City Songbird

Ze lieder learns to delegate...

2012-02-09T14:02:00.000-06:00

"God and other artists are always a little obscure."

-- Oscar Wilde

I'm feeling this is particularly true about me lately. Thornfield was so busy with monthly gigs last year, including a pretty intimidating one in December, so I felt it was necessary to take a little winter hiatus. Well, winter's been mild and short in Chicago, and I'm aching to get back into the swing of music and all that jazz. Literally.

But here's the thing: I'm not administrative. At all. And unfortunately, success in the business of music -- as is true with success in any other business -- requires good management. But as Jenna & Eric have dubbed me "ze band lieder" and as I've heard that one of the best qualities in a leader is the ability and willingness to delegate, well, here I am before you. Delegating. To you. Yes. You.

Here's what we need you to do, if you're able:

- Listen to some of our live recordings here and watch our videos here.

- Like them.

- Never mind point above ~ Please like them only if you're inclined to like them.

- Share them with your friends.

- Donate to the "tip top" (on site's sidebar) to help us raise funds for recording a marketable album, if you're able to. We've been wanting to do this for nearly a year now, and we feel it's imperative that this happens very soon so that we can have something to give back to all our wonderful fans.

- Suggest any venues in Chicagoland (or, if you think you can round up enough friends to attend, elsewhere).

- Like us on facebook (here) and share our page with your friends.

- If you have administrative or artistic gifts that could contribute to Thornfield's well-being, please don't hesitate to offer them. We welcome all help we can procure! If you enjoy designing posters, if you like calling venues to book gigs, if you live for organizing events that bring artists and art-lovers together, if you would love take a few pictures or record a few videos... These are all things that we need and, frankly, things that I'm just no good at. I would love to be able to focus on creating and perfecting good music, and distractions like business keep that from happening, I'm sorry to say.

- Above all, we cherish your support, and I don't mean simply financially. To see some of the same faces at gig after gig has been such a truly heartening and encouraging thing. Thank you, so very much! I'm in process of working on a press kit to secure some more gigs very soon, so please continue your support by bringing your classy selves to them! :)

taken by our most devoted fan & roadie (who happens to be Jenna's hubby), Adam Plaiss

So there it is. Now I'm finally a true lieder.

On behalf of Thornfield, je t'aime!

Carrie

For Poorer

2012-02-06T11:42:00.002-06:00

As one starving artist who married another starving artist, I knew full well what I was getting myself into when I said those words. Still, I can't help but giggle...

Anne Taintor

A Southern girl's survival kit for winter in Chicago...

2012-02-02T08:00:00.006-06:00

So. Things have been a little heavy around here lately. Sorry 'bout that. But when I feel all light and airy and free, I rarely need an outlet for that on my blog: I simply live it. It's when things are difficult and stretching that I often come here for relief in a pent-up breath exhaled and an understanding reader. Thank you for being that.

But yesterday, as I walked my chilly half-hour walk to work, I realized this: out of six in Chicago so far, this is the second winter I've not complained all the way through, and the first I'm actually enjoying. Of course, that could be utterly due to the a-to-the-mazing temperatures we've been experiencing here. I don't know what it's like where you are, but here in the Midwest, we've had one heaven of a wintertime. Well, maybe snow-lovers like my kiddo Matthew disagree, but me -- I'm all about 40's and 50's when the average is closer to 10's and 20's. Yessirree.

That said, I've now spent one-fifth of my winters in Chicago, and if (heaven forbid) it were 12 degrees and blizzarding outside (which is actually doubtful because -- as we (now-) northerners know -- there is such a thing as "too cold for snow"), I wouldn't sweat it (which sounds logical, but under all those layers, you'd be surprised!). Of course, it almost seems like spring here right now; but as Chicago's springs are often confused and put off by lingering winters, I wouldn't be surprised if it were also true the other way around. Either way, winter ain't over yet. And I'm OK with that; I'm ready for it. Because if there's one thing Chicago winters have taught me, it's "Deal with it." Yes, Chicago winters are that prosaic and heartless.

So, for all those who wonder how and why I deal with it and don't just move back South where I belong (coughmomcough), here's my list, my three (yes, only three!) essentials for happy-ish survival. This is how I get through winter in Chicago, and -- if you find yourself here one wintry day -- how you can, too:

1. Long Underwear = Life-savers. Forget the those bulky thermals you wore as a kid when it snowed a quarter of an inch and school was declared out and you somehow managed to roll a very tiny, very dirty "snowman" out of the grass (based on my North Carolininian experience). I honestly don't know how I'd have gotten through a Midwestern winter without these -- well, for lack of a better term, underpants. They're made of the same fabric as a slip, so as you can imagine, they don't make you feel 5 inches wider, but they absolutely keep you warmer. I try to walk to work every day if it's not absolutely horrid out, and this is how I've done it. Nineteen degrees with a wind-chill of 7, you say? No prob. I've got my long janes.

2. The Beach Boys. Oh yes. Again, this has saved my wintry walks to work. When I turn on the Beach Boys in my ipod, the world gets brighter. The snow begins to melt, the winds die down, the sun boldly shines through the dissipating clouds, and a smile appears out of nowhere on my wrinkled up grumpy face. Or at least that last part. Who doesn't get warm feelings when listening to "California Girls" or "Surfin' USA"? Also, listening to songs like "Fun, Fun, Fun" inevitably makes me walk a little faster, which not only burns more calories but also gets me to my destination and out of the cold even faster. Win-win.

