Thirty-eight years ago today, I walked down a long, red-carpeted aisle, holding the strong arm of a loving father who had held me so very well for the twenty-one years leading up to this day.
I walked that aisle in the surrender of a bride — choosing to join my life to this man — to prefer him above myself, to love him with every part of my being, for better or worse, in sickness and health, for richer or poorer, till death do us part.
The strains of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy filled the sanctuary as the congregation rose to their feet and all eyes turned to watch, but my eyes were fixed on him. The man who waited for me at the end of that aisle.
I felt only peace and deep joy in that moment. I had no idea what lay ahead for us. No idea how hard it would get or how much refining it takes for two stubborn lumps of immovable rock to be melted into one pool of golden grace.
But that’s the thing about God. He doesn’t need my knowing. He is always working out plans formed long ago with perfect faithfulness. His ways are always higher, and His purposes holier.
Thirty-eight years. Thirty-eight years of God’s faithfulness. Of laughter and tears. Of sorrow and delight. Of offense and forgiveness and always the choosing — the same holy choosing of surrender.
And today? My eyes are fixed on the man. And I feel only peace and deep joy.
Happy Anniversary, my love. Here’s to thirty-eight more.
When I reached the end of that aisle, George sang the above song to me right before Dad slipped my arm into his. We’ve since sung it in many weddings together and made this recording years ago. I hope you enjoy it.
He was born April 22, 1955, the third son of a full-blooded Macedonian father and a blonde, blue-eyed Ohio farm girl with Welsh ancestry. His parents married right out of high school and had six kids before they were thirty.
Their first son was an adventurer, the second a star athlete, but this third boy? He was born with a poet’s soul, and as he grew, the ordinary brokenness of the world lay heavy on his beauty-craving heart. So he ran after comfort as many do, rebelling against conformity, and attempting to assuage the ache with drugs and other empty pursuits. He longed to belong — to be truly seen and truly loved — but the darkness only grew darker and uglier, and it was slowly crushing him.
He was bruised and tormented, but he wasn’t alone. One whose name is Love patiently prepared that wounded soil until one summer day, at the age of eighteen, he sat alone in a barn loft with the ancient splendor of the Appalachian mountains filling his view.
It was time. All his efforts to anesthetize his pain were powerless against the Creator’s magnificent canvas. The mountains burst forth into singing, the trees of the field clapped their hands, and a question rose from the deeps and escaped his lips.
“Who are You?”
The wind whispered soft. The setting sun kissed the tips of the trees and slid into purpling shadows. He heard no answer, but it was coming.
The boy returned home to Florida with the question still burning. Then one evening, he opened a Bible and read the book of John. When he came to chapter 14, verse 6, he had his answer.
There’s a wonder to God’s ways with His own. He knows the heart’s language and how to make Himself heard. To an eighteen-year-old poet, he awakened the ache with beauty and wrapped truth around it with the Word. How did this young man know John 14:6 was the answer to the question he’d asked in the loft?
The wind blew, and the boy understood. And he wrote a song — an eighteen-year-old poet’s song of salvation. Here it is.
Testimony Song
I listened to the wind and I began to see
Through people and my heart and my mind, I saw me
And I saw something beautiful
Oh, I know ‘cause the wind brushed my eyes
We each have something good to give
But it’s often hid by the way that we live
Let Truth and understanding be our guide
Let Truth and understanding be our guide
I want to shine just like the Morning Star
I want to say something beautiful to you
I listen to the wind and I begin to see
Through people and my heart and my mind, I see me
And I see something beautiful
Oh, I know ‘cause the wind brushes my eyes
And I know the Lord Jesus fills my life
Today that boy turns 62. He’s a devoted husband, father, father-in-law, and grandfather; a poet, musician, and steward of Creation; a servant, provider, and friend; and a man of the Word who still follows hard after Truth and understanding. No, he’s not perfect. Through the years he has stumbled more than once and even fallen hard, but the One who is able to make him stand has never for a moment forsaken him. His testimony of Jesus’ faithfulness remains, and as one who has journeyed by his side for 38 years, I can tell you that — in more ways than I can begin to count — he shines. Just like the Morning Star.
