives and purpose in their legacy. The love, friendship, and devotion can carry Marius and Cosette into their future together infused with strength of those they've lost. Which prompts me to consider my convictions, my personal sacrifices, and the legacy I'm crafting. A legacy doesn't just pop up upon death, instead, it's the culmination of things cultivated in life. What do I believe in passionately? Who do I love unselfishly and sacrificially? What foundation am I crafting for those who will carry on when my time has passed? If my life is all about me, it's worthless. If my love stops just short of sacrificial, it's incomplete. If my convictions run dry when tested, they don't have much value

6. "My heart is stone and still it trembles.": There is one more exception to this devotion rule. Javert's obsession with justice ends up being the end of him. And try as I might, I can't find anything redemptive about it. Instead, what I learn is that mercy is a polarizing thing. It either changes you or it hardens you. Case in point? Inspector Javert. Over the years, I've come to see his suicide as one of the saddest parts in the show. Michael Ball's recent performance as the inspector definitely aided in that sympathy. But the heartbreaking thing about Javert is his deep misunderstanding of God, the law, and humanity. When he's offered mercy, it breaks him. The same act that set Valjean free to live a redeemed life, condemns Javert to suicide. His devotion to justice crowds out any room for mercy. His intense distrust for mankind pushes away any connection he might make. His legalistic understanding of salvation leaves him without any place for the love of Christ. He's a strong contender for the most tragic figure I've ever encountered in a musical.

7. "In my need, you have always been there.": If "Bring Him Home" isn't one of the most emotional songs in a musical, then I don't know what is. And here's the thing, in the musical, it sorta gets lost that Valjean marches his self to the barricade hell-bent on killing Marius after he intercepts the love letter to Cosette. Then, he's so impressed with Marius that he ends up saving his life. But in the musical, since this is the way musicals work, we get this incredible song. The whole thing is a prayer in which Valjean wholly recognizes that it's all in God's hands. I personally really love this lyric because I know that in my own life, God has always been there. Through heartaches and trauma and grief, God has never left me. That doesn't mean I've always gotten my way or that life is just sunshine and roses. Go back and re-read that line about heartache and trauma and grief. Life is life and sometimes it knocks the wind right out of you. And yet God remains steadfast, and I can always call on Him. I also like that God's way of answering Valjean's prayer is to make him an active participant in making it so. Marius isn't miraculously spared from any injury; instead Valjean carries him through sewers and pleads with Javert to give the boy a fighting chance to live. And, in my experience, God's answers to prayers usually require us to step up and do something too.

8. "This rain will wash away what's past...and rain will make the flowers grow.": Major spoiler: This is the heart wrenching moment between Marius and Eponine when she finally feels the warmth of his embrace and love as she dies in his arms. It's rough. Yet there is something so poignant and hopeful about Eponine. Unlike her parents, the Thernadiers, she's not bitter, covetous, and nasty. Eponine takes her hardships in stride, constantly imagining what could be and giving of herself to an absolute fault. In this song, she tells us that rain is really okay. That sorrow can lead to healing, that darkness precedes light. And rain is actually life-giving. Without it flowers don't bloom, trees wither, fields die from want of water. How too we humans blossom and grow with rain, even if we think all we really want is sunny days without the challenges of clouds and storms. The truth is, if we want beauty and strength, we must accept also what is bleak and hard. 

9. "I will never go away and we will be together every day.": Okay, full disclosure, I used to make fun of this line. Like, okay, Cosette, literally all of Marius' friends have just senselessly died, but it's alright because you exist. That's not narcissistic at all, sweetie. But I was terribly wrong about Cosette! What she's doing in this moment is drawing Marius from the edge of despair. He has survivor's guilt and is deeply grieving his friends. Grief is important. He must grieve, he should grieve. But he can not stay there, it will consume him. And Cosette knows this. With gentleness and hope, she helps him recall that his life has meaning, and that there is love in it. Love, as we have already seen, is a very powerful thing. Love and hope have the strength to pull us back from the edge of darkest despair.

