I Just Want to Speak Life

I question my motives in everything I do. It’s practically an addiction for me. I wonder why I even bother writing these blog entries. I’ve managed to thoroughly surprise myself by keeping them coming fairly consistently for two and a half months now. I’d thought it might last for no more than two entries, but this one would be number ten. Yeah, in the grand scheme of things, that’s not much, but it’s more than I might have expected.

But why am I doing it? Why have I persisted in this probably pointless effort? Do I do it because I just need an outlet for my thoughts? Am I hoping someone will read it and give me a nice pat on the back and tell me I’m a good writer? Am I trying to send a message to my future self, that someday I will be reminded of what God has done in me? Am I genuinely merely passing along what God is saying to and working in me so that someone else can read it and be blessed and encouraged? Am I trying to make myself think that anyone even cares what I have to say?

These questions careen through my skull like ping pong balls in a lottery machine. And it’s the same for so many relationships in my life. Do I befriend a certain person because I actually have interest in that person, or is it just because they are attractive to me and I like being near that? Do I hang out with someone because I value their friendship, or because they have skills or connections of which I wish to take advantage? Do I help out with church fundraisers because I genuinely want to offer whatever I can to the community I love, or because it’s fun or it involves traveling to new places or it might score me brownie points with God?

The truth is, it’s probably pretty much a combination of motives, both the good and the bad, the altruistic and the selfish.

I often wonder why it is that I want to make music, and do it full time someday. I attended a college full of aspiring musicians, and I live in Nashville, where music dreams come to die. This city is one big glitzy elephant graveyard. And with all the massively talented musicians that are in Nashville getting their hopes squished, how could I have the chutzpah to think I can dream any bigger? I’m not nearly so talented as they are. I think of a quote from a favorite movie of mine, called Camp. A character named Ellen states, “When I was eight years old I told my dad that I wanted to take an acting class. He said, ‘There are five billion people in this world. If one-tenth of 1% of them wanted to be actors, that would still be five million people. Do you really think you're prettier than five million people? You're not even the prettiest girl in your class.’” This is how I feel when I look around at all the talent in this city. Heck, I can attend a church service at the Anchor, and I wouldn’t even be the most talented musician in the row of chairs I sit in. Who am I to think I deserve a chance at my dreams?

All I know is, when I was a teenager I could just pull on my headphones and escape from the bullcrap around me. The voice in my ear would comfort me or commiserate with me. The guitars and drums and orchestras would latch hold of me and transport me to new places where all would be made well. And I realized that I wanted to do the same for others. I wanted to be the voice in the ear of a lonely teenager somewhere down the road who just needed someone to tell them that it would all be all right, and that they were not alone.

As I grew and matured, so did my tastes in music. So, too, did the focus of my songs, as they became more a means of expressing myself and the constant clashing of worlds that I experienced in college, as I bounced back and forth between the prison that was my home life and the relative happiness that was school in Illinois.

I graduated, and again my songs shifted focus. Life in Florida was now safely far behind me as I set up permanent residence in Nashville. But I found myself stuck in a hateful job, finding little motivation to work on music. So my songs were about doubt and disappointment and the occasional gasp of hope. Again, the motive for making music was for self-expression; I needed to air out my frustrations with God.

Over the last year-and-a-half, however, I’ve started to come to some peace with God, and I’ve become much more surrendered to Him. My songs have taken a more optimistic and hopeful turn, expressing the longing of a soul to find its place in God.

But self-expression is a purely selfish motive for making music. Sure, it can resonate with others who feel the same. But ultimately it wouldn’t matter if it ever got recorded or performed; if catharsis is the goal, then no one else really needs to become involved. So why is it that the only two times in my life that I’ve felt truly whole as a person were the two times I got to get on stage with a full band and just rock out for a crowd? Surely if self-expression were the only motive, this would not feel any different than sitting in my bedroom playing the same songs on my battered acoustic guitar.