In honor of his birthday, you’re invited to listen to his Testimony Song — recorded decades ago on a little cassette tape player — and to catch some glimpses of the “something beautiful” those of us who love him have been privileged to see.
You’re also invited to follow his example. Listen to the wind. Let it brush your eyes. Perhaps you will begin to see something beautiful, too.
Roughly nine months after abortion-on-demand became the law in America, in the autumn of 1973, I was born for the second time.
During those months when many women were embracing their new-found reproductive freedom, God was forming me in the womb of faith, preparing me to become His child.
I could say a lot more about what happened that day, when my sixteen-year-old self first felt the irresistible urgency — unseen forces from without and within pressing me toward my emergence from the dark womb of spiritual sleep into the dazzling radiance of faith.
But the one thought that demands my profound awe in this moment is simply this: God is a redeemer.
Always, in every place and at every time, God is making all things new.
A few years later, when I was in my early twenties, I was reading Malachi 4 and was inspired to write a song. This morning, when George read the same passage, he reminded me of it and said we should revive it. Maybe so. But meanwhile, I can share the words with you here.
The Day is Coming
The day is coming, burning like a furnace,
And all the wicked will be chaff.
The day is coming when the righteous will rejoice
And leap from the stall like a calf.
The day is coming when the Sun of Righteousness
Will rise with healing in His wings.
And all the holy ones will be before Him
And crown Him King of kings,
Alleluia.
Come, Lord Jesus; come, Lord Jesus,
The Spirit and the Bride say, “Come.”
Come and bring us the day of our deliverance
When we will be revealed as sons.
For creation is anxiously longing,
And we ourselves grown within.
But the day is coming, the end of our suffering
Because we’ll be found in Him.
Alleluia
Alleluia
Alleluia
Jesus, Come.
Romans 8 says God subjected the creation to futility on purpose — that all this groaning we see, hear, and feel is the pains of childbirth, meant to assure us that deliverance will indeed come.
I had the holy and awesome privilege of watching my daughter and my daughter-in-law give birth — one at home, and one at a birthing center — both without the use of any drugs.
I watched and prayed as they entered fully into their labor, breathing into the pain, working with the contractions.
As the hours dragged on, I watched them battle through the dark and awful fear that deliverance would never come — that strength would fail, and life would be swallowed up in death.
And I watched as they entered the phase called transition — that sacred and solemn space, where the world disappears and the whole body, soul, and spirit is consumed with bringing forth life.
Watching was like catching a glimpse into eternal mysteries — the hope that the creation itself will be set free from its slavery to corruption into the freedom of the glory of the children of God. The hope of redemption that contracts the soul of every believer with prayers that are groanings too deep for words.
When I consider the brokenness of the world today — the desperation of refugees torn from their homes yet feared and rejected by many in the world, the immensity of modern day slavery and human trafficking, the selfish demands of the privileged, and the ignored oppression of the poor, the orphan, and the widow — I feel exhausted and tempted to despair. Perhaps deliverance will never come. Perhaps strength will fail, and life will be swallowed up in death.
But then I remember Who subjected creation to this prolonged ordeal, and hope rises. Perhaps we’re on the edge of transition — that holy and solemn space where the soul gives itself to a higher purpose.
Perhaps the church will shake off her anesthesia, enter fully into her labor, breathe into the pain, and work with the contractions, and perhaps new life will come forth from all this agony.
This is my hope.
And my prayer?
It hasn’t changed.
It’s still the same aching, exquisite cry that belongs to the Spirit and the Bride.
I’m a stay-at-home mom, but also a singer/songwriter, and, as so often happens when the Spirit stirs something within me, I went to the piano right after reading your article, and a song called “Mercy Calls” immediately came to me. Most of it was written within an hour. I will share the lyrics here with you and hope to record it soon. I will send that to you as well, whenever I get it done.
So, much appreciation for your ministry, and for sharing what God put on your heart. I will continue sharing that message in this song.
Mercy Calls
Mercy calls, will I listen?
Mercy calls, will I hear?
Mercy calls, will I answer?
Will I serve or will I fear
When mercy calls?
There are so many needs
If I open up my eyes to see
Where should the light that’s in me shine
For it’s in the darkest place
That we need God’s gift of grace
To live the Truth and make it come alive
Like the Good Samaritan
Mercy had a cost for him
But he paid it anyway
What’s done for the least of men
We are doing unto Him
Is the price too high for us to pay?