10. "Take my hand, I'll lead you to salvation. Take my love for love is everlasting.": Les Mis shows us the vital importance of human connection, tenderness, and friendship. Without it we become narrow-minded, self-serving, and cruel. In the absence of love and mercy, only brutality and depravity can grow. Yet when love and mercy are given, hope is born. And out of hope, all manner of new life begins. Kindness, gentleness, sacrificial love, honor, and integrity blossom and take deep root. In friendship and camaraderie, there is strength to stand in the darkness and proclaim the light. It is love that lasts forever and ever. "And now there remain: faith [abiding trust in God and His promises], hope [confident expectation of eternal salvation], love [unselfish love for others growing out of God’s love for me], these three [the choicest graces]; but the greatest of these is love." (1 Corinthians 13:13)

And if you made it to the end....here's a special treat! I've been binge-watching this clip for about a week now. Michael Ball and Bradley Jaden singing a duet version of "Stars". It's pretty fantastic. 

Gather the Good: Despite the Darkness

"Wintergreen, can't outshine your radiance. Wintergreen, or undermine your salience. Wintergreen, I love you more than anything--despite the darkness of some of these days." 

Every now and then a song comes to me that I need. Ballads from Broadway musicals, giddy love songs from pop sensations, powerful proclamations of God's goodness from Christian artists, and honest, hopeful songs from Celtic-styled folk bands. Each song very much needed to speak something specific to me. It is played ad nauseum in its season. And each one remains in a permanent playlist in that whatever-it-is that makes me me. The soul, the heart, both perhaps. In that whatever-it-is there's a special playlist of songs that have shaped and carried me. Whenever I hear them I am reminded of another place, another time, another me, and often, some important truth I still need. 

This summer another song was added to that list. It came by way of music that has already been looping for a year or more. That made both musical experiences richer and better. Like when one book mentions another so you read it, and you end up loving them both to dog-eared pieces. 

I've mentioned before the music of We

Banjo 3, so I won't fangirl about that now. But without WB3, I wouldn't have found The East Pointers. Though, to be fair, my best friend Marybeth found them first. She listened to WB3 on my recommendation, just casually, and then The East Pointers popped up on a Spotify playlist for her. I remember her telling me she found this great Canadian band, but full disclosure, I didn't listen to them right away. What can I say? Sometimes I don't know what's good for me. So many months wasted. Then again, maybe I discovered their music when I needed it most. 

In August, Marybeth and I got tickets for the Dublin Irish Festival so we could see We Banjo 3. Marybeth also noticed that The East Pointers were scheduled to be there. Because we had an entire day deliciously to ourselves to do whatever we wanted, we made plans to see both bands twice. So, before we went I finally started listening to TEP. Before long, their recent single release "Wintergreen" was looping on my Spotify regularly. The more I listened to it, the clearer it became that I needed that song. I still need it. I've listened to it almost every day since the end of July, usually more than once. 

It's a song about having worth, beauty, and meaning despite dark days. Depression is a defining element of my personal narrative. It's not my favorite part of my story. I like the bits better where I make delectable chocolate chip cookies and serve them up in dainty cups of herbal tea for my kiddos. Or when I'm all gussied up and made up and hair done up for a rare date night with my handsome husband. Those parts look nice. They feel nice. The dark parts that sometimes rage, and often, lurk in the background of an otherwise good day, do not feel nice. It can also feel like mental health issues downgrade my worth, beauty, and meaning. I start to feel like that dark shadow of a person instead of a whole person. So, whether I like it or not, depression is a defining part of my life's story.

So, when I find something brave enough to face that kind of thing head-on and come out hopeful about it, I embrace it. Embrace might not be strong enough of a word. I take it in until it's part of me, so when the dark days surface, hope is at the ready.  "Wintergreen" is one of those songs. And I just have to share this quote, taken from The East Pointers website, by their banjoist Koady Chaisson. 

“I was diagnosed bipolar about five years ago and there was so much darkness, so many extreme highs and extreme lows,” Koady says. “It’s actually a song I kind of wish I could have heard then; a vote of confidence from the perspective of someone who loves you regardless of which end of that spectrum you’re at.”

I immediately felt I had found a kindred spirit in someone who was open and honest about their mental health. Which is incredibly fitting since Koady and his cousin Tim Chaisson (fiddler and lead singer) are from Prince Edward Island, same as the enduring and endearing Anne Shirley. I admire the bravery, boldness, and hopefulness The East Pointers infuse into their music.

Last Friday, October 25, the full album Yours to Break was finally released. I say finally because I
had a countdown widget on my phone. It was highly anticipated. By me, anyway. But judging by their social media, I'm not alone. These guys have a worldwide audience and for good reason. Their music is flawlessly executed, a little experimental, incredibly fun, and deeply soulful.

