Guest Post

"Heaven, such as it is, is right here on earth. Behold: my revelation: I stand at the door in the morning, and lo, there is a newspaper, in sight like unto an emerald. And holy, holy, holy is the coffee, which was, and is, and is to come. And hark, I hear the voice of an angel round about the radio, saying, "Since my baby left me I found a new place to dwell." And lo, after this I beheld a great multitude, which no man could number, of shoes. And after these things I will hasten unto a taxicab and to a theater, where a ticken will be given unto me, and lo, it will be a matinee, and a film that doeth great wonders. And when it is finished, the heavens will open, and out will cometh a rain fragrant as myrrh, and yea, I will have an umbrella." -Sarah Vowell, from Take the Cannoli

Idle Worship

I went to my 14th Indigo Girls concert last night. It might have been my 15th, but I'm fairly sure it is 14. I'm beginning to lose count, which is a sign of familiarity to the event, a familiarity I welcome gladly. This is the third year that my boss Anna and I have gone as a birthday present to me. I met Anna in the middle of P-vegas and we drove in my little Roo out to Tysons for some delicious Thai food at Bandaras. Their curried peanut sauce is like the second tier of heaven.
About a quarter of the way through the set the Indigo Girls went from "Kid Fears" into "The Wood Song" and I could feel the joy and release and fearlessness that comes from their shows and I had an urge to close my eyes, sing with my whole self and raise my hands. I was struck how close this is to how some people worship.
When I am in church, I cannot get into the worship. I can sing along, but I am so caught up in the things around me, in the people around me, in the bulletin, in the whatever that I cannot stay focused enough to pour myself into the music. This is a source of great frustration. At the show I was thinking about the difference between my inability to worship in church and my ease at immersion in this music and where the distinction lies. This was my basic list:
(1) familiarity. I know all the words to all the Indigo Girls songs, and it's not a concern to know the rhyme or melody or lyric, because it is so ingrained. I'm not constantly looking for the next line; I am the next line.
(2) memory. Their songs are the soundtrack to much of my life. There are moments, emotions and promises that are frozen in the lines of their songs, and those are released with each performance.
(3) identity. I can relate to their songs. Maybe not every one, but I understand them, can feel with them, can apply them in my life. They speak to me and through me.
And the Indigo Girls are indicative of countless other songs and/or bands for which these basic differences hold true. Most worship songs hold none of these for me. I want them to, but the lines and lyrics are foreign, or sung so differently, or are so disconnected from my life that they are just words and music, not a lifeblood like music should be. What do I do about this? I do not want to worship idols, but I do not want to worship idly. I want to sing with a purpose, but I want the words and the music to have a life of their own, not some stagnant, B-grade, cliche turn of phrase like so many worship songs as of late.
How can familiarity, memory and identity combine to create the worship experience as it was meant to be? It is called the joy of proclamation for a purpose; where is the joy?
"Tune my heart to sing thy grace..."

Crying of the Frogs

My back deck saves the best of me. I look at that small wooden structure--nothing architecturally inspiring to be sure--and some of the best moments of my life come back to me. Conversations deep in heart and mind, laughter that was easy and fluid, honesty that was refreshing and loving; I see it in the old 2x4s, in the wax spilled on the boards, the worn teak rocker and the heavy Adirondack chairs. I remember the night Caroline and I stayed up til dawn talking, the time I taught Francie to fly fish off it's side, the nights with Seth in deep convos and cigars, the night Carey coined a rather inappropriate name for it, more July 4ths than I can remember. I sit out there and watch the sunset in all four seasons, tracking the sun across the Blue Ridge skyline, north to south as the axis spins. Spring peepers to fireworks to geese to snowflakes and bonfires. The deck makes the passage of time less painful and more fluid; breaks it into seasons and moments, rather than this rather large and looming bouncer before me. It got me thinking about time, change, and the simplicity of it. Every little thing is simply steps I guess. I wonder when that moment is when someone goes from friend to best friend and, if it happens, best friend back to friend. Was there a specific day when I said, "X is my best friend" and the next day I said, "X was my best friend"? Does a day change is to was? If not, what does? Relationships are not switches or knobs, to be turned at the whim of the controller. They affect and are affected, they change, they bloom, they whither. They are beautiful, mournful, priceless in their time, bittersweet in memory, comforting in familiarity.
"I am waylaid by Beauty. Who will walk
Between me and the crying of the frogs?" -E.St.V.M*
The back deck answers the questions that I cannot begin to ask myself.

*Portion of "Assault" by Edna St. Vincent Millay. From Second April. 1921.

Today

The AC in my house decided this was the perfect time to break, so the inside temperature at 6pm yesterday was 88 degrees.
Basically, it's too hot to write.
Ugh.
Yesterday was June 6th. These past few years it's been a tough day: June 6, 2001 Anna's father killed himself. June 6, 2002 Jeff died. June 6, 2004 I had my cancer scare. I woke up yesterday morning waiting for the sky to fall. Are there dates that are just unlucky? The April 19ths (Waco, Lexington and Concord, Oklahoma City Bombing; Columbine was the next day), September 11ths, December 7ths of the world; a date with a stigma about it? I do not like the idea of greeting a day with jitters, but I found myself doing it yesterday, seeking out some peace in the present tense.
Today I do a walk-through of Maskey's townhouse, where I hope to be moving in a month.
I am moving on.

Four of a Kind is a Full House

The four sisters! Sunday night we had a sort of spontaneous sister campout (with three kids under the age of 4 and two dogs); this was Monday morning. Katie is 11, then from L to R: Me (24), Amanda (26), and Carolyn (32). It was the first time we'd been together since Christmas of 1999.