Face to Face with Myself

In my last entry, I mentioned a time when I was writing songs, doing local concerts (coffeehouses, mostly), making demo tapes and thinking about pursuing a career in the music biz. That was 30 years ago and for the most part was a distant memory.

Until tonight.

I was going through my music books, deciding what to sell and what to keep, when I opened up my piano bench for the first time in years and came face-to-face with my 19-year-old self. What I unearthed made me weep -- pages and pages of songs I'd written in college, the lyrics typed on a *typewriter* no less, and with no chords. (I even found a few pieces of paper and a notebook with handwritten lyrics.) Ah, the arrogance of youth, assuming I'd remember how to play them forever. But maybe the young Nina was right; as I read through the lyrics, most of the melodies came flooding back, and since I only knew a handful of chords back then (now it's maybe 2-3 handfuls), I could probably figure them out if I had any time to do so.

Geez, I was prolific. Note I didn't say "good." But at least I was writing...A LOT. And a few of the songs are actually decent. I exercised that muscle once this past year, and it felt really good to write again...to wrestle with words so that they made sense lyrically and melodically. I love the process. It had been five years. And before that, five more years. Life just kept getting in the way.

I remember about 16ish years ago, a singer-songwriter-musician friend of mine prayed over me, blessing the songwriter God had made me to be. Somehow I lost touch with that part of myself; but Tom's words were ringing in my ears tonight -- God has made me a songwriter. The gift/talent/skill has been lying dormant. I'm glad it bubbled up a few months ago. I pray it bubbles up again soon, and continues to flow for the rest of my life.

Even if my songs never go anywhere except to God's ears, that will be enough. I just need to write.

Face to Face with My Hero

I was about 12 feet from the stage. I could see the veins in her hands and the crow's feet around her eyes. (She is, after all, 50 years old now...just 9 months older than me.) I've never been so close to her in my life.

The first time I saw her in concert was 30 years ago. I had all *three* of her albums on both vinyl and cassette, and she was "it." I was 19, she was 20, and I wanted to be her; I wanted her life of singing, writing songs, sharing my heart from the stage and touring the world. A few people told me they thought I could be "next" and after doing a few local concerts, I started to think maybe that life was possible. I recorded a couple of demo tapes in college, with plans to send them off to some of the record companies in the burgeoning Christian music biz. One time a talent scout for one of those companies heard me sing and gave me his name and number, telling me to send him my tape. But I got cold feet. Or maybe God just had other plans for me and took my life in a different direction...far less performing and more worship leading.

Through the years, I became increasingly glad I didn't have her life. As her career grew and she became the most popular Christian recording artist of all time, and eventually "crossed over" into the pop world, she had many fingers pointing at her...not Christian enough for the church; too Christian for the world. Her failings were splashed all over the internet; her divorce was fodder for all sorts of gossip. Christian radio pulled her music for awhile. Nashville was abuzz when one of their most awarded country music stars became her new husband.

No thanks, I didn't want that life.

But I still loved her music and her heart; still bought every CD (or downloaded them on iTunes); watched every interview I heard about; went to as many concerts as I could. Moving to Tucson made it harder to see her perform as she, like most artists, only came to Phoenix and it was often not feasible to attend a Saturday evening show two hours away when I needed to be up and at 'em early for Sunday morning worship leading.

But this past Saturday night I was able to see her in concert after 8 long years (tickets were a Christmas gift from Glenn!). She's touring with one of her best friends, the man who got his start as her keyboard player, Michael W. Smith. Last time I'd seen them together was 20 years ago.

Several months ago, I waxed poetic on this blog about two other "old friends" I saw in concert. Carole King and James Taylor most assuredly were foundational musical influences for me and seeing them in concert (twice!) gave me memories I will treasure always. But Saturday night's experience was different...deeper...as it connected me not only with my musical history but with my history with Jesus.

I've been walking with the Lord for 31 years; Amy Grant has been my hero for about 30 of them. She was always so real on stage, making mistakes (it happened at this concert, too!), laughing at herself, sharing stories of her clumsy youth. She had curly hair with a widow's peak and was teased mercilessly in school. She got her start playing little songs in D on the guitar. Sound familiar? Every time I heard her speak, I was astounded at how our lives were so similar. She had her kids around the same time I had mine. Her stories of parenting made me laugh. Later, the poignancy and depth of the questions of her shattered heart made me cry. And her "come back" made me cheer. Her music has been the soundtrack to my life.