Chestnut Ridge Metropark 

There are two other songs on the new album that I must mention when I'm talking about gathering good things. I mean, the whole thing is good, but in this particular vein of hope and light and feeling alive, two songs stand out to me. The instrumental 'Light Bright' which is immediately followed by 'If You're Still In, I'm In' if you listen to the album in order (which I recommend, it has awesome flow). Since 'Light Bright' is an instrumental I can't share lyrics (duh), but I will tell you that Tim's soaring fiddle, if I close my eyes, makes me feel exactly like a bird. Light and free, soaring above the landscape, catching the wind, and nothing is weighing me down. When depression wants to pin me down, this is exactly the kind of feeling I need.

Now, I'm going to close this post with lyrics from 'If You're Still In, I'm In'. But before I do that, I want to give you a challenge. No, it's not necessarily to listen to The East Pointers. I realize that indie folk music isn't actually everyone's cup of tea. Although it should be.  Go for a drive. Listen to your favorite music. Music that makes you feel. I won't even tell you it has to make you feel happy. Sometimes we need to feel sad (good golly, have I listened to me some sad tunes in certain seasons). Just music that makes you feel something. And look around at the beauty of this autumn. The leaves are starting to fall rapidly, and there are rainy days ahead, so there's no time like the present. Take the long drive home, find a scenic route, go off the usual path, and notice what there is to see. I did this on Friday and between the new tunes and the incredible show of autumn leaves, I felt thoroughly stuffed with beauty. And with beauty, hope. With hope, life. Isn't it awesome how that works?

"We can settle in on a high warm wind. No good comes from hanging back to see what happens. With hearts like heroes, and wings like doves, we can fly away break through the clouds above. Come again, bright days, come again, come again. When you're good to go, I'm following. If you're still in, I'm in." 

Gathering the Good in a Fallow Year

 2019 has been an unusual year for me, personally and writingly. (Hey, Shakespeare made up words and everyone was okay with it). I've felt that this has been somewhat of a fallow year for me. A year of letting the fields go dormant and seeing what wild things grow, what nutrients need restored, and what can bloom in rest. I've picked away at writing here and there, but I've not made significant progress in anything. And that's okay. Believe me--it's taken a lot of work for me to get to the point where I can say that it is okay. When you self-identify as a writer and you stop writing, it's kind of an existential crisis.

Now, however, I want to start blogging again, because in this year I have discovered and cultivated so many beautiful things that bring me joy or catharsis or meaning. I've gobbled up fascinating books and practically brainwashed my family with music on repeat and brewed life-changing cups of tea and even sat awhile in passive entertainment with movies and shows. Off and on, I've thought to myself: I should blog about this! Book lists! Beauty! All the things! But then the words slip off of my fingers, like rings that need sized to fit, and I do not write.

Full disclosure: I'm a little nervous declaring some big return to writing or blogging or whatever. As if it matters terribly much to anyone other than me. But I have one of those personalities that craves all the things and has grand intentions, but then runs off to watch clouds change shape or to pick up another book full of someone else's words. In other words: I'm a creative with ADD.

And yet...it's a wonderful little phrase, isn't it? And yet....There's possibility in it that despite how things are, there may be something else. Ahem, anyway. And yet, I plan to share here some of the very beautiful things I have loved this year. Movies, shows, novels, picture books, non-fiction books, tea blends, music, bands, podcasts....I'm going to gather up this goodness and leave it for you here. So should you ever find yourself in need of something beautiful, or a simple joy, you can find some suggestions. After all, so many of the things I have enjoyed this year came on the recommendation of others. Isn't the internet a marvelous place that way? People I've never met in real life have led me to fountains of loveliness, and perhaps, I can leave a well for others.

One of the most important lessons I have learned in this fallow year is that beauty matters. Oh, it can feel like a waste of time, or that no one in all the world cares, but that simply isn't so. God himself revels in beauty. Look around at this colorful world! Outside my window right now is a tree turning the most remarkable shade of golden yellow. On Sunday I marveled with my children and my nieces at the bright pink of flamingos. And my son and my daughter and myself all have uniquely different shades of green eyes...my daughter's are so dark that the green can only be seen in the right light, my son's are rimmed with gold, and mine are bright like a polished emerald. And who among us has never cried at the intense beauty of a song? Who has never laid aside a book feeling full and satisfied, almost as if it was a feast? Beauty nourishes us! It moves us along and sustains us. And in the darkest times, or in years of existential crisis, beauty gives us purpose.