If we would receive God’s mercy, mercy we must give
Blessed are the merciful, that’s how we’re called to live
Dying to ourselves and laying down our lives
Sharing the love of Jesus Christ
Do justly, love mercy, walk humbly with thy God
Do justly, love mercy, walk humbly with thy God
Oh, Cyndi! Wow! This is absolutely beautiful. I can’t wait to hear the recorded version.
I can’t begin to express how humbled and encouraged I am that God used those words to quicken this gift in you. I’m bowed low in awe and gratitude to Him, and THANK YOU so much for sharing it with me!
Really. I’m speechless. Just thank you again and again.
Cyndi: Thank YOU so much, Jeanne. It always amazes, humbles and encourages ME how God uses the members of His body to minister to one another in a beautiful, ripple effect. As we faithfully give what God pours into our hearts, He uses it to create an ever-widening circle of blessing.
I’m in the middle of having to upgrade some of my recording programs, so I’d appreciate your prayers that I can get past all the “technical difficulties” and on with sharing the songs! Thanks!
Me: Amen! I too am amazed by God’s kind, beautiful, interwoven ways. Praying for you, Cyndi, that the Lord will bless your ministry through song and give you grace, patience, and insight as you navigate the “wonders” of technology. 🙂
I visited your website. You have a lovely voice and delightful style, and I’m more excited than ever to hear Mercy Calls once you’ve recorded it!
Thank you again for being His instrument and a gift to me.
Cyndi (mid-February): I FINALLY was able to get my system all working and have time to record “Mercy Calls.” (I still have some glitches to work out, but I’m so thankful to the Lord for His help, wisdom and strength!)
So…I’ve attached the song here for you. You’re the first one to hear the finished product!
I hope and pray it will be a blessing to all who listen to it, and encourage them to show mercy!
Thanks again for the inspiration!
(Friends, listen to this! Yes, I mean right now. You’re welcome.)
Me: Oh, Cyndi. I have no words. And by “no words,” I mean I’ve started typing several sentences and then deleted them, because I honestly can’t express the wonder of hearing this beautiful gift God gave you, knowing He used my words to inspire you, and feeling this humbling sense of His kindness to His body, giving us to each other that we might speak to one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, spurring each other on to love and good deeds and a holy urgency to love Him and all people well–especially the least of these.
Thank you for the honor of hearing this first. Please let me know if I have permission to share it. I would love to put it on my blog, tell this story, and direct people to you and your music, but I don’t want to run ahead of what you have in mind for the song.
I’m so grateful to our good, gracious God that He has crossed our paths in this way. You are a blessing to me, and I pray He takes this song and makes it a blessing to many.
Cyndi: Thank you for your beautiful reply! It is so precious how God is working in and through each of His vessels for His purpose.
By all means, you can feel free to share this song. It would bless me to know it is reaching a new audience. I have been praying about what God wants me to do with it….and am thinking of somehow making it available as a download connected to some kind of outreach donation. I’m just not sure exactly how to go about doing that. Maybe you have some ideas?
For now…rejoice with me in God’s goodness! I too am grateful for the way He has orchestrated the meeting of two hearts seeking to do His will.
(Then in a separate email):
I almost a forgot about this….
Several days after writing “Mercy Calls,” I was looking at your site, and read the blog article on the clay pots. This song came from that inspiration! It’s just a little chorus, but it kind of sums up what I think you were expressing. I’ve been singing it quite often.
So…thank you twice over for your insightful writing!
Love, Cyndi
Chorus
Humility, not I but Christ
Dying to self, Christ magnified
Humility, my pride dethroned
All glory given, to Christ alone
Let Him increase, let Him be seen
And let there be less and less of me
A servant’s heart, a willing mind
Till Christ in me, alone is glorified
Me: I love this! What a blessing you are! Thank you for your beautiful and encouraging ministry. I’d love to hear this one, too! 🙂
Cyndi (mid-March): Hello again, dear sister!