Ultimately, she's my hero because she has handled the messes in her life with exceptional grace, hanging onto Jesus through it all and continuing to speak and live out a message of love and compassion. And I just love her voice...have loved it in all its stages. I owe it to her that I found the "sweet spot" of my lower register as I learned to belt along with her "new" voice that seemed to emerge around her 5th album; I remember wearing out that tape trying to figure out how to growl the same way she did! (She has since dropped the growl, though there were some songs at the concert where I kind of missed it.)

So here I was within spitting distance of this woman I have admired from afar for so long and I felt so many things. For a few minutes I had those old pangs of wanting to headline a show like that, just for a moment...then I had familiar pangs of wanting to sing with her (I can still dream...I never thought I'd sing with Randy Stonehill, and that happened TWICE! Three times, if you count the house concert!) But mostly I just reveled in the moments as they unfolded -- laughing, smiling, crying, worshiping, dancing my butt off and singing my guts out. I loved seeing how she has come full circle, no longer needing to hide any part of herself, obviously comfortable in her own skin...sharing her faith openly, and still joyfully jumping around with some energy to the pop songs. (Though I must say that Carole King, at age 68, exhibited more energy than Amy & MWS combined!)

MWS was wonderful, too; one of the highlights was his piano instrumental -- the pure joy that came over his face as he played moved me to tears. He also led us in worship, which was glorious, with the main concert (before the encores) ending with Amy and Michael leading us in "Agnus Dei," the crowd on their feet, hands raised, singing the melody MWS penned so long ago (words taken from Revelation) which Amy recorded on her first Christmas album in the mid-Eighties and Third Day made into a hit about 10 years ago so it is now sung all over the world...

Alleluia! Alleluia!

For the Lord God Almighty reigns.

Alleluia! Alleluia!

For the Lord God Almighty reigns.

Alleluia!

Holy, holy are You, Lord God Almighty

Worthy is the Lamb, worthy is the Lamb

Amen.

Amazing how something so simple can be so powerful. I could have sworn the roof was blown off.

The first encore was the iconic "Friends"...and they sang it with their backs together. I loved the symbolism...they have each other's back. They've had each other's back for 28 years, through the ups and downs of life...through all the changes...

Friends are friends forever

If the Lord's the Lord of them

And a friend will not say, "Never"

For the welcome will not end...

I didn't think the night could get any better. But then...

Final song. Everyone on their feet, dancing and singing along to a rousing rendition of the old Jackie DeShannon song, "Put a Little Love in Your Heart." Amy came to the edge of the stage, and I made eye contact with her as I was dancing to the music. And she smiled at me. (Glenn saw it happen, too...it wasn't my imagination!)

My hero smiled at me. I'm still savoring that moment.

I still want to sing with her some day, but for now, that smile will suffice.

Just Call Me Linus

About a month ago, I was at a Brookstone store and found a blanket that was probably the softest thing I'd felt in a long, long time. I'm a very tactile person who loves the feel of different textures, especially soft, cuddly ones. I am a pillow hugger -- just ask my counselor...I walk into her office, plop on the couch and grab a pillow to hug every single time -- and at 49 years of age I am not ashamed to say I have a stuffed lamb that I hold tightly in times of emotional pain, crisis and/or when I'm praying about hard stuff.

Agnus Dei, qui tolis peccata mundi, miserere nobis...dona nobis pacem.

Anyway, the blanket at Brookstone was dark brown and as soon as I put my fingers on it, I had the most visceral memory of being about five years old and rubbing my hands up and down my mother's full-length sable coat. I almost burst into tears. I kept rubbing the fabric, maybe subconsciously hoping a genie would appear and solve everything. I left the store without buying the blanket (a bit pricey for the budget at the moment) and made a mental note to put it on my birthday list (August 30, fyi).

Fast forward to now...I've been having some wonderful talks with my father-in-law, Harv (aka Pop) over the past couple of days. (I'm at my in-laws' house for 10 days to help out during my mother-in-law's recovery from knee replacement surgery; she comes home from the hospital tomorrow...hurray!) Somewhere in the midst, I told Pop the story about the blanket. We were at a mall today (he took me to a lovely lunch at Nordstrom's!) and he says, "Ann and I have a tradition that before we leave this mall we always have to go take a look at Brookstone." I said, "Great! That means I can probably touch that blanket again!" without thinking for a minute that this was some kind of ruse. After all, Brookstone is a very cool store, and they always have new and interesting things to look at.