So, I think it's time that I share this treasure trove I've gathered. In fact, the tag for each of these posts will be: Gather the Good. It's the name of a We Banjo 3 album and I fell in love with the name on contact. And if you somehow still don't know who We Banjo 3 is, I suggest you go back and read this post. Then, hop on Spotify or wherever you listen to music, and listen to the Haven album. Or the song 'Happiness'. You can't go wrong. Trust me.

I will also try to do some stories on Instagram and Facebook with brief snippets of what I'm loving and some goodness for your day. And here on the blog I can provide links where you can buy, download, subscribe, listen, or otherwise enjoy it for yourself.

And please, always feel free to share with me any books, movies, songs, or anything else that has been a particular source of beauty or meaning for you. Or a simple pleasure, like brewing a cup of tea, or I don't know, sketching a wildflower. I'm always on the hunt for more good things to gather.

Sparrows, Rams on the Mountain, and Me

When my daughter was born she screamed for the first forty-five minutes of her life. She wasn't crying. She was screaming. She was irate. Inconsolably angry at being brought into this cold, strange world. And she was hungry. I mean, she was eleven pounds, eight ounces at birth. The girl probably really wanted some chocolate chip cookies and a glass of cold milk. It was her favorite in utero and it's her favorite now at three years old. But it's not exactly protocol to give newborns cookies and milk, however much they scream. Instead, we tried to get my baby to nurse. By "we" I mean I had a whole team working with me and trouble-shooting and trotting out every trick they had up their sleeves. When the lactation consultant--who was so kind and cheerful and positive and wonderful--declared that my daughter was a "tough case" I knew I was in for trouble.

You see, I have two children (most of you already know this, but I will write for those of you who perhaps don't know me in real life). My daughter is my youngest. I have a son three and a half years older. And he never did get the hang of nursing. Oh, we tried. And the guilt I had when I stopped trying and started using formula instead was intense. Deeply intense. And very much exacerbated by my undiagnosed post-partum depression and the mommy wars. You know, those passive aggressive comments made on social media that cut to the quick and everyone bloody well knows it. Those mommy wars.

So when my sweet screaming girl came along, I had been determined that I would breastfeed her longer than my son. If memory serves (which it doesn't because I've been sleep-deprived for almost seven years), I made it about ten weeks with my son and my goal with my daughter was eleven. I wanted just one more week. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Back to the hospital....Collectively, the experts and my husband and me agreed that we would try to get my daughter to latch for ten minutes and if she was still hopping angry, we'd stop and give her a bottle. We didn't want her to start associating feeding, or worse yet, me, with anger and frustration. The plan was to pump as much as possible but if girlfriend needed a little formula, that was okay too. Really hard for my pride in the mommy wars, but okay.

I so clearly remember sitting alone with her in my quiet little hospital room and feeling deeply worried. I had all this emotional baggage from "failing" with my son. I had hoped she would be easy. Nothing about this was going right and we hadn't even left the hospital. Then--all of a sudden, as they say--I felt in my spirit a message from the Lord. He assured me that he looks after birds and makes sure they get enough to eat each day, and that my dear sweet girl was worth more to him than any bird. He would make sure she'd thrive too. One way or another, I wasn't in this alone. I wasn't responsible for making sure she was okay. I mean, I wasn't free to neglect her, but the parts that were out of my control were in His control. He saw me. He saw my daughter. And we were going to be okay.

Naturally, I looked up the scripture passages about sparrows and the lyrics to the song "His Eye is on the Sparrow". I started singing it to her to soothe her. I found a rendition by The Newsboys that I think freaks my mother (Hi, Mom!) out a little bit, but it worked like magic to settle my fussy newborn. I learned all the words to that song. I memorized them in the first week or so of her little life. It became my anthem, even when it didn't work to calm her down.

There were some nights when she just wouldn't stop crying. It didn't matter how hard I tried, how much milk I offered, if I swaddled her or not, if I rocked her or not, if I sang or not. It didn't matter to her if I sang, but I kept singing because it mattered to me. I distinctly remember standing in her nursery, so bleary-eyed from no sleep, and teary-eyed because I was just so wrecked by the crying infant and singing over and over again...

