Vacation with a one year old - we Can't Keep from Singing

 

We just got back from our first vacation with Samuel.  After hauling his pack and play, strollers, toys and highchairs to the beach, I quickly realized that vacation with a small child is not vacation at all, but it's really just a change of scenery.

This may be slightly oversimplifying, but Mandee and I were talking about how life changes are sometimes really just changes of scenery. 

Being the mother of Samuel is a change of scenery on steroids... love, surprise, exhaustion, smiles, frustration, messes... all in massive doses.  But at the end of the day, it’s not just about me and my experience.  It’s whether or not I loved well in my experience... loved my baby, and all the other folks I’ve encountered, which are not exclusive because I cannot love my baby well while being oblivious to the needs around me.  I’m not talking about the sentimental kind of love that’s all warm and sweet, but the kind of love that considers and then follows in action.  I’m not so good at it, but as Krista Tippett says, “Love is not the starting point but the goal.  It is not something we are born knowing how to do, not something we fall into, it is something we spend our whole lives learning.”

So as we’re learning to love, hoping to love well... husbands, baby, music, the earth and all of it’s people, love is the constant and everything else is just a change of scenery.  “Brothers and sisters, let’s love each other, because love comes from God... God is love.  If we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us.”  (from 1 John 4)

The night I found out I was pregnant, I lived in Nashville while Mandee was living in East Tennessee, 4 1/2 hours away.  I called her at 11pm my time, which was midnight her time.  She got off the phone and wrote the song, “Can’t Keep From Singing.” http://listn.to/alathea/player#t=0&pos=0&p=5

Our friend told her little girl that the song is about Samuel, and she said, “I don’t get it, it’s not about a baby.”  Maybe not literally, but it’s about an answer to a prayer that we haven’t thought to pray, and it’s about peace when this new change of scenery is coming, when we don’t have any idea what tomorrow will look like, except that we’ll be in it, trying to make sense of it with our faith and our songs, learning to love in the moment.

Post-Easter

Last Sunday was the Sunday after Easter - and, since I was being drug to church by my boyfriend, I in turn drug Cristi and baby Samuel to church with us.  We had plenty of excuses not to go - and it’s not that we don’t like going to church, it’s that we travel every weekend and work in churches and sometimes on the rare Sunday morning that we have off, we try to catch up on rest - and well, we have been busy, and we are tired.

The minister stood in the pulpit and asked the question that should be, and used to be so easy - when did you see Jesus this Lenten/Easter Season?  For a girl who is a self-proclaimed seeker, finder of Jesus in the unexpected places, I had no answer.  40 days and nothing.  Could it be? 

It all started in the right direction - the first Sunday of Lent, Cristi and I managed to get ourselves to church without any prodding.  The minister spoke of how Lent is an anticipation of all that is going to break through...light through dark, flowers through snow, life through death - these 40 days of Lent, the days we were to live in the anticipation of the promise.  We were so moved that morning, that at the closing hymn - BE STILL MY SOUL - Cristi wept and her teardrops soaked the open hymnal. 

But, since that Sunday, we’ve been busy.  Crisscrossing the midwest and southeast, playing concerts, coming home, unloading the truck, washing dishes, cleaning the house, changing the sheets, setting up the sound system, rehearsing, planning birthday parties, giving the dog his medicine, tuning instruments, changing guitar strings, making coffee, making breakfast, making lunch, cleaning up after lunch, setting the table, holding the baby, singing to the baby, changing diapers, finding teething rings - and fast, sweeping off the porch, writing songs, taking out the trash, recycling, reading books, planning new CD projects, taking the truck to the shop, booking and scheduling more concerts, paying bills, rubbing coins together to make ends meet...

The seasons speak of the rhythms of our lives.  Our daily tasks, I am learning, also speak, and most times I miss the voice.  I don’t hear. 

But, I think of the daily ritual of sliding my hands into the warm dishy soapy water.  My kitchen window looks west out over the garden where the soil has been tilled, the dirt turned up and in early spring we face the task of pulling out the rocks so that something can grow out of the hard mountain soil.  I think of all the nights at sunset, that I have scrubbed the dishes clean, and glanced up and out at the garden - I have felt a digging at my heart, a need for a clearing of the dirt, so that light can come through darkness - flowers through snow. 

So, last Sunday as I sat fidgety in the pew, faced with the question - when did I see Jesus this Lenten Season? - I found great comfort in the New Testament reading, a camaraderie with the walkers of the Emmaus road.  I mean, Jesus himself came up and walked with them and they didn’t recognize him.  But, it was in the rhythm of daily life - feeling hunger, getting dinner ready, setting the table and sitting down with the stranger, that the moment of recognition happened and is happening.  Jesus was there - and had been there all along.  And, they ask themselves - where not our hearts burning within us?

The church service closed last Sunday with a prayer.  A 30 year old man with downs syndrome attends the church and he stood in the back and prayed out loud.  I couldn’t understand much of his holy utterances, but I did catch one phrase, as if he had lifted from the most ancient of liturgies - Oh God, keep our hearts burning within us. 

So, tonight, when it is time to do the dishes, I’ll look out at the garden.  I’ll notice the first brave green buds coming through the dirt, fulfilling the promise that winter doesn’t last forever, that light can come through darkness, flowers through snow, life through death -  and I will feel the truth of it in my heart - the moment of recognition - and I will whisper the sacred prayer - Oh God, keep our hearts burning within us. 

                                                     Cristi in the garden last summer.....

check, check. 1, 2, 3, 4

Every show starts the same way.  An empty room, the stage set and sound check.
Often, we are still in our sweats from the long drive in the truck.  One of us steps up to a microphone, takes a breath and, "check, check.  1, 2, 3, 4".  Before the instruments are tuned, before the lights are up, we count to 4.

So, we are starting a blog.  We doubt we will be consistent, but, we will be all heart and we are going to take lots of pictures of sunsets from the road and from home.  We'll see what resonates and for now, we are going to start with sound check.