Our God is so awesome and amazing! I just wanted to share what has happened with Mercy Calls lately. As I mentioned to you, I have been thinking of perhaps using it as a download connected with donating to a charity. Well, God had other plans first! I guess He was reminding me that charity/mercy are needed just as much close to home as across the globe! Very sadly, several weeks ago, our dear friends and neighbours (a family of 6), lost their home and belongings in a fire. Thankfully no one was home and so they were all unharmed. Our surrounding community has come together in amazing ways to support and help them, and God is already working the situation out to bring blessings.
They are a musically talented family, and Darryl, the husband, has been a huge part of the recordings I have done for many years. It seemed only natural to have a benefit concert for them, which we are in the process of preparing for. But then, the one day I just felt that familiar nudge of the Spirit, prompting me to compile some songs for a benefit CD for them. Guess what the title is?!? Mercy Calls, of course! All the songs center around the theme of helping/caring/serving others, and being instruments of God’s compassion. I can already see how God is using this…many people whom I wouldn’t have expected (and who don’t usually listen to Gospel music)…are buying it (to support the family of course), but I am praying that God will really speak to their hearts through the messages of the songs. It’s just created a really neat opportunity to minister!
Anyways…I just thought I’d let you know how the ripple effect from your writing has touched us here.
Me: Oh my goodness! Cyndi, you are such a blessing and encouragement to me! THANK YOU for sharing these ripples, and thank you for listening to the Lord and for using your gifts to serve others and magnify Him. You inspire me.
I plan to post Mercy Calls and the story behind it on my blog, and I’d love to include a link to the benefit CD if that’s okay with you. Could you send that to me?
Cyndi (April): The “Mercy Calls” CD is now available on iTunes and here is the link:
I appreciate your offer to share this, and I truly hope it blesses and inspires all who hear it.
Me (mid-May—not in an email to her, but right now to you):
Most of the time we never know what our small offerings stir in others — the kind, supportive word to the frazzled mom of three children wrestling her way through the grocery store aisle; the plate of fresh cookies to a neighbor; a handwritten note to a friend; a bold act of sacrificial faith that quietly emboldens others to do the same.
And maybe we think our voice doesn’t matter. What difference will it make if I add more words to the cacophony of noise clattering around in the cybersphere?
It makes a difference. Your offering matters. Share your words — your small, brave, healing, selfless words.
And don’t be surprised if God answers with a song.
Can I just say, you people blew me away? Never did I suspect my crazy idea would capture the imaginations of thousands of good-hearted people who’d go the extra mile to bring it to Jordan’s attention. You scattered that little digital dream far and wide, and I thank you again and again with all my heart!
I’m happy to report that I not only received a reply, the letter was delivered to Jordan’s parents within a few hours of my publishing it. As it turns out, my cousin is close friends with Jordan’s mom. (Who knew? Apparently I need to get better acquainted with my own relatives!) A friend also forwarded the post to his dad. They both sent gracious replies — just the sort you would expect from people who raised a son like Jordan. Though they didn’t go so far as to say my imaginary golf tournament can’t become a reality someday, they did say that Jordan is currently overwhelmed with commitments, and their family also has their own beautiful foundation that benefits organizations serving people with special needs. Jordan’s first obligation is to those organizations.
So, the answer is . . . maybe. Someday. But meanwhile, one of my goals has already been accomplished! Like I said in the letter, “Dallas is an affluent city with lots of beautiful, generous souls living in it, but most of them don’t even know Young Life Capernaum exists.” Well now — thanks to all of you who shared the letter — many more people DO know Young Life Capernaum exists! And while we can still hope for a possible golf tournament in the future, there are fantastic opportunities already on the table and plenty of ways to bless the beautiful souls served by this ministry.
Which brings me to an exciting invitation.
If you live in the Dallas area (or would like to come pay us a visit), Young Life Capernaum is hosting a benefit concert on Saturday, April 30, at The Village Church Dallas. And guess who’s performing, y’all? Andrew Peterson, Jason Gray, and Christopher Williams! Seriously!
And if you don’t live in Dallas? You can still give a donation, or get involved with Young Life Capernaum in your own community.
Learn the secret Jordan Spieth and so many of us know so well — that people with special needs are one of God’s best gifts to any family, community, or church.
Our dream golf tournament may have to wait, but our celebration doesn’t have to! There’s gonna be a party in Dallas on April 30, with great music and great friends for a great cause. If you come, look for me. I’ll be the one dancing with Jacob in the aisles.