So we go into the store, and I make a beeline for that blanket. "There it is!" And it was the same as before...dark brown, soft as sable, and made me think of my mother, who hasn't spoken to me (nor I to her) in over five years. (Long, painful story.) Pop asked the clerk how much they cost, and I sighed wistfully and said "I need to put this on my birthday list" and the next thing I know, he's picked one up and tells me he's going to get me an early birthday present. I was so overwhelmed by his kindness; never one to be shy about expressing myself, I threw my arms around him and kissed him right in the middle of the store. It was only later, at the hospital when I was recounting all of this to Ann (aka Mom), that Pop fessed up and told me he'd been plotting this as soon as I'd told him the story.

I love surprises (good ones, anyway). I am so grateful for what Pop did; I feel delighted, blessed, and really loved. And also a bit trepidatious, because I know what I know, and I can't not know it: some hard inner work lies ahead for me with that blanket. I'm going to have to hold onto it tightly while it brings up stuff I'm not sure I'm quite ready to deal with. However, God's timing is always impeccable, and I trust Him. And I will wait. (See previous blog post.)

But I need to say this, and I have a lump in my throat as I do:

I miss my mother.

(to be continued...)

I'm Nina and I'll be Your Wait-er...

I had a complete breakdown at the end of church yesterday. (Grateful it's the kind of place where one can sob and no one thinks anything of it...in the best sense). Grabbed a trustworthy, kindred soul to pray for me. Her words were so life-giving...I cried even harder. In the midst of pain, love pierced the heart and brought even more tears. Cleansing. Freeing.

We really do need each other, to speak those "words in season," be they soft or tough. Yesterday seemed to be a time for soft...ointment to my soul...affirming who God made me to be, rekindling the longings of my heart and beginning to stir vision for the future.

Then today, in Beth Moore's study on Esther, I came upon this question: "Has a negative event or a near-eternal wait made you lose hope about something important to you? Do you have any natural reasons to think that whatever your 'once upon a time' might have been, it can never be now?" I wrote "*gulp*" in response.

But I've been here before; I know the drill. Wait. Stay present. Wait. Lament. Wait. Trust. Wait. Long. Wait. Rest. Wait. Wait. Wait...

"Those that wait [hope, trust] on the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not faint." -Isaiah 40:31

Best Veggie Dish Ever!

Made this for dinner tonight; it's now my favorite thing! I used sweet potatoes instead of regular ones; the spices go beautifully with the sweetness.

Indian Spiced Cauliflower and Potatoes
1 (1 3/4-lb) head cauliflower, cut into 3/4-inch-wide florets
1 1/4 lb Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch cubes
5 tablespoons vegetable oil, divided
1/2 teaspoon cumin seeds
3/4 teaspoon salt, divided
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
2 teaspoons minced fresh jalapeño, including seeds
2 teaspoons minced peeled fresh ginger
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
1/4 teaspoon turmeric
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
1/2 cup water

Put oven rack in upper third of oven and place a shallow baking pan on rack. Heat oven to 475°F.

Toss cauliflower and potatoes together in a bowl with 3 tablespoons oil, cumin seeds, and 1/4 teaspoon salt. Spread in hot baking pan and roast, stirring occasionally, until cauliflower is tender and browned in spots and potatoes are just tender, about 20 minutes.

While vegetables are roasting, cook onion, garlic, jalapeño, and ginger in remaining 2 tablespoons oil in a 12-inch heavy skillet over moderate heat, stirring frequently, until very soft and beginning to turn golden, 8 to 10 minutes. Add ground cumin, coriander, turmeric, cayenne, and remaining 1/2 teaspoon salt and cook, stirring constantly, 2 minutes. Stir in water, scraping up any brown bits from bottom of skillet, then stir in roasted vegetables. Cook, covered, stirring occasionally, 5 minutes.

D'accord...

A view from Great Brittain:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/northamerica/usa/us-politics/8262152/Gabrielle-Giffords-shooting-Why-it-is-time-to-change-gun-laws.html

Well done!

Stepping over Our Wounds

"Sometimes we have to "step over" our anger, our jealousy, or our feelings of rejection and move on. The temptation is to get stuck in our negative emotions, poking around in them as if we belong there. Then we become the "offended one," "the forgotten one," or the "discarded one." Yes, we can get attached to these negative identities and even take morbid pleasure in them. It might be good to have a look at these dark feelings and explore where they come from, but there comes a moment to step over them, leave them behind and travel on." --Henri Nouwen

Definitely part of the upward/outward/inward journey. Feel the feelings, process, then let go. Easier said than done, though. Some things require a lifetime of daily surrender. But that's OK. After all, His mercies are new every morning.