I have an intense adoration for the band U2. Anyone who’s known me for more than an hour probably knows this. There’s something about their music that touches a place deep inside of me that otherwise only God can reach. I could spend all day watching their live DVDs with the volume cranked as loud as the speakers and neighbors will allow; somehow the electricity of the crowd and the performance carries through the TV screen to me personally. I have felt the same way at times during live concerts of other favorites, like Muse and the Killers at Mississippi Nights in St. Louis, or Sigur Ros at the Ryman Auditorium, or even Mavis Staples at Bonnaroo 2007. When I am attending an incredible concert by an artist I love—one that connects with the crowd in an almost mystical way—I feel like I am a part of something greater than all this. Not only do I feel like I am not alone in this world, I also feel the presence of God in the unified crowd and the pounding music. I feel just for that short time like all is well with the world and God is ultimately in control and in love with me—regardless of the lyrical content of the artist on stage.

It was only extremely recently that I made the connection between this feeling and whatever it is that others seem to experience during worship in church. For someone who lives and breathes music, I’ve got this huge disconnect when it comes to worship music. Even at the Anchor Fellowship, where the music is always topnotch and honest and beautiful, I can never seem to experience that euphoria I see in all those around me. But I now have a frame of reference to understand it. I see U2 the same way others see worship music; similarly, I have viewed some worship leaders the same way others have viewed Bono—as a preening egomaniac waving his arms around for attention.

I understand now that my greatest motive for desiring to make music is that others might experience worship. But not in the traditional sense. I know full well that it would be fully hypocritical of me to attempt to write traditional worship songs and play them every week in church. Rather I want to bring that same feeling to a crowd of people that I feel whenever I’m at a great show; it’s the same feeling I imagine is felt by worshipers in church. It’s that feeling that I am just one little part in this great amazing world that God has created, and that He is here with us all.

We’re all called to be worshipers. That’s just a part of our identity as Christians. That’s what we humans were created to be. I feel like I’ve been given this particular talent, and that I need to use it for God’s glory. But not within the framework of a church service. When I watch Bono up on that stage, I feel like he’s leading worship with a crowd that is mostly non-Christian. Still, though, I sense the Spirit of God in that place, ministering joy and comfort and peace and hope to everyone there. That’s just the “magic” that is in music inherently. To me, music is one of God’s greatest creations, and it’s something He inhabits through its very existence. Heaven itself is notoriously overflowing with the most beautiful music any human ear will ever or never hear.

So why do I want to make music? Is it because I just want to be rich and famous and live in a spotlight? Hardly. Anyone who knows me can confirm that I don’t like being the center of attention. I also know that anything good that comes through my music is entirely of God, because I’m overly aware that I can do nothing of value by myself. And I don’t need things. Any money I’d make beyond what I need I’d rather give to someone who is struggling; why should I own multiple cars and a mansion when so many people are buried in debt, and so many ministries and charities are struggling to stay afloat? Millions of people around the world are dying of malnutrition! What right would I have to ignore that and instead purchase a yacht? And fame would just come with more headaches than it’s worth.

Do I make music to express myself? Of course. Anyone who makes honest music does this. Music has immensely cathartic properties. But it’s more than about self-expression.

It’s about God-expression. It’s about telling others what He’s done for me. It’s giving Him honor. It’s making use of the talents He’s given me. It’s about leading others into a place of experiencing God. And it doesn’t have to be lyrically blatant. Bono’s lyrics are veiled expressions of his “lifelong argument with [his] maker,” as he put it. Matthew Bellamy’s lyrics are sometimes directly anti-God. And Jonsi of Sigur Ros sings in Icelandic, and sometimes nonsense syllables; I have no idea what he’s trying to express in his lyrics. But all these bands take me to a place of experiencing God’s presence. And I want to do the same for others. I want to let them know that they are not alone. I want them to receive hope and encouragement. I want them to feel the breath of God’s Spirit. And maybe somehow through it all God can speak to them specifically and personally, even if I never use the words “God” or “Jesus” anywhere in the songs. I just want to speak life into the listener, whoever and wherever he or she might be.

