Because September is Classical Music Month, I’ve decided to make more of a dedicated effort to include it in my days throughout this month. Classical music is one of those life-giving gifts that I find can be neglected far too often. It has numerous benefits for our well-being, and beyond that, it is a beautiful creative reflection of the beauty of God as Creator.
The Baroque period is my favorite, and because so much of the music from this era was specifically written for the church, it seems perfect to make it a Sunday companion.
I hope this music will give you a space to sit back, breathe deeply and rest.
At the age of 26, I was up to my neck in life. A husband employed in full-time ministry, three little girls – one learning to read, one learning to behave, and one learning to sleep – and a tired mind that had daily internet access for the first time. I was learning the hard way about all the negative impacts that endless information and never-ending stories could have on a sensitive heart, as well as trying to savor the life of my dreams while feeling like it might be draining the life out of me.
It was a time when music was a happy retreat, and there entered Switchfoot’s 2006 album Oh! Gravity.
The songs that got my attention the most at the time were Oh! Gravity, and Awakening. These two songs went on repeat every time we entered the car, and will forever remind me of tiny little sandaled feet bouncing against the bases of car seats as small souls immersed themselves in the thrill of music. The upbeat music lifted and carried me, forming happy memories for me and my daughters that will always make us smile.
These days I find myself drawn into the heady lyrics of some of the other songs on the album.
Faust, Midas and Myself is an intriguing contemplation of life. I was first exposed to the legend of Faust in high school, and the tragedy of it has both fascinated and haunted me ever since. The myth of Midas has a similar affect on me. This song that enters into those two stories and brings them to touch on real life always reminds me of how easy it is to seek fulfillment in all the wrong places, and to miss the gift of what’s right in front of us.
My heart beat once or twice, and life flooded my veins Everything had changed My lungs had found their voice And what was once routine was now the perfect joy
Another song that captures my thoughts is Let Your Love Be Strong.
When my world explodes When my stars touch the ground Falling down like broken satellites
Let your love be strong and I don’t care what goes down Let your love be strong enough to weather through the thundercloud Fury and thunder clap like stealing the fire from your eyes All of my world hanging on your love
Last year my world was hit with an explosion that shattered it in a million pieces. In that place of having no control and life feeling like the endless, thundering crack of violent lightning, there was nothing to do but surrender. Nothing but “all of my world hanging on your love”.
As the pieces seem to be slowly coming back together, I find myself wondering if I will ever experience that utter and complete surrender again.
Leading up to, during, and after that time of breaking I lived with a sense of not knowing which way was up. Where is home? Where do I belong? Is there anywhere that everything is okay?
As I’m slowly finding the answers to these questions in a temporal, tangible, imperfect way, I’m also finding the words from this last song to be unshakably true.
In this life you’re the one place I call home In this life you’re the feeling I belong In this life you’re the flower and the thorn You’re everything that’s fair in love and war
All lyrics are in italics and written by Jonathan Foreman & Tim Foreman
These words caught my attention several days ago, when I heard them for the first time. As the lines trickled into my thoughts, I was a child again, and then my entire existence since childhood came into view. What stirred me the most though was the reminder of the stance I’ve tried to choose in life. Fighting in the light, for the light, even in the times when darkness shrouds everything.
Sarah Clarkson, a writer who has spoken endlessly to my own heart, shared recently about her thoughts on fear and innocence. As I read her words contrasting the two, I realized how much the light I’ve always fought for is encapsulated in innocence as she described it: a trust in the love that holds us.
God – love itself – holds us.
Lately I’ve been in an ongoing battle between trusting that love and wanting to guard myself against it. When darkness gets loud enough and brutal enough, it can be hard to believe this perfect love can actually be trusted. And if it can’t, then… what? What’s left? Certainly not that restful innocence and life-giving light I’ve been fighting for.
In her remarkable book, This Beautiful Truth, Sarah Clarkson proposes an antidote to the disintegration the pain of life can tempt us towards:
“…in the glimpses of beauty that come to us in our darkness, we witness not just the kindness of God but the nature of reality, and it is lovely.”
-This Beautiful Truth
God’s goodness, who He is – the perfection of love, is on display in a million different ways. Even if the beauty He touches us with only breaks through the darkness we endure in little speckles, or for fleeting seconds, it is there. It is our reminder of the truest of truth.
Why is it so hard to reside in that truth?
“Isn’t it easier for us to believe that we are cursed than that we are blessed?” asks Henri Nouwen in his book Life of the Beloved. I would answer a resounding yes. It is easier to see all my pain than to look at my grand gift of being beloved by God.
My new favorite novel (because it’s the one I’ve most recently finished), speaks to this as well:
“Life’s not this little bit of existence you’re plodding through now, it’s the whole thing, all that is. It’s the breath of God, words that he spoke, a song, a stream of white light that goes back to him again.
I’m realizing that this battle to live in the light, is a battle against my own self; a battle against dwelling in reality. It is easier to believe all of the pain and all of the darkness because, ultimately, doing so feeds my own pride. If I only give weight to the ugliness of life, then I can live avenged for all my suffering. Or so it seems.
Really though, what I often feel is all-encompassing reality is only a piece of it. And I am not living freed of my suffering; I’m living submerged in it.
The light -filled freedom I long for is in my rightful dwelling place in that Perfect Love; a love so grand that even when I am distrustfully guarding myself, I am still being held by it.
That is why every time I am moved by a glimpse of the beautiful, I can trust He knows that my tender heart is crying out for Him. And when those moments come, I can freely revel in them; because they are a gracious taste of the dwelling place I was made for.
