Divine Imperfections

Music Memory: Church Music

Every church has one.

The lady that sings just a little too loudly, just a little off-key.

The baby so excited by the music (or just cranky) you can hear his screams over the drums.

The too-hip-for-her-own-good teen that rolls her eyes at the old stuff, the hymns.

The senior adult (or just old-fashioned stickler) that scoffs at anything not written in Old English.

 

Every church is a mix of people as ragamuffin and eclectic as the disciples themselves.

It's no wonder then, in a diverse group like that, everyone doesn't love the music all of the time.

 

And some people get hung up on that, the fact that they don't love the "church music."

Some people let that become a distraction.

 

I have been one of those people, more than I care to admit.

 

But this Sunday we were privileged to share space and time with a group of people we’ve found a lot of common ground with.

And though we were singing songs I was quite unfamiliar with, instead of focusing on learning the lyrics, or surveying the room for any off-pitch singers, I just stood there taking it in.

 

It did my heart good looking around that room, the one filled with faces, some of which I recognized but a lot that I didn't, trusting that in spite of any differences we might have, we were there with one unifying purpose:

 

To love God, and to be encouraged to love on His people.

 

It can be hard work finding common ground with people very different from yourself.

It can be hard to overlook off-pitch, awfully loud singing.

 

But part of the beauty of a community of believers - a church - is that being in the presence of the Most High makes being in the presence of people with different tastes and talents a little easier.

 

In His presence:

It becomes a little easier to look for what we have in common.

It becomes a little easier to overlook insignificant differences. What do they matter anyways? 

It becomes a little easier to appreciate and enjoy the company around us, for the mere fact that means we don't have to go through life alone.

 

 

When you're spending time with a very big, very gracious God, somehow the little stuff doesn’t matter so much.

And that is an incredible thing to be a small part of.

This week I'm praying I might extend that same kind of grace to my neighbors, the strangers I see at the gas station, the people I pay for my groceries and the ones I share a roof with.

I'm going to try harder to find common ground with them, to be quicker to overlook our differences, and to focus on what unites us instead of worrying about what causes division.

 

Church music, like churches, has gotten a pretty bad rep lately (and rightfully so in many cases).

It's considered generic, inauthentic, irrelevant for the times we live in.

 

Christians themselves are often labeled as closed-minded, judgmental and combative, when they should be the most joyful, generous, graceful and welcoming people on this planet.

 

And I can't change what people think about Christians, or maybe even about Christian music.

But I am thankful that God has changed is changing my heart, about church music, about community, about what it means to live for Him, and what His Love really looks like.

 

So much of what I'm learning is just to open my eyes, and my ears and my heart.

And while there's an old "worship" song that says pretty much that, I want to leave you instead with a very rocking song from one of my very favorite bands.

 

Even if it’s not your style, even if you want nothing to do with anything "Christian" if you call yourself a lover of music I think you’ll be amazed.

The sound created and the poetic lyrics inspire me, and I hope they'll do the same for you.

 

  

 

Happy #MusicMonday my friends.

Thank you so much for joining me on this journey.

 

May your day be filled with unfathomable grace, and may that cause you to exude exceptional kindness in your community, wherever that is, whatever that looks like.

Music Memory: The Long Road Home

I did it. I made it back to talk about music again this Monday. Yay!!!

But first, you have to make it through a sappy story 'bout my college days. (Wah wahhh.) Sorry about that.

When I went away to college I thought it’d be a unique time. I figured struggling to make it on my own in a new city with unfamiliar faces would be a one-time occurrence.

It turns out, I was wrong

 

So much of life feels like leaving home for the first time.

Equal parts excitement and terror. Great hope and expectation, but timidity too.

 

Still, I’m glad I didn’t know that at eighteen.

Tricking myself into thinking the sense of discomfort and uncertainty I was feeling - the stuff that comes anytime you set out into unchartered territory - would be fleeting, was one of the greatest things I ever did for myself.

‘Cause it enabled me to stick things out, even through tough patches.

It gave me hope that even if things didn’t get better soon, they would, eventually.

Believing that “starting out feeling” was temporary caused me to make the most of my circumstances, trusting that they would be changing.

 

It took years to realize that I was what would be changing, and that every season of life feels like another start. (For better and worse.)

And I’m thankful.

I'm thankful some lessons take a while, like a lifetime, to learn.

 

 

I have lots of fond memories from that time in my life, that nostalgic era when I was just tiptoeing out on my own, trying to find my way.

And a lot of those memories center around music, as so many good memories do:

 

There was one painfully ungraceful turn around the dance floor with a cute boy I met at a freshman mixer, while Texas country played. And later the time I scarred my elbow singing a bit too enthusiastically, “the party never ends.”

Sophomore year it seemed like such a good idea to learn all the words (and dance steps) to You Don’t Own Me, as performed on First Wive’s Club.   

The following semester I remember a there being a car ride home from San Antonio filled with a hymn sing with my new roommates. What a good time that was.

BackStreet Boys dance parties around our apartment followed, and I bought my first Third Day CD from the bookstore on campus (and decided God’s voice must sound a lot like Mac Powell’s).

 

But the music memory that comes to mind each time I roll down the windows and crank up tunes in the car, is pulling out of my parents’ drive on my way back to school after each break.

My brother and sister still lived at home then. And often my brother would send me off with a CD he’d created of good driving tunes.

 

A lot of the songs were sad, or bittersweet really. They reminded me of home, of him, of the simple and sure life I’d left behind.

But they also somehow echoed with experiences I’d yet to have.

They told stories of love. And loss. Of struggle and success.

 

And listening to them – whether it be songs from the Scrubs’ soundtrack, or a silly rap song Josh was fond of at the time – made me feel a little less alone in the world.

It helped me feel connected, both to the family I was driving away from, and to the fuzzy future I couldn’t quite see.

 

It gave me hope, that the people that meant the most to me would always be near at heart, and that most things would have a way of working themselves out.

Even if I couldn’t see it, even if I could barely make it back to school, both for a faulty sense of direction and often tears clouding my view, I trusted that the long journey would be worth it in the end.

And I always made it back. Safely. Worse for the wear sometimes. But also a bit stronger.

 

Those CD’s, titled in handwritten Sharpie, kept me company on a lonely road. They were ties to home, and promises that someday all the hard work of coming and going would seem worthwhile.

They strengthened my faith that the road would fold out before me, so long as I kept moving the best I could.

And it always did too.

 

The uncertainty. The tears. The struggle.

We all face.

They’re worth it.

 

I say that not as someone whose finally reached her destination, but as someone making peace (daily, sometimes difficultly) with the journey.

It's scary sometimes, navigating that long, dark road, but the journey goes a lot faster with good music. And it goes a lot smoother with good company.

And I'm glad for that.

  

This isn't actually a song that made the Mix CD cut (go figure), but it is a good driving tune. One made for the road.

So happy, safe driving friends.

I'll see you out on the black top.