Oklahoma Land Run Song -- to be sung to one's brother on April 22 each year, preferably with great enthusiasm, suppressed chuckles and lots of ironic vibrato.
It was April 22 In the Spring of '89 There were settlers by the thousand They were gathered on the line And they came from all directions There were wagons by the score To stake a claim out on the plain Is what they waited for To run, run run run Oklahoma run Fifty thousand people Awaiting for the gun For land land land land Oklahoma land They came out here to the wild frontier Across the Cimarron To run.... There were near two thousand acres Not enough to go around If he had no transportation A man's luck soon ran down _______________ And that's all I can remember. Usually I've cracked myself up by now.
His song is layered with unexpected sounds and beauty. It soars. It murmurates.
(Yes, I made that word up.)
For the album premiere last year, he and the Secret Siblings projected a jagged-y video of birds flying through a grey sky.
I've been listening to the album on a soggy, grey December day and savoring the flight of birds against barren trees and a bleak sky. Today, I've replayed the song several times because listening to it seems right for the moment.
The Dawn will indeed break upon us.
**************** I wonder if any of those birds have a mustache.
A prominent theme for me this past year has been freedom. I hadn't anticipated it being a theme. If I were to select one myself, I'd probably choose a character trait needing improvement -- something like patience, peace, compassion. This freedom thing seems to be God's idea.
I first noticed the theme at a retreat in March. A friend read Psalm 63 from Eugene Peterson's The Message translation. These words jumped out to me:
"Because you've always stood up for me, I'm free to run and play."
Upon hearing that line, I knew it was meant for me. I reflected on how carefully I tend to tread through life, trying to step wisely, trying to not make mistakes, trying to be not just above reproach, but above all criticism. This creates a life that is intentional, yes, but one often accompanied by a clenched jaw and a sour stomach. One that doesn't allow much time to run and play.
The retreat was in the Colorado Rockies. I love the mountains. Across the street were hiking paths and foothills, perfect for bouldering, for scrambling around like a kid, for savoring broad panoramic views. During the free time after hearing that verse, I hiked alone, literally running and bounding and playing. (At least until my lungs protested the thin air.)
The view atop one of the boulders.
Later, a friend who'd been sitting high on a boulder told me she had watched me at play. Normally I would have felt highly embarrassed to discover someone was watching. But she expressed such joy at witnessing my playfulness I realized God too had noticed and watched and enjoyed.
Free to run and play.
Because you've always stood up for me...
The rough situation I've experienced these past few weeks makes me want to defend myself. Misunderstanding, misinterpretation, misrepresentation. They all burn deeply. I want to lash out in anger and vindication to protect myself. I want to set the record straight. I want to warn others, or at least to drop little watch-out-this-could-happen-to-you hints.
I've heard God is my defender, but frankly, he seems to have been asleep on the job here. Even a good friend who did step up and strongly defend me was reprimanded, shamed, misunderstood.
That was one of the lowest points for me, for my husband, for some of my friends. The realization that this is actually happening and there's no turning back now. Lines have been drawn. Bridges have been burned. Ultimatums have been issued. Reconciliation, if it occurs at all, will be a long, arduous process.
The next morning, when I checked email, I found a Noisetrade link to the album "Now You're Free" by Matthew Mayfield.
Now you're free. Indeed.
At the time, I smirked. Part of me took it as a message from God. The cynical part of me just took it as interesting timing. A few days later, I actually listened to the song (lyrics here, scroll down on the page).
"Don't let the wave push and pull you away
Now you're free and it sets you apart."
I'm realizing through this song, through the Psalm 63 passage, through countless other recent hints and nudges, that I am free, that God has set me free -- not just in a meta, life-encompassing sense, but in this specific situation. His mercy is sometimes severe, but it is indeed merciful. He is being merciful to me.
When I feel despairing about the situation, I'm trying to focus on the sheer freedom that comes with it. This calms my anxious heart and helps me to trust, sleep, smile. It helps me to imagine a day very soon when I might run and play with more freedom and bounce in my step.
Last night, my daughter said, "Mom, you seem awfully sprightly tonight." My son asked her what that meant and she explained. He looked at me, cocked his head and said, "Yeah, she is looking sprightly." Perhaps it is true.