As we begin a new year, may our kind Lord teach us to pray, and to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom. Our time is short, and our God is great. May we make much of Him, leaning into His sufficiency, rejoicing in His goodness, resting in unfailing grace and mercies that are new every morning.
Today I remembered this simple little recording (probably from the 1980’s) of George and me singing these verses from Psalm 90, and wanted to share it here as a prayer for all of us.
And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us.
And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us.
And establish thou the work of our hands upon us,
Yea, the work of our hands, establish thou it.
Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations.
Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations.
Before the mountains were brought forth or ever thou hadst formed the earth
From everlasting to everlasting thou art God.
And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us.
And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us.
And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us.
Amen. Grant it, Lord, for Your glory and our good.
Happy New Year, friends. Love, joy, grace, beauty, and peace to you. Thank you for all the ways you blessed me in 2015. Here’s to loving our God and one another well in the days ahead.
The first time I saw him he was walking on a treadmill. A blond starlet dressed like an old-west prostitute posed seductively in a country music video on the television screen suspended in front of him. But he wasn’t watching the video. He was looking around at whomever or whatever, not furtively, but with blatant curiosity.
When our eyes met, I understood.
Some might call the expression vacant. As the mother of a brain-injured son, I saw it more as open. Unmasked. He had dark eyes, and black hair curled around his ears, and I guessed he was probably somewhere between eighteen and twenty. A slender, silver-haired woman walked beside him. His mother.
The world has labels for people like him. Damaged. Deficient. Unproductive. More than anything I was struck with the stark contrast between his unaffected expression and the video starlet’s heavily painted facade, and I wondered with more than a hint of irony how many people in that gym would laugh at the notion that his contribution to society might be more valuable than hers.
The encounter touched a deep, knowing place inside me, but it was a seeing and moving along. I soon forgot.
Then, several months later, I spotted them again in an area used for free weights and upper body machines. There were plenty of other things going on around me. In addition to the general hustle and bustle of the gym, heart-breaking scenes of natural disaster filled a television screen nearby, and another screen a few feet away aired clips of a defiant dictator spewing threats. But my attention kept returning to mother and son. I didn’t mean to stare, but the more I watched them, the more everything else faded into the background. World events, whirring machines, even my own physical exertion. Soon I was completely enthralled with the interaction of the two.
The mother’s long thick hair was swept back and twisted up, the ends forming a silver firework atop her head, like a diadem. Her exercise clothes revealed a lean, gracefully athletic frame. But it didn’t take long to see in her a beauty that goes much deeper than a sculpted figure. A love story played out before me, and I had front row seats.
I watched as she helped her son lie down on a bench, placed weights in his hands, then lay on the bench next to his with her own hand weights. They turned their heads to look at each other, which gave me a clear view of his face. I could tell she was speaking, and I imagined her voice as soft, calm, soothing. She seemed the embodiment of quiet strength, peaceful authority, and regal grace. I was captivated by her, and her son appeared to be as well. He never took his eyes off of her face as they raised and lowered their weights, side-by-side, him mirroring her movements, his expression a picture of cooperative concentration.
When they finished that exercise, she helped him sit up and carried their weights back to the rack — all her movements fluid elegance, purposeful and unhurried, as though completing this work out were the only event on her agenda, and she savored the sweetness of each moment with her son. When she stepped away from him for any reason, he remained in his place, quiet and still, patience personified. Even a casual observer could see there was a lifetime of knowing between them. He had no reason to doubt her return, so he waited, fully present in his waiting.
And again, I understood.
People who’ve heard or read our story often ask me what Jacob is like today. Does he grieve what he’s lost or have goals for the future? For a long time I wasn’t sure how to answer. I’d tell them that nothing seems to upset him for long, and his default setting is happy, but — other than the mercy of God — I wasn’t sure why. Then one day when I was trying to explain Jacob to yet another person who’d asked, it all suddenly made sense.
Jacob is content because he’s fully present in whatever moment he’s living. He doesn’t mourn or regret the past, and he doesn’t anticipate the future. He lives in the now with pure, childlike faith.
