esp. to lack; to desire

Some things in life we are wanting are not worth the having.

Show Go Show

Tomorrow night we're playing at the Q Cafe just south of Ballard. I'm so thrilled that I get to hang out with so many wonderful people AND play music for them. We have so much to look forward to!

Crew

Graydon and I printed some band t-shirts with my hometown friends Jon & Traci this weekend. Jon is a master printer and has built some pretty cool mechanisms to speed up the printing process. He's like a screen print scientist.

The t-shirts are looking pretty nice, designed by Graydon himself. We went with some earth tones to start with: grey, black, mossy green, and a muted blue. All the tees are crew necks except for one special v-neck. This is a matter of dispute between some band members: to v-neck or not to v-neck? Please cast your vote, too!

Miss Jones

One week from today, I'll be setting aside my whip and fedora for my tie and glasses.

School's almost in session, kids. It's bittersweet, isn't it?

I don't want to grow up.

Only 4

Our last night in the studio: Cam and Graydon working hard at laying down some mandolin for 'Coming Back', Michael talking to his wifey in the corner, and I stretched across the couch, checking my Facebook and Twitter every few minutes.

Since typically only one of us works at recording something with Cam at a time, there's been lots of down time (especially for me) during this whole process--lots of naps, lots of food/coffee/music runs, lots of lounging and listening. But I've loved being a part of it. Some instruments I've recorded on so far: piano, organ, pump organ, glockenspiel. The best part is making music and watching Cam take something we've created and make it bigger and better and stronger.

I'm pretty sure this has been my favorite experience of my life. Some things will never change after this; it's established: music forever.

12+

My band, Lower Lights Burning is in the studio right now recording our new EP. This is day 3 of 12+ hour days in this sauna of a blessed studio. We are having so much fun... I can't believe I ever did anything else in life other than this.

Gutted

This morning I dreamt that I slept in the the hollowed-out crest of a hill, close to the stars stuck to blue felt. At one point, I stood up to replace a star who'd lost his way.

When I turned back to my rest, a great, yellow and green-eyed tiger was rolling about, scratching up and stretching my blankets. Several other smaller cats, lynxes, leopards, and lemurs, crawled about, sniffing the area. Their whiskers quivered, and they watched me, waiting for my response.

I walked backwards to my house, turned and ran at the last few steps. I burst into my parents' bedroom, and found Father away from his bed. I could see his legs under the half door of the bathroom.

"Father," I yelled, "there's a great tiger about to come kill us!"

"All right, all right," he moaned. "I'll be there in a moment."

I could hear the tiger in the kitchen, pulling out drawers, banging cupboards closed, looking for a knife.

"Mother," I cried, "stand behind me. This is the end!"

Father emerged from the bathroom, and he stepped out of himself, so that one of his person stood over by the window, gun in hand, looking bored. His other, grey self came and wrapped his arms around Mother and me.

We could hear the tiger clawing at the door, rattling the knob. The foundations of the house shook and the door combusted in quiet smoke.

The tiger stood there, looking like a disfigured man who filled the space of the door. His head looked bloated, his features had come loose and wandered about his face. But his yellow-green eyes pulsed and bulged from their sockets. He took a fish fillet knife in his fist and began to carve out his left eye.

And I awoke.

What happened?

I think I've lost track of everything I set out to do,

because everything I wanted

(but never looked for)

came and found me,

came and found me and came

to overtake me.

If this is the one thing

(my everything)

I set my mind to,

let it be for you

for you

for you.

And that's how I'm doing. I don't really know what's going on in my life right now, because it's all "petals on a wet, black bough," as Ezra Pound would have it. It's a great, hurried, beautiful blur, yet I somehow find the energy to focus in on the important details.

This is definitely not where I saw myself ten years ago. It's beautifully better and more real than those young dreams. Being a teacher and a musician is a bit like being Indiana Jones--minus the whip, though most days I wish I could use one in class. At 3:30, I take off my glasses and turn on the amp.

Sometimes I feel the strain of the stretch--like Bilbo said, "butter scraped over too much bread." Throwing myself into two creative avenues is more than consuming, it's exhausting. But I don't care. I'm feeling reckless, and I think it's okay. I think I'm blessed to be able to do everything I love, when I wasn't even looking for either. So, I'll keep on doing it as long as the Lord lets me. If I fail, I'll fail well. Otherwise, I fly.