***********
As I was looking through my Colorado retreat photos to chose one to insert in this post, I discovered one other retreat pic I had forgotten.
An American friend who lives in what used to be Eastern Germany brought the picture. He said it represents a common theme in his life the previous few months. I asked him for a copy because translated into English, this sign says... Freedom.
It's a drippy overcast November day, the kind of weather I love... on occasion. Makes we want to drink tea and munch on toast with Nutella, to wander out in a pea coat, scarf and no umbrella, to scribble furiously in my journal. Reminds me of my semester in Oxford, the richness and adventure of that time. Perhaps that's why this weather feels adventurous to me. My soul is a little bit excited on days like this.
Yesterday was a day of festering conflicts and messy but effective resolutions. All conflicts are not resolved; the big one continues as complicated and muddled as ever. But some small nagging conflicts moved forward yesterday. Hopefully the progress was real.
Yesterday was a day to take down the autumn decorations I love so much and replace them with Christmas decor. The tree is up - thank goodness. This year, Rough and Tumble helped me assemble our imitation tree and line it with white lights. That's my least favorite part. He loved it. I loved his company.
Piles of fall items await their long months of storage. Boxes of Christmas items await placement. And I, the placer and store-er of these garnishes, sit blogging and listening to David Gray.
Usually, I listen to Christmas music while decorating for Christmas. But in the absence of a working CD player and with my iPod not yet loaded with seasonal tunes, I'm left with the usual iPod shuffle, which has lead me to this song (lyrics below the video link):
Flame Turns Blue David Gray
I went looking for someone I left behind Yeah but no-one just a stranger did I find I never noticed hadn't seen it as it grew The void between us where the flame turns blue
Different places yeah but they all look the same Dreams of faces in the streets devoured by names I'm in collision with every stone I ever threw And blind ambition where the flame turns blue
Words dismantled hey and all the books unbound Conversations though we utter not a sound I heard a rumour don't know if it's true That you'd meet me where the flame turns blue
So I venture underneath the leaden sky See the freight train with its one fierce eye And then I listen as it tears the night in two And a whistle and the flame turns blue
In the morning I will sing In the morning I will sing
Through the lemon trees the diamonds of light Break in splinters on the pages where I write That if I lost you I don't know what I'd do Burn forever where the flame tuns blue Yeah if I lost you I don't know what I'd do Burn forever where the flame turns blue
In the morning I will sing....
I love David Gray and actually got to see him in concert this summer. The man can belt out an emotion-laden wail better than anyone in the business. And he writes such deeply insightful lyrics and evocative melodies.
"I'm in collision with every stone I ever threw and blind ambition where the flame turns blue." "Words dismantled and all the books unbound."
What caught my attention in this song today, what made me abandon my decorating to replay the song and sit to listen, was the repeated phrase, "In the morning I will sing."
Possibly it's the weather. Maybe it's that combined with the relief of resolved conflicts. Perhaps it's the six nights straight of good sleep after a rest-less month. But my heart feels a bit lighter, a tiny bit hopeful.
I've experienced this lightness in brief snatches during the past week, times of relief, stretches of deep peace and trust in God. They don't last yet. I know that too. Behind them follow deep dips of discouragement and doubt and hurt. But just as I do not question the dips, I'm trying not to question the lightness. Yes, it seems incongruous, but it's no less real. And when it comes, it's a welcome respite from the times of pain and struggle. I will accept the lightness for the gift it is.
And I will pray with the strength this lightness brings.
***************** Quoted in Celtic Daily Prayer I see your hands, not white and manicured, but scarred and scratched and competent, reach out -- not always to remove the weight I carry, but to shift its balance, ease it, make it bearable. Lord, if this is where You want me, I'm content. No, not quite true. I wish it were. All I can say, in honesty, is this: If this is where I'm meant to be, I'll stay. And try. Just let me feel Your hands. And, Lord, for all who hurt today -- hurt more than me -- I ask for strength and that flicker of light, the warmth, that says You're there. -- Eddie Askew, Many Voices, One Voice
A friend posted this video on Facebook yesterday. I love the song, the raw honesty of Johnny Cash's voice, the layers of meaning and experience.
Today, it is one of those songs I want to play over and over again. It captures the way I feel. Resonates. Even the "You stay the hell away from me. You here?"