"And I sing because I'm happy, I sing because I'm free for His eye is on the sparrow and I know He watches me."

Singing about happiness with tears streaming down your face makes an indelible impression on your spirit. I was clinging to that promise. I grabbed hold of it hard and I didn't let go.

Eventually, my daughter got a grip on her emotions and settled into a pretty wonderful baby. I also eventually gave up nursing her (I believe I made it eleven weeks and one day.) About the same time she became rather pleasant, PPD hit me hard. Anxiety. Never had it before. Not like that anyway. Which I talked about in the post 'Kindness Carries the Light'. Fluctuating hormones, and weeks of high-stress and very little sleep did me in. Still, I had the promise that God was watching.

And not just watching, lest you think this God of mine is a passive one who merely observes from on high and occasionally remarks to other celestial beings about the tiny humans on that blue and green ball. That is not my God. My God is deeply personal and intentional and deliberate and kind. God moves. His plans are, in fact, set in motion before my need even arises. He knows what I need now and what I will need next week and what I'll need in three years or thirty or whatever. Being omniscient gives you that kind of high-level clearance. And being omnipotent gives Him the clearance to also do something.

You don't always see it. Or, I don't anyway. I probably shouldn't speak for you. Maybe you're more observant than I am. But I don't usually see the provision before it's smacked me in the face and announced it's arrived. I don't see the ram climbing up the hill as I trudge up with my sacrifice. When Abraham and Isaac went up the mountain so Abraham could sacrifice his beloved son, he didn't notice or know about the ram coming up that would take Isaac's place. But God did. God made sure that ram was coming. Lately, I like to trace the steps backwards in this biblical narratives that we know so well that we take the details for granted. God knew that ram was needed the day it was born. That ram had a purpose and God got it up the hill for Abraham on just the right day. The ram wasn't a week early and missed it, it wasn't a day late and a dollar short. The timing was perfect. The provision came in the moment of crisis.

Friends. I'm going to be honest with you. 2019 has been a moment of crisis for my family. All three months of it. My husband has a heart condition; it's genetic and he's known about it for over twenty years. It's been well-managed and monitored for those two decades. This January he had an episode that landed him in the hospital for five days while they poked and prodded and scanned him, then hemmed and hawed and read results. The good news is after a minor surgery where he got a new internal defibrillator with some additional features and some new medicines, he's stable and good to go. He can live his normal life and he's fine! Except his employer won't let him come back to work for a year. We don't understand it. The doctors don't understand it. No one I have talked to understands it. And mountains of paperwork has been printed and faxed and copied and mailed and messed up by people not us....and hours and hours of phone calls have been made to fix what's messed up and find out what's needed and to determine what our immediate future holds. It's been stressful.

Yet. My God is watching. El-Roi. The God who sees me. This name was given to Yahweh by the Egyptian slave Hagar, a woman mistreated and hurt and desperate. She was sure she was alone in the wilderness and unable to provide for her son when God spoke to her. He gave her a promise and he provided for her and her son.

I've loved the story of Hagar ever since college when I first intimately understood that my God is one who sees me. Then today, oh, today was a hard day of listening to my husband's half of phone calls and feeling like I can't fix anything and trying to keep the kids and the dog quiet and no one was having it. I was so done. I was just so exhausted deep inside. I used up all my soul energy frowning and fretting and freaking out but swallowing it up whole so the kids wouldn't start to worry. Anyone else ever been there? Anyway. I finally got shoes and socks on the wild ones and we headed out the door to pick up some things we needed. As I stepped into the garage, it hit me--all of a sudden:

"His eye is on the sparrow and I know He watches me."

It was almost audible. I'm surprised my kids didn't' say, "who said that?" I dialed up the playlist I made for my daughter when she was a newborn, I haven't listened to it in two years at least. The first song on it is "His Eye is on the Sparrow" by The Newsboys. Ordinarily, my children have very strong opinions about what we listen to in the car. If it's not The Greatest Showman, Mary Poppins Returns, or Charlie Brown Christmas they're not having it. Today we listened to "His Eye is on the Sparrow", "A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes" (the Lily James version, so lovely), "Blackbird" (yes, by the Beatles. My son asked to turn it up), "Forever Young" (sung by Alfie Boe. Look. It. Up. Get tissues first), and "Your Grace Finds Me." They fussed a little with the last one but I had it cranked pretty loud at that point. *Shrug* I was worshiping the Lord.