Many Waters

rolling hills--I think He touched the water

in the middle of a storm

and turned it to dirt

if he's disposed to turn

water into wine,

then of course

water into earth

the waves stood still

and grew grass around the edges

which brown in summer

we carve roads through

the still brown swells

and it's strange driving through

miles of petrified sea

the Shows

The last half of 2009 gave me an incredible six months full of music. In a rough chronological order, I saw and heard the following bands last year:

Jonny Lang at Tulalip Casino (Second time seeing him live, even more amazing--this white man has soul)

Lantern Productions & Lower Lights Burning at the Loft--Le Wrens, Paper Astronomer, The Flight of Phanuel, Shane Simonsen, Justin Klump, etc. (Olympians: you MUST visit the Loft--amazing music going on here once a month!)

JBM and Sondre Lerche at the Triple Door (Both played solo--no band accompaniment--and played AMAZING shows, 'specially Sondre. I would be best friends with him if I could.)

David Crowder Band & Seabird at Christian Faith Center (DCB & Seabird played a great show, but I'm a little embittered because David Crowder would not record a message into my iPhone for my students. Boo, David, boo.)

Katie Herzig & Brandi Carlile at the Paramount (Really liked Katie, and Brandi has got some pipes. And some really cool guitars. Jealous.)

the Future of Forestry at Shoreline Community Church (My second favorite concert of the year. Smallest venue, greatest musicianship. Check them out NOW.)

The Swell Season at the Paramount (Favorite, favorite, favorite. I've seen U2 and I've seen Coldplay, but Glen Hansard shot them both out of the water. I felt full after this concert... like I'd just eaten the best meal of my life. And it was the best meal of my life.)

Amy Seeley at Aladdin Theatre (Amy is an amazing performer--she comes to life when she plays; she's part of the songs.)

Noah Gundersen & the Courage and Karli Fairbanks at Triple Door (Support the locals! I liked a lot of the melodies at this show, but I especially liked Abby Gundersen's harmonies and crazy violin skills. She stole the show--not really, because it rightfully belonged to her.)

Music takes us to an untarnished place. It takes us somewhere where rust has no color and moths have no teeth. Music inspires us to believe we can be better than we've been at our best, and reminds us we can even be worse than we've been at our worst. Music tells the story of the human race and our pursuit of God. Even if music thinks it's not about God, it's always about God.

He who has ears, let him hear. Don't waste any opportunity to experience good music. Here's to 2010, and not a ticket or a hand stamp wasted.

Native

I performed in a community talent show last night. The show was a fundraiser for Thurston Community Television, so it was live on TV... and on the internet. For better, or worse, my "Ring of Fire" is burned into local media and internet history FOREVER. Probably.

I like doing talent shows. I even won a talent show my senior year of college. I probably shouldn't have won that show, because I was up against some amazing musicians, but I still won. That sense of competition... especially taking home the prize of knowing that some people judged me the most talented... was so thrilling. I imagine that's what hunting is like. I was the kill.

Last night, however, I was not the kill. I confess, as I stood there smiling at the end, I was confidently ready to hear my name announced and had one foot out, ready to walk to center stage and cradle my plaque. What vanity, eh? The announcer even gave a lengthy call of the first syllable of my name: "And the winner is... uuuuUUHHHAAAAA--O!" I felt a little cheated.

Even though I didn't expect the outcome, in retrospect, I realize my confidence in winning was not purely vain or arrogant. Last night I found some depth in the trite old consolation "Everyone's a winner." Yesterday, I watched some talented people, who showed obvious discipline and hard work, give outstanding performances. I experienced a very diverse group warm to each other, support and encourage each other. And I made some amazing new friends, like Anthony and Billie Jean and Amy. The whole experience was a blessing, and made me feel like a winner, even though I didn't walk away with a fancy plaque and some cash.

What I gained from this show was not further proof that I am talented. I even second-guessed my involvement in it in the days leading up to it, not wanting to make a big deal of it in case the whole thing turned out silly. I had to remind myself that I wanted to do this show because I love to perform and because I love this community and I want to be a part of it, not just a resident in it. What could have been just a cheesy local variety show turned into a rite of passage for me. Now I feel native of Olympia.

Tell me, Oh muse

Taking tea on a dark autumn night last year, Katy and I were talking about our respective dreams of acting and singing, divulging our secret hopes of producing true art with our gifts.

Katy said, "I think what often holds me back from trying is the fear of succeeding."

I fear it.