It's not where I will land, but it is where I am at the moment.
Somehow, I have learned over time that it is not okay to feel, that I should suppress my negative emotions. I am relearning now how to acknowledge that the feelings exist and to genuinely feel them. It is scary. It takes time. I fear the feelings will spiral out of control.
But I've been here before. I think I'm beginning to trust myself, that though I will sink into the depth of the feelings, I will not wallow. Not for long, at least.
If I could start again, a millions miles away. I would keep myself. I would find a way.
The song stirs up memories too. Young Johnny Cash reminds me of my paternal grandpa, who always scared me a little. My dad is a good dad, especially considering where he came from.
It reminds me too of when I first heard the song almost five years ago. A group of high school dancers performed to it at our church. I was a guest speaker that morning and it was the first time I'd spoken in a few years. The previous time had been at another church and was disastrous. It wasn't poorly executed; it was just too polished. This time around, I was nervous to speak again, wanting to redeem myself, sorting through the hurt of that past "failure."
Our church was in the middle of a series on The Lord's Prayer, and my topic was "Forgive us our sins." I began the sermon quoting some of the song lyrics: "and you could have it all/ my empire of dirt/ I will let you down/ I will make you hurt."
We don't typically think of Nine Inch Nails, the song's original performers, as theologians, but what they've written sounds to me like a deeply honest confession of sin, one I can relate to.
Dallas Willard defines confession of sin as saying to God and perhaps to others, "This is how I really am."
This song is how I really am. I hurt. I cause it. I feel it. Right now, I really feel it.
Interestingly, when I watched the video yesterday, it locked up on the shot of Christ's agonized expression, a crown of thorns on his head. I restarted the video; it stopped there again. The same thing happened a third time. If the video plays normally, the face shot is briefer than a blink. I'm not entirely sure what to make of that, though I have some ideas.
But I will not moralize or guilt myself into good-Christian thoughts. I will allow myself to feel God-created feelings that are good, even in a fallen world. This is not where I will land, but it is where I am at the moment. And moments, regardless of their tone, are worth experiencing and in their own way celebrating.
The gallery's promotional materials included that second painting on the cover, and though I don't make it to the visiting exhibits as often as I'd like, something about that painting compelled me to go.
The peace. Solitude. Fresh bracing air.
Apparently, Ault was stylizing a world of order and calm to contrast the uncertain turbulence of the age. He created an idealized, almost eerie, peace.
Just looking at these Ault creations, I can hear the quiet. A part of my soul relaxes, loosens its white-knuckled grip. I crave that peace, however idealized it may be.
Accompanying the Ault paintings, were works by several of his contemporaries. One artist, Charles Sheeler, was described as a "poet of empty places."
That's it! That's what I love about these paintings, the poetic expression of empty space. And that's what I'm looking for. Empty space. Room to be and to breathe.
This is perhaps why I've become a big Andrew Wyeth fan these past few years. I love the spareness and simplicity of his paintings.
Long Limb
Fence Line, 1976
Turkey Pond, 1944
Even his face was exquisite:
Andrew Wyeth, 1917-2009
Amidst all the clutter and obligations and hurry of my life, I look at Wyeth's work and feel the capacity, the poetry, of empty space.
Surprisingly, I feel a similar poetic feeling as I drive the middle school carpool -- a van-load of chatty, energetic teenagers-- home each day. The route home takes me through broad stretches of countryside. Soybean fields. Cow pastures. Sod farms.
To most, the "beauty" would be easy to overlook. It's scenic, but not that scenic, even for our area. It's just ordinary countryside, with houses and fields and roads where people carry out their everyday lives.
But despite the loquacious exuberance filling my van while I drive (perhaps even because of it), I can savor the space. I can hear the poetry. And my soul drinks deeply and breathes.
**************
One of my favorite albums this past year has been Brandon Flowers' "Flamingo." It's on my list of top ten all-time favorite albums. My favorite song on the album, "Playing with Fire," brings to mind country drives and Andrew Wyeth paintings. In some inexplicable own way, it's a poem of empty spaces for me.
(I suppose I should find it humorous rather than frustrating that this blog placed big empty spaces between the pictures. I did not intend for those big blanks to be there and I cannot seem to correct them. Oh the irony!)
