June 30, 2007
1:49 PM:
resonating
"But these places and these faces are getting old / so I'm going home... where your love has always been enough for me."
-Home, Chris Daughtry
"Can circumstances possibly change who I forever am in You?"
-Bring the Rain, MercyMe
"Lord, how am I supposed to apprehend anything / when I'm so big in my eyes?"
-Under the Impression, Charlie Dodrill
"It's okay to be sad."
-my friend Dayna
Music always makes me introspective. Some of it makes me sad, so I have to turn it off. Some of it makes me feel guilty, so I have to turn that off, too. Some of it makes me think long and hard, and it just depends what mood I'm in whether I turn that off or not. Last week, even Jesus-music was making me mad-bad-sad, but I'm doing better this week. Now I'm listening again, and it's interesting when lyrics I've sung a thousand times in the car start sounding different to me.
For instance, yesterday I was driving home from my brother's and listening to Lincoln Brewster. He has this song called "Love the Lord," and the lyrics are, simply, I will love you Lord / with all my heart / with all my soul / with all my mind / with all my strength. Over and over. And I was driving along and singing those words and suddenly I scrunched up my brow and thought, what am I singing? This isn't the truth. If I really, truly loved God with everything, if I gave him everything, then I wouldn't be depressed when I lose. I wouldn't be upset when I don't get my way. If I gave him everything, then I would just throw my arms up and say "OK then! Whatever you say, Lord!" I wouldn't hang on. I wouldn't look for ways to drag out my pain. I would want to let go of this thing that God obviously didn't intend for me. But I suck at that. I'm not any good at letting go. What does it take to truly give God all your heart, soul, mind, and strength? I've sung those words so many times in my life--hymns, campfire songs, worship music... and I always thought I really meant it. Now I'm not sure. I want to love him that way, but I'm not sure I really know how. Maybe I used to know and I forgot. But I'm not sure.
The last thing I quoted up there was something a friend told me. Since my struggle started, so many friends have had so many wise things to say. So many have listened and sympathized and tried to help. But it was this tiny little thing that made the biggest difference. I was in the middle of a sob session and Dayna was giving me the mother treatment--digging out tissues, holding me, and doing the hair stroke. But she didn't try to tell me it was going to be okay. She didn't say "there's someone perfect out there for you, Shannon!" She didn't say he wasn't good enough anyway. She simply said, "It's okay to be sad."
Wow. It sounds so simple now but it was revolutionary to me in that moment and in the days since she said it. I had been trying so hard to not allow myself to be sad. I was so afraid of the pain that I pushed everything out of my mind. Instead of letting myself be sad, I tried to ignore things and go back to my life and I ended up sliding into a pretty ugly funk. When I realized it was okay to be sad, I finally felt like I could talk to God again. This has been an interesting lesson for me, control-freak poster child.
In unrelated news, happy birthday Jill! Happy birthday, Anne! Happy birthday, Chris! It was apparently a good day to be born.
-Home, Chris Daughtry
"Can circumstances possibly change who I forever am in You?"
-Bring the Rain, MercyMe
"Lord, how am I supposed to apprehend anything / when I'm so big in my eyes?"
-Under the Impression, Charlie Dodrill
"It's okay to be sad."
-my friend Dayna
Music always makes me introspective. Some of it makes me sad, so I have to turn it off. Some of it makes me feel guilty, so I have to turn that off, too. Some of it makes me think long and hard, and it just depends what mood I'm in whether I turn that off or not. Last week, even Jesus-music was making me mad-bad-sad, but I'm doing better this week. Now I'm listening again, and it's interesting when lyrics I've sung a thousand times in the car start sounding different to me.
For instance, yesterday I was driving home from my brother's and listening to Lincoln Brewster. He has this song called "Love the Lord," and the lyrics are, simply, I will love you Lord / with all my heart / with all my soul / with all my mind / with all my strength. Over and over. And I was driving along and singing those words and suddenly I scrunched up my brow and thought, what am I singing? This isn't the truth. If I really, truly loved God with everything, if I gave him everything, then I wouldn't be depressed when I lose. I wouldn't be upset when I don't get my way. If I gave him everything, then I would just throw my arms up and say "OK then! Whatever you say, Lord!" I wouldn't hang on. I wouldn't look for ways to drag out my pain. I would want to let go of this thing that God obviously didn't intend for me. But I suck at that. I'm not any good at letting go. What does it take to truly give God all your heart, soul, mind, and strength? I've sung those words so many times in my life--hymns, campfire songs, worship music... and I always thought I really meant it. Now I'm not sure. I want to love him that way, but I'm not sure I really know how. Maybe I used to know and I forgot. But I'm not sure.
The last thing I quoted up there was something a friend told me. Since my struggle started, so many friends have had so many wise things to say. So many have listened and sympathized and tried to help. But it was this tiny little thing that made the biggest difference. I was in the middle of a sob session and Dayna was giving me the mother treatment--digging out tissues, holding me, and doing the hair stroke. But she didn't try to tell me it was going to be okay. She didn't say "there's someone perfect out there for you, Shannon!" She didn't say he wasn't good enough anyway. She simply said, "It's okay to be sad."
Wow. It sounds so simple now but it was revolutionary to me in that moment and in the days since she said it. I had been trying so hard to not allow myself to be sad. I was so afraid of the pain that I pushed everything out of my mind. Instead of letting myself be sad, I tried to ignore things and go back to my life and I ended up sliding into a pretty ugly funk. When I realized it was okay to be sad, I finally felt like I could talk to God again. This has been an interesting lesson for me, control-freak poster child.
In unrelated news, happy birthday Jill! Happy birthday, Anne! Happy birthday, Chris! It was apparently a good day to be born.
Jerrod Here,
No Conference for us this year.