I have no idea if the young man in the gym was born with his so-called deficiency or if it was a gift of God’s severe mercy like Jacob’s, but I saw in him the same restful, trusting contentment. And, perhaps even more stunning, I saw this contentment in his mother as well.
What happened next made me catch my breath. The young man sat on a weight bench, staring out at the central part of the gym. As his mother walked past to adjust a machine behind him, neither turned to look at the other, but she placed a hand on his shoulder in a gesture that was like a benediction — intimate and so full of grace and tenderness, I almost felt I should avert my eyes. But I couldn’t. I was mesmerized. Awed by beauty. And deeply convicted.
I’m ashamed to admit how often I get frustrated with Jacob’s pace or resentful of the impact his limitations place on our choices. Everything about this woman’s body language and behavior communicated not only peaceful acceptance but love, joy, and genuine gratitude. And her son responded. When she spoke, he listened and obeyed. When she placed her hands over his and guided him through the use of a weight machine, he submitted without resistance, his trusting eyes fixed on her face.
The whole scene was so beautiful, so stunning and other-worldly, I lost track of time and everything else, and when I pulled myself back to my own reality, my heart was full to brimming. A multitude of emotions swirled inside me — admiration, gratitude, inspiration, awe — but there was one feeling conspicuous in its utter absence.
Pity.
Talking heads and defiant dictators still paraded across TV screens, and starlets still sold their souls for digital glory. I glanced around at harried people, squeezing in a slapdash work out before rushing off to the next pressing thing, and I wondered if anyone else in that room knew they were in the presence of true greatness.
What the world calls damaged, deficient, broken, Jesus names beloved, beautiful, redeemed. What the world would throw away as useless, He honors and exalts, making the least into teachers of compassion, possessors of radiant faith, living parables of His truth. What the world considers great, isn’t. Not in the eternal scheme of things.
Become as a child. That’s what Jesus said. Do as I have done to you. Wash one another’s feet.
I shudder to think how often I miss God’s gifts — so busy am I scrambling for significance, laboring to make myself feel good about myself. But God still gives and gives, and when I’m present in the moments of my life, I see.
I watched a mother with a silver crown serve her prince of a son, and I heard a Voice whisper.
“Well done.”
This story is an edited re-post from the archives,
shared today because I want everyone who lives in
the Dallas area to know about an opportunity
this weekend to enjoy the presence of greatness.
See below!
The Invitation
People, this is going to be so much fun! If you’ve never experienced an event like this, you’re missing a big treat. In addition to viewing (and potentially purchasing) original art, and watching a talent show like nothing else imaginable, there will be food and drink, conversation and laughter. And more love than any one heart can contain.
I understand that some people feel awkward or uncomfortable around the disabled. Maybe she can’t speak or walk, or he looks different? Maybe their smiles are too quick, their hugs too exuberant, their joy too boldly emblazoned on their sleeves?
I get it. I really do. We’re socially sophisticated, and we like things tidy and predictable. And we’re busy, like those people in the gym, rushing about our days, trying to stay one step ahead of our all-important deadlines, because how else will we ever be someone in the eyes of all the other someones clawing their way to Someone-dom?
But if life with Jacob has taught me anything, it’s taught me to see greatness in a brand new way. And I’m pretty sure, when we get to heaven, we’re going to be amazed by the ones Jesus seats in the places of honor.
So, if you’re a Dallas type, come party with us Saturday night.
And if you’re lucky, you might even get your picture taken with a star.
Ah, friends. I don’t have to tell you the world is full of real pain and brokenness, and sometimes it’s flat out overwhelming. But meanwhile there are beautiful souls quietly, faithfully doing what they love to undo what they hate. They aren’t seeking fame or trying to draw attention to themselves; instead they’re pouring their energies into shining a light of hope into dark and aching places. And we do well to encourage them in every way we can. Which is why I’m writing this post.
photos from recent First Aid Arts training
First Aid Arts (formerly Arts Aftercare) exists to bring the healing power of artistic expression to survivors of human trafficking and other forms of extreme trauma. As more and more non-profit organizations serving wounded communities learn about the tools available and the reports of remarkable breakthroughs, requests for training in their toolkit continue to pour in from around the world. With all their hearts they long to respond to every single request, but they’re still a small organization and can only reach as far as their financial resources will take them.