It makes me nervous, anxious, excited--like I want to dance with it and avoid it at the same time.

Once I do something really well, then I feel the pressure of performing to the same heights of excellence every time I perform, which only means more opportunity for failure! Oh, no.

What if I win once, then what happens the second time around? What if we find I have nothing real, nothing substantial, nothing deeper than that one talented moment?

No, that can't be true. I must have it. It comes from somewhere deeper than even I know; from the remotest part of me (somewhere down near my feet... or no, my guts)--those sehnsuchts I cannot bait to the surface with words.

Isn't that the point? To put it in words? To make it accessible to our thin minds and our fragile ears?

Part I: When he reaches the piano...

we stand and applaud.

In the beginning was the voice. Then the first palm touched the second palm, and there was a clap. The man took skins and sinews and bones to make for himself the drum, the harp, the lyre. He found a reed and blew a whistle with that reed. He took brass and fashioned horns and cymbals with it.

When the cymbals crashed, the reed whistled, the lyre strummed, the drum beat, the hands clapped, and the voices rang--he danced! How did the sounds know what to do? The man learned, explored, discovered, invented, advanced.

But first, before the beginning, the conductor entered while the whole world was waiting, holding its breath. He reached the piano, and like ignited firecrackers, we stood to our feet and exploded in applause--praising him in advance for his control, his creative elegance.

Frederick & Nelson are Dead

I realized today that when my grandmother dies, no one will ever tell me again the wonders of Seattle's greatest department store, Frederick & Nelson. After a nap on a quiet afternoon, no one will ever again offer me a lemon drop stuck to a mound of other lemon drops in a crystal bowl. No one will whisper her errands, counting them with each slender finger, as the clock ticks behind her head. No one will apologize for taking so long to answer the door because she just returned from the beauty parlor where she got her permanent. No one will make me a "Heidi" sandwich on a tin pie plate, open-faced, in the oven, for lunch.

I was waiting for the light to turn green at a stoplight, and I just realized that my grandmother is dying. Her generation is dying. In a matter of years, they will be extinct, like the surviving passengers of the Titanic. Like Salem's Puritans. Like the Druids. Like Socrates. In a matter of years, perhaps they will never have existed at all.

The light turned green, and I realized that my grandmother is a Giver.

Lois Lowry wrote a book for children about the concept of preserving human culture through memories--The Giver. The novel takes place in a world where everything is controlled and human beings make no choices of their own; even spouses and children are chosen for them. The Giver is an old, old man in a line of Givers, who at one time received the memories of human history, culture, and experience. The Giver's job is to solely bear the weight and wisdom of those memories--some full of pain and struggle, some full of joy and peace--and offer counsel to the community when the need arises. He is also responsible for transmitting all of the memories to a new Giver who will take his place when he passes.

This is what the old do. Their gifts are the memories they bear--crowns that they pass to us to wear in glory, and to pass on to those younger than us. This is history and culture--preserved jewels which either grow bright with care, or dull with neglect. My grandmother keeps memories that I don't even know about. If I don't pry them from her, who will know? How will she survive?

Write down everything. Write down the story of your notorious relative who committed the first murder on American soil. Write down the way the light seems to shine through your grandmother's skin. Write down how her voice sounds over the telephone. Write down every hole in her gloves, every rip in her sweater seams, every wrinkle on her plastic rain bonnet.

One day you, too, will be a Giver.

Only, my One

Insecurity breeds insecurity.

I've decided that I'm not going to be an insecurity breeder. I refuse to be an insecure teacher, wife, mother, friend, sister, aunt, leader, disciple.

We each live and struggle with our own public or private insecurities. Most of our insecurities have to do with feeling like we're not good enough: if we could only weigh less, grow taller, get buffer, talk smarter, run faster, sing better... THEN we'll be happy, THEN we'll be confident, THEN we'll be able to fulfill some kind of purpose. If only, then.

There is one Only, and I am made in His image. That is security enough for me, and I will live in it now, not then.

another year in Vegas

We had a creed that we lived by in my Literary Criticism course at University: What happens in Venice stays in Venice (or Vegas, if you will--the Venice comes from The Merchant of Venice, one of our primary texts).

I adopted this creed for all of my literature classes last year, my first year of teaching. I gave a whole speech about it to my students on the first day of school. My speech was all about how studying literature is dangerous and risky because it provokes people to think critically about their culture, the world outside of their culture, and most importantly, themselves. More danger ensues when critical awareness of our environment challenges us to form opinions and arguments.