I wish I could tell you that we got home from the store and my husband ran out to greet us shouting that all our problems are over and we struck oil in the backyard...or found gold under the shed....or someone just gave us a check that would cover the whole year....or some other bananas thing. He didn't. But he was smiling. And we had a nice dinner and then he played with my son while my daughter and I did the dishes. Okay, I did the dishes. She played in the sink but it makes her so ridiculously happy to do it that I no longer mind the water slopped on the floor or the fact that she's technically in my way. We were together. We've been together more in 2019 than we've ever been since the kids came along. And happier. We have our moments--all families and couples do. It can't always been sunshine.  But we're contented together. We play games and build with Legos and do puzzles and draw pictures and tell stories and read books and watch movies and play with the dog. There's so much to do just here in our home. The little home we complain about because the kitchen needs remodeled and we wish it sat on five acres. Yet this home is full of good things, and "every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like the shifting shadows." (James 1:17 NIV)

James wrote that in his contribution to the New Testament. James was a brother of Jesus. I wonder if he was among the brothers that first thought Jesus was mad and tried to bring him home to just be quiet and stop embarrassing the family. In their defense, maybe it was bad for business. Reputation is everything for a family business. But James came around. We don't know how exactly, but clearly he came to believe in his big brother. And I'm glad he did. James also wrote "consider if pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance....Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him."

In my life, I have faced trials of many kind. The other evening I started thinking through the last several years of my life and the list of trials was staggering (I had a legitimate reason for pondering this, it wasn't self-pity, I promise! It may perhaps be another post sometime this year). I don't know that I've always persevered well. I'm not much for perseverance typically. I'm more of a sit in the dirt and whine type. And yet. I'm here. And I've learned so much about the Lord it is also staggering. I know I haven't considered it pure joy. At no point today did I start naming and claiming 'pure joy' about our circumstances. Yet, in the moment when I heard the Good Shepherd speak to me, I experienced peace and joy. I was able to worship Him with a lump in my throat and kids in the backseat because I know that His eye is on the sparrow and He also watches me. I don't know that have that 'crown of life' yet, but I know that if I get handed any crowns or treasures when I arrive in Paradise that I'm headed straight to throne room to set it at the feet of Jesus. I have much thanks to give for all the rams on the mountain, all the provision in the wilderness, and all the reassurances that my family and I are worth more than many sparrows. Really, I owe Him everything.

Kindness Carries the Light

The last few days have been utterly exhausting but God has been in each moment, boldly revealing himself. In family. In friends. In quiet moments. And sometimes in banjos.

Yes, banjos. Let me explain.

Three years ago my childhood best friend, Holly, happened to be watching a morning news program when an Irish band came on to play a couple songs and promote their summer tour. Knowing me and my love for anything Irish, she texted me the name of the band and told me to look them up.

I. Fell. In. Love.

David Howley, Martin Howley, Enda Scahill, and Fergal Scahill

The band is We Banjo 3 and their genre is 'celtgrass' which is

an amazing marriage of American bluegrass with traditional Irish folk music. Two sets of brothers, Martin and David Howley, and Enda and Fergal Scahill, make up this incredible quartet of unparalleled talent and awesomeness.

Last year, in 2018, Holly and I went to see them in concert at the GAR Hall in Peninsula. The GAR Hall was constructed during the Civil War, and as it houses many artifacts from the era, it retains all of its historic charm. It's an intimate little hall that was packed with people--most of whom had seen the band before. Holly and I had no idea what we were in for. A Scottish band, Talisk, opened for them and blew the lid off the old hall. Then We Banjo 3 absolutely blew us away with their talent, passion, storytelling, and kindness. We left that night (in a snow storm) committed to We Banjo 3 for life.

At that concert, they played a couple new songs from the album they went on to release in the summer of 2018. Songs about depression and hope and family and love. Songs that stuck with me for a long time. And when that album dropped, I played it on a loop for weeks. My kids know the words to every song, and I'm good with that. The messages on the Haven album are everything I need to hear and want my kids to internalize. I don't think I've ever heard an album as honest and hopeful as this one. It's a curious blend in this modern age of cynicism and, well, ugly. But it's what we so desperately need. Honest words that life isn't always easy and mental health is a messy business sometimes, yet tempered with the insistent message of hope and light. I've talked before about my obsession with light. At least four songs on Haven talk about light. No wonder this is my jam.