Believers in the Hands of a Loving God

I know you’ve heard it ad nauseum. But let me quote it once again. John 3:16 states, “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.” Anyone who has grown up in the church has been able to spew it out mindlessly since he was old enough to string a sentence that long together. Its popularity is understandable, of course; it is perhaps the most succinct statement of the gospel in the entire Bible.

This verse, however, made me feel disconnected from faith when I was young. I couldn’t understand how God loved me personally. Yeah, I believed that I was lumped into the “whosoever,” but only by the default nature of the word. I believed in theory that God loved me, but only because He had proclaimed His love for everyone. It’s like hearing about a party with an open invite. Sure, in theory you’re invited, but that doesn’t mean that the one throwing the party actually wants or expects you to be there.

I’ve spent most of my life believing that God loved me only in theory, that He loved me only because He’d so rashly proclaimed “whosoever” long before I’d ever been born. It’s just been very recently that I’ve started to accept that maybe He loves me specifically, and intentionally.

But how do I know this? I recently had a conversation with a friend who has been feeling the same way I had been for so long. The worship band had been playing “How He Loves,” with that epic refrain of “He loves us, oh how He loves us,” and he felt completely disconnected from the emotions expressed by the people around him. I tried to encourage him, to tell him I had felt much the same in the past but things had changed. But I couldn’t explain the process. I couldn’t look back and give tangible and useful evidence of the change. There is no twelve-step program for accepting and recognizing God’s intimate love for us. It was just a miracle that God had worked in my life, and I felt helpless in knowing all I could do was to recommend hanging on and waiting for God. I know from my own experience how hollow that sounds to someone in that place.

What changed in me? How is it that I’ve dared to believe that maybe God really does love me in a personal way? The truth is, I had always been hoping for some kind of transcendent moment where God might float down on a big cloud and proclaim in a Morgan Freeman voice that He really does love me, and that all my dreams will come true; I would feel all tingly and ecstatic and want to start dancing in the aisles during church. But I’m sure that even the most surefooted Christians, the ones most secure in their relationship with God, would say that those moments where they feel the direct contact of the Creator are few and far between. There are few who can genuinely say that God has spoken to them audibly, or who can claim to have seen angels, or who have felt the physical touch of invisible hands and arms. And these occurrences are rare even for them.

In my own life I cannot claim any experiences of this nature. The closest I’ve come is a dream I had maybe a month ago, and it’s the only dream I’ve ever had that I can even remember. It started out as a standard dream, where various unrelated points of my past and present life intersected in typically bizarre ways; what details I can recall of this part were related to memories that have contributed to my sense of low self-worth. Then I remember distinctly being surrounded by friends (their faces were not visible, but I knew deep in my heart that they were genuine friends), and they presented me with a jacket. And just looking at it I knew that it would fit me perfectly, and be warm and comfortable and cozy. And all over the lining inside the jacket were scrawled messages of Truth. Like the people around me, the messages were indistinguishable, but I just knew in the most profound way that they were words of Truth about who I was, and how much they cared about me, and how valuable I was. I turned out the inner pockets in the coat, and even there I found Truth written in the shimmery, silken lining. I began to weep, and at that point I woke up to find myself weeping in reality as well.

I can also remember an occasion or two in which I was heavily overcome with a sense of the Spirit while reading Scripture. One such event happened at Bonnaroo, of all places, as I read through Isaiah one morning after the sun had risen too high for me to sleep in the tent, and it’s a moment that I referenced in the lyrics of a song I’ve written and recorded called “First Light.”

But these things are very subjective and personal to me, and of little value recounted to another. So how can I relay to someone that God really does love them personally and intimately? The words “God loves you” ring empty in a scientific and technological society that relies so heavily on the question “Why?”

Let me try approaching this from a different angle.

Evangelism is a major part of the Christian faith. We are called to spread the gospel to unbelievers, and the afore-mentioned John 3:16 is a popular quote in this endeavor. If it were possible to simplify evangelism into two styles, or categories, I would say that there are those that evangelize through the use of words and those that do so through the use of actions. Certainly there is a place for both approaches, but most Christians would tend to lean one way or the other.