Going into teaching with no expectations of what kind of people I would be dealing with, I felt I had to institute the Vegas Rule in order to create a safe environment for all opinions to be shared and heard.

They all nodded their heads when I got to the part in my speech about the well-known phrase, "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas."

"This," I said, waving my arms to indicate the space of the room, "is Vegas. What I say, what you say, what he says, what she says, stays in Vegas."

This sounds pretty silly for a high school literature course. And it is. Obviously, not everything we say will stay in "Vegas." I will talk to my peers about what goes on in my classroom, just like they will talk to their peers about what goes on in their classroom.

But ultimately, while I have them in that small, white-walled, fluorescent room for the span of 50 minutes a day, it is our classroom. And while we may not keep everything in Vegas, we create an experience that is ours and ours alone. We share discoveries, opinions, and ideas.

There is something holy in that relationship. Even if we exit this experience with distaste for one another, we are still bonded with an intimacy that's almost Platonic.

When I see my students from last year in class, or in the hallway, for those whom I don't have in class this year, it always feels like we have some kind of secret handshake, or wink. We share something in the furtive smiles we exchange... a year of living in Vegas.

Pro Verbs: Make silence louder

The shorter story: I have so many near-out of body experiences in which I look at myself in disdain as words tumble out of my mouth and my eyes roll around and my hands flop about, and self thinks to self,

"Self, you are much wiser than this."

And I'll do better next time.

You Stay Classy

Yes, I created, sponsor, and endorse Classy Monday.

Classy Monday is an opportunity for students in my class to dress up every Monday we have school for extra credit. Students can earn up to three points each Monday, depending on how classy they dress.

A tie is an automatic 3 points. Unfortunately, if you're wearing jeans with that tie, you forfeit any extra credit points. I'm trying to promote professionalism, not host Project Runway.

The first day of school, I accidently said, "You can wear a tie, just no jeans." Immediately I started laughing because I pictured a person in a tie with no pants on. Cheeky!

It's fun to see my students participate and get excited about this extra credit opportunity. Some of them dress up religiously--EVERY Monday. Some are more sporadic, but the best are the students who wait until the end of the year because they're grasping at extra credit straws just to pass the class or get their grade high enough to stay on the track team.

Now, we'll see how well my new students do next Monday...

Again, I love my job.

Almost Inferno

Is it Tuesday already?

I'm not Catholic, but I do believe in purgatory--because I've experienced it. You see, Hell is complete separation from God--darkness and isolation forever. Purgatory is actually here on earth. Purgatory is a place of confusion, impossibly large crowds, and a labyrinth of merchandise which is impossible to maneuver your way out of unless you have many, many people praying for your soul.

Purgatory is Ikea, Wal Mart, Olympia's Lakefair, and New York City on the hottest day of the summer when the sewer stench hangs in the air above the mobs.

I'd like to make a vow never to cross the threshold of Ikea again, but I can't. I know I'll go back for more cheap, easily destructible wares when I can't afford to buy the charming antiques I really want.

Do you remember "The Land Before Time"? The family I live with was watching it for the first time tonight (Margot/Mom had already seen it, but not Rob/Dad and the girls).

Why is it that the older we get, the more idyllic our childhood becomes?

Music Pick

My friend Jake introduced me to Phil Wickham sometime this last spring. I remember we were chatting in my classroom and all of a sudden he got really excited and started talking about Phil Wickham and how I needed to download his free album, etc., etc.

He promptly plugged his iPod into my speakers and began to play Phil's music. Jake was totally engrossed... I was working on my computer, thinking, Yeah, yeah. Later.

I just started listening to Phil's music on my own a couple weeks ago, and I did download his FREE album, "singalong" off of his website, which anyone reading this right now should do also, immediately: Phil Wickham: Singalong.

Listening to Phil Wickham's music reminds me of when I first discovered David Crowder. I was about 15 or 16 years old, experiencing real challenge and growth in my faith. I loved David Crowder from the first minor chord progression of "Make a Joyful Noise/I Will Not Be Silent" on the Lime CD.

This music was totally different from Vinyard, Tomlin, Redman, Maranatha, DcTalk, Amy Grant, Smitty... anything "Christian" I'd ever heard before. The music and lyrics contained genuine artistic depth, with a destination: Jesus. I find the same depth and destination in Phil Wickham's music and lyrics. Sweet revival.