Mental health is a hard thing to talk about. At the risk of this backfiring on me....I've wrestled with depression off and on for over a decade. Probably closer to two decades, though it it wasn't diagnosed until 2008. After my son was born in 2012, I experienced post partum depression which made me afraid that someone was going to take him away from me if I made a mistake, and that anyone but me would be better at raising him. It took about six or eight weeks for that to pass. When my daughter was born in 2016, PPD actually presented as anxiety. I'd never experienced anxiety like that before. I couldn't explain how I felt to anyone. I just knew I wasn't me, and I wasn't right. And talking about it felt impossibly hard at times. This took six to eight months before I got my feet under me again. Over the years, I've endured some dark days and nights that keep me ever yearning for the light. 

The hard things are the things we need to talk about. Or write music about. Or write novels about. My Sayen Falls Series features many characters wrestling with mental health issues for a wide variety of reasons. Most notably are my main characters; Blythe Elwood who is prone to depression and Gracen Hall who battles anxiety daily. As the story progresses into future books, I'll explore other facets of mental health like trauma and PTSD. But there will always be a thread of light and hope to follow. I want to be brave enough to write about the hard things--to write boldly about hard things as Hemingway instructed--and also brave enough to claw for the light.

The first time I listened to the Haven album in its entirety, I was almost in shock. My characters could've written these songs. 'War of Love' is Jesse Beckwith in a three-minute-and-twenty-nine-second song. I mean, it's eerie. And 'Pack It Up' could easily be played by Silas Elwood at an open-mic at The Yellow Bowl. The title song 'Haven' is so fitting for Blythe and for Gracen that I'm starting to wonder if the banjo boys hacked my laptop.

"Lay down your weapons, lay down with me. We will stare at the stars and think what life could be. Island of memories we'll leave them where they lie. Can we make the choice for love and joy? The moon lights a path we can travel down. River runs wild with what has gone before. Cast aside for new and more and more and more and more and more and more. Let me be your haven. Let me be your light. Sail with me across the ocean deep. And find a place for love and joy."

I was supposed to attend the We Banjo 3 concert in Peninsula this past weekend. Then we had a medical emergency. Everything planned was immediately canceled and I shifted all my attention to my husband.

Holly still went to the concert. She sent me some pictures, and told me that Martin compared Peninsula to Narnia or Hogwarts because no one has ever heard of it and you can't find it unless you know about it. I mean, he's not wrong. In fact, I think he's spot-on. 

Then, after the show she sought out David. She told him how our plans were derailed and my husband was in the hospital. The next thing I knew I was on the phone with him. It wasn't riveting conversation on my end because I was rather astonished. (I gave the play by play to my husband and he said it sounded like when he'd call girls in 7th grade. Again, he's not wrong. Pretty spot-on). 

And yet that brief conversation carried the light. Kindness always carries the light, and often small actions can carry more than we'd ever expect. This perhaps is the underlying message in Haven, and it is without a doubt an underlying message of Sayen Falls.

My family has been blessed with so many acts of kindness over the last few days. Our family and friends have been invaluable. I told my mom that I can tell so many people are praying because I can practically see it dripping down the walls. We are saturated in love right now. Even a wee bit of banjo love. And we're all back home under one roof! As I write this, everyone is sleeping soundly except me. As usual and as it should be. I'm heading off to dreamland soon myself. I will likely dream of kindness because I'm just so in awe of the Lord's mercies and the actions of kind souls. 

If We Banjo 3 plays a show anywhere even remotely near you--go. Even if you think celtgrass is not your thing. It will become your thing. It will be fun and entertaining, and it will be hopeful. And if you get to talk to the boys, they will be friendly and kind. And if you can manage to not be tongue-tied like me, they'll even listen to your stories.

And if you can't get to a show, download the album, grab a couple friends, and share your stories. Build community, find your tribe, make connections. As the boys in the band say, "we all need more kindness in this world....we all need more banjos in this world." And trust me, when something comes up and knocks your feet out from under you, having a real community to catch your fall is priceless.