Mere words are not enough in this society, though. In 1741, Jonathan Edwards preached the infamous “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God,” and masses of people were converted. In more recent times, Billy Graham packed out stadiums with his preaching. But modern society has seen an overload of opinions, thanks to the internet and the constant exposure to mass media. Anyone can spout any kind of opinion anywhere, and this makes people jaded to words alone. Maybe passing out tracts in a train station was a viable means of evangelism in the past, but not anymore.

Our society increasingly needs the evangelism of actions. Kids who are growing up in shattered homes, and surrounded by constant stimulus and chatter, are likely only to listen to those who show them genuine love in tangible ways. Words require actions to gain anyone’s attention, and love—genuine, unforced love—is certainly the sort of action that can see positive results.

All that to say, we know that God has called us to be His hands and feet. It’s a cliché already, and Audio Adrenaline copped it for a cheesy youth group anthem. But that doesn’t mean it’s not true and viable. And so that is the more common form of effectual evangelism in our society. We feed the poor, we donate to charities, and we pitch in to help a neighbor who has fallen upon disaster.

Unfortunately, the idea of us being God’s hands and feet has generally been typecast as evangelism, as only being a means of saving souls. But God has called us to be His hands and feet to our fellow believers as well. I’ve heard the words “God loves you” all my life, but in the absence of tangible signs directly from God Himself, it only began to sink into me that God loved me when His followers became His hands and feet to me. And it obviously wasn’t intended as proselytizing; I was already “in the fold,” so why bother? No, they loved me and cared for me genuinely, and this was God’s love becoming tangible in my life.

I think about when Ryan Rado took time out of his day to pick me up where I was stranded by the side of the road and help me pump up the flat tire after I’d succeeded in accidentally letting all the air out. I think about another flat tire, when Aaron Holden picked me up at nearly midnight to give me a ride home, and then Ryan Stubbs came to my house early the next morning and drove me around town while I got the tire situation worked out. I think about all the times Brady Lane has worked his magic underneath the hood of my car. Wow. God has shown His love to me so many times through my piece-of-crap car. It kind of makes the headaches and the wasted money worth it, in a skewed sort of way.

I think about the year my birthday fell on poker night at the Stumps’, and Jamie and the others took the time to bake a cake as a surprise for me. I think about the times I’ve been completely broke, and friends gave me food or had me over for dinner. I think about all the conversations I had with friends like Chris Hayzlett and Kevin Bender, who were gracious enough to put up with my constant complaining and confusion and generally exasperating ramblings in self-loathing. I think about all the friends who have taken time out of their extremely busy schedules to indulge my desire to play music live, or to record it better.

I could go on and on with occasions where God showed His tangible love to me through His hands and feet on earth. I had just failed to recognize it all as such until now. I had only understood the concept of God’s love personified in His followers as a form of evangelism. I had never extended it to the way we Christians interact with each other. I know God loves me personally and intimately because He has placed these wonderful people in my life who love me personally and intimately even though they really don’t have to. They’ve never proclaimed any sort of “whosoever.” They’ve gone far above and beyond what would be considered basic human goodwill.

Yes, on occasion God will choose to interact with His people directly. But it is a rare thing. His day-to-day expression of His intimate, personal love for us is through the amazing people He puts in our lives. Of course, people are flawed conduits of God’s love, and often we fail. A person who is intensely lonely and who has been hurt and abandoned by those around them is not unloved of God. He is only surrounded by broken hands and broken feet. Fortunately, God is also the Great Physician, but that’s another thought for another time….

Oh let me walk the midnight skies

Oh let me walk the midnight skies

Where stars and aching hearts collide.

Love let the lonely lift their eyes

This time....

For I live in shame, I live in fear

For feeling I am only here

To breathe, to weep, to disappear

In time.

Break my heart with what to yours

Is pressing deep a crown of thorns

(The hands by which it daily forms

Are mine),

That only chords accompany

This voice that sings your melody

That echo virtuosity

Not mine.

And let this be the tie that binds

Faithful yours to hopeless mine:

That all who seek will surely find

In time.