And yet, our God is a God who provides in surprising ways.
Now the founders, Curtis and Grace Romjue, have an opportunity to use their musical gifts to spread the word about First Aid Arts while partnering with Rock Against Trafficking in their efforts.
Here’s what Grace wrote about it to their friends:
Curtis and I recorded a video of our cover of Fields of Gold (Eva Cassidy’s version). We are hoping to be included on a compilation produced by Rock Against Trafficking (an awesome organization!) that will be used to raise funds for anti-trafficking work. Most of the other artists on the album are Grammy-winners, so this would be a great opportunity for exposure for our work with First Aid Arts, using creative expression to help trafficking survivors heal.
If you watch the video and enjoy it, will you do us a favor? The Rock Against Trafficking competition is being hosted at TalentWatch.net. Search for us (The Humble Bold), it will ask you to “Sign Up” to rate us (takes two minutes), then rate our video and also give us a “likability” rating on our profile video.
Feeling more than a little nervous to share this with everyone. Thanks for your support!
So, here’s where you and I come in. We have an opportunity to do something beautiful together this Christmas season, and all it will cost us is a few minutes of our time. Here’s how it works:
First, watch the video.
Isn’t that gorgeous?
Next, go to TalentWatch.net, click the “register” button in the top right corner, and go through the short registration process.
Then, after you activate your registration, you can click here to go directly to their personal artist page. (Their band name is The Humble Bold.)
Once you’re on their page, watch their short profile video and rate its “likeability.” (The adorable two year old ups the ante quite a bit here.)
Then rate the song. You can also leave a comment if you like. And that’s it! You’re done!
The contest runs until April 15, 2015. Each person can only rate an artist once, so please share this opportunity with all your friends, relatives, and online communities! And please, please, please pray for God’s continued blessing on the work of First Aid Arts. They deeply appreciate your prayers. Oh, and if you still need a few last-minute Christmas gifts this year, they just launched their shop!
So much goodness and beauty. So much to celebrate. Thank you for helping make the world a little brighter.
Music is everywhere. On our phones, in our cars, piped into the grocery store and doctor’s office and elevator. It’s common to every culture, and often one of the first sounds babies produce. And yet, music is far from ordinary. It’s this remarkable, powerful, who-can-find-words-to-describe-it thing.
I don’t pretend to understand all the physics behind sound waves and harmony and why the blending of tones can hit the ear and simultaneously break the heart. I just know that music is more than. It’s mystery.
It’s a gift from God and a foretaste of eternity.
When Jacob nearly drowned he lost a lot, but one thing he didn’t lose was music. He can no longer carry a tune, but the music is inside him and rises up and out of him, a fragrant offering to His creator who hears with ears tuned to our hearts and not our ability to match pitch.
Some mornings, after we read the Bible and pray together, Jacob and I sit at the piano and sing. Today, Good Friday, was one of those mornings. With hearts full of the wonder of redemption and the scandal of a love that lays everything down not only for His friends but for the vilest, most hateful enemy, we lifted our voices to the One whose death is our birth and whose life is our life.
And I decided to do something I’ve never done before. I decided to record one song on my phone and to post it here, not because it’s musically superior in any way, but because it’s true. And anyone who has ever worshiped with Jacob knows that it doesn’t get any more real than the mask-less offering that rises from his brokenness in gratitude for the grace that makes all things beautiful.
So, today you’re invited into our living room, to sit beside the antique upright grand piano, and to enter the courts of the King, simply, humbly, and amazed by His grace.
Alleluia, our Father,
For giving us Your Son
Sending Him into the world
to be given up for man.
Knowing we would bruise Him
and smite Him from the earth
Alleluia, our Father,
in His death is our birth
Alleluia, our Father,
in His life is our life.
Good Friday, my friends. From me and Jacob, with love.
As I wrote in Part I, “Grace included one other thing in the padded envelope. A CD. And it opens another subplot that involves other characters, and evokes other joys, and reveals more layers this divine Author wrote into His intricately scripted, interwoven tale — a whole new chapter for another day.”
Well, friends, today is that day, and this is that new chapter. But first, a bit of back story.
Before I left for Kazakhstan, I wrote a series of posts introducing some of the special friends who would be attending camp. One of those posts featured Baxa. In case you missed it, here’s the brief bio he wrote about himself (emphasis mine):
Name: Baxhtiar Jigalov
Birthday: March 10, 1988
I love: my mom, my dad, my sister.
I know: a lot.
I do: daily exercises. I collect: material about the Native American peoples.
I eat: everything.
I know how to: ride on a horse.
I read: the Dalai Lama.
I watch: educational programs. I dream: of going to America.
Baxa is a big fan of America in general and Native Americans in particular. And when he says he knows “a lot,” it’s no empty boast. Using mostly online resources, he has taught himself to speak English. And he loves to practice it.
So, when Baxa found out his camp buddy would be Jason from America, you can imagine how excited he was.
I snapped the above photo with my phone right after they met for the first time. As you can see, Baxa is already talking up a storm. And check out his hair — an intentional tribute to his Native American heroes.
My friend Catherine captured this shot, most likely during one of their many “Jason, we make conversation” moments. Note the FBI cap and Native American motif on Baxa’s t-shirt. He means serious business.
Okay, back story over. Here we go.
It was the day camp ended, and our team had just returned by bus to Almaty. We decided to walk a couple of miles to a shopping center, and on the way, Jason told me about his time with Baxa. Over the course of their four days together, Baxa had repeatedly expressed a desire to come to America and become a permanent resident, and he’d asked Jason to help him. For a number of reasons, this is not something Jason can do, but he does want to maintain a friendship with Baxa and to encourage him, especially in his understanding of the gospel. He wondered aloud how to strike a healthy balance — to let Baxa know that he really does love him, but not to make promises or raise hopes he can’t fulfill.
As I listened, I felt Jason’s frustration and genuine concern. There are only so many ways to be a true and present friend from across the ocean. As we pondered his options, I suddenly had an idea.
“My daughter and her husband are professional musicians,” I said. ” I wish I had a copy of their band’s most recent CD for Baxa. The cover art depicts Native Americans, and on the actual CD there’s a stylized drawing of a hummingbird by a talented Native American artist.”
“Oh, wow! That would be perfect,” Jason said. “Too bad we can’t buy it here. I’ll definitely mail one to him. Can I get it online?”
“I’ll send you one,” I said. “But I wish there were some way you could give it to him in person!”
He agreed, but there was nothing to be done. I told him I’d be sure to get a copy to him once we were back in the states.
But God had other plans.
The next morning I opened my padded envelope, and looked inside to retrieve my note for June 29. And I saw it. Taped to the card for June 30. A JUBILEE CD.
I was stunned. Excited. Amazed. All of the above. I sat there on the edge of the bed, just staring. And then I broke the rules.
I opened the June 30 card a day early. And this is what it said:
“Choose someone special”? I laughed out loud. The choice had been made for me. Now we just needed to figure out how to get the CD to Baxa.
That afternoon I was scheduled to speak at Almagul Church in Almaty, at a gathering of local believers. When our team arrived, two of the moms from camp had also showed up. They missed us too much to stay away, they said. One of them was Baxa’s mom.
We told her the story behind the CD, and the amazement on her face mirrored our own. Though we didn’t get to experience Baxa’s reaction first-hand, he emailed Jason that he loves it, and that he’s still practicing his English. I imagine him listening carefully to the lyrics, hearing and understanding subtle truths and beauties, being drawn to the Inspiration behind it all. Always, in so many unseen ways, the Author is working, moving, orchestrating, choreographing. And sometimes? He gives glimpses.
Typing this post, the sense of awe I felt at the time has returned just as strong. Could there possibly be any adventure more exciting than this life of faith? Oh, for eyes that remain focused on Him and ears attentive to His voice! Whether it’s serving in foreign lands, washing another dish, or passing along a CD, nothing is insignificant to Him.
It’s all part of the story. The one story, in which He increases and we decrease — in which we are given “the incredible gift of LIFE” to lay it down again and again, only to see Him bless, break, and distribute in ways we never would have asked or imagined. And we discover the extravagant joy of receiving every moment with wide-awake gratitude and pouring it back out as priceless ointment on His feet.
It’s the story in which suffering becomes blessing, and our children become our teachers, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.
Happy Birthday, Grace. Thank you for being the gift.
* * *
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The View From Here 