3. Clementines. Or as one Trader Joe's cashier called them, Adult Candy. I didn't grow up eating clementines, but now I don't want to face another winter without them. They not only give me the extra-needed Vitamin C that my body craves as it fights off all the colds and stomach bugs that are viciously making their rounds this time of year; these pint-sized oranges also give one a warm feeling of tropical beaches and itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny, yellow-polka-dot bikinis and summery smoothies. In case you haven't noticed, half the battle with a Chicagoan winter is in one's own mind.

So that's it. My sensory three-step plan to a less-than-grumpy season of death. My trifecta of happiness in the midst of what would otherwise be dark and dreary and frigid-beyond-your-imagination-if-you-haven't-yet-crossed-the-Mason-Dixon-line bitterness. A Southern girl's survival kit for winter in Chicago.

Frozen Heart

2012-01-13T13:37:00.001-06:00

For the first time this year (and the first significant time this whole winter long), snow rages through the air and settles deep on the ground. And as I sit here, coffee betwixt my fingers and thumb, warm to the bones and full to the brim with everything I need and many of the things I want, I remember...

I remember Walter, the man with the cardboard sign who only asked for help to keep his 6-year-old son off the streets. I remember the many veterans, men and women, who have fought long and hard with body and mind, now frail in both, who sit on the side of the highway exits, judged for being physically and emotionally and mentally scarred by the battles they've seen. I remember the man under the overpass, his bed of old, smelly sleeping bags made with care, practicing his kirate -- or dancing; I couldn't quite tell. And the snow flew anyway. And as the ground beneath them froze, so did my heart. And I realize I don't know the meaning of these words as well as I often think I do:

Remember my affliction and my wandering, the wormwood and bitterness.

Surely my soul remembers and is bowed down within me.

No, that I do not remember. But they do.

But it's not too late for them, for their frozen bodies. Nor me, for my frozen heart.

This I recall to my mind,

Therefore I have hope.

The Lord's lovingkindnesses indeed never cease,

For His compassions never fail.

They are new every morning;

Great is Your faithfulness.

His lovingkindness and compassion are extended to my heart each and every day, and I have the choice each day to extend it beyond myself, to those in need.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again:

I was raised in a culture that said, "God helps those who help themselves" and "You reap what you sow" and "I'll help you if you prove to me you're worth it." Nowhere in any of those statements is the gospel present. The gospel is about God helping people who cannot help themselves, and reaping something that someone else sowed, and understanding that we're all unworthy of help and that's why it's so awesome that God's love and care is not based on worth! The gospel is God helping the poor, namely me and you. And those who've heard and understood and accepted this gospel are called to be extenders of the same grace we were given.

That means helping people who can't -- maybe even won't -- help themselves.

That means giving people things that they didn't work for.

That means extending care and grace and provision to people whether we deem them "worthy" or not. Because neither are we. Yet, God lavished all of his fullness on us anyway.

And you know what? You and every other person on this planet may not be worthy of another's unconditional love and provision, but we all have eternal, immeasurable value -- God's image imprinted on every eye and every fingerprint and every soul. And with that value comes responsibility for making that choice, for extending that grace, for loving God by loving our neighbors.

Yes, my heart is often distracted -- or even intentionally turned away -- from the needs of others. But I pray God above and within will help me turn my eyes and spirit to those in need, and help me extend to them my arms and my love, cold though it may be, that His love working through me might warm and thaw this frozen heart.

2012: Abide

2012-01-10T13:06:00.001-06:00

I realize that all the one word for 2012 posts have long been posted by now. But I don't mind reminding myself that, really, we're only 10 days in. We've all gone back to work and workouts and just saying 'no' to all the candy that has somehow ridden out the wake of Christmastime and lingers menacingly from the coffee table, calling out to us... just one more. Still, even though back to reality, we sense a rush of rest now that all the holiday shenanigans are behind us forever... except that they're 10 months ahead. See, 10 isn't very much after all...

I don't normally have one word for the year. That is, my mind is usually just a little too disjointed to focus on or even tie everything together into one thing for 12 months. But then, on January 1st, we studied part of John 15 at our church service and... well... I couldn't get this word out of my mind.

Abide.

Here's the passage we studied, Jesus' very words:

I am the true vine, and My Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit, He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit, He prunes it so that it may bear more fruit. You are already clean because of the word which I have spoken to you. Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself unless it abides in the vine, so neither can you unless you abide in Me. I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing.

If anyone does not abide in Me, he is thrown away as a branch and dries up; and they gather them, and cast them into the fire and they are burned. If you abide in Me, and My words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit, and so prove to be My disciples. Just as the Father has loved Me, I have also loved you; abide in My love. If you keep My commandments, you will abide in My love; just as I have kept My Father’s commandments and abide in His love. These things I have spoken to you so that My joy may be in you, and that your joy may be made full. This is My commandment, that you love one another, just as I have loved you.

::breathe deeply::

Simply abide. Abide in Jesus, and abide in His love. And let His words abide in me.

Last year about this time, I felt like I was in a fruitless season, in the sense that I believed nothing was happening to or through me and that I wasn't going to be of much use to anyone for a while. But in the midst of that season, I remembered these words, and they gave me rest:

How blessed is the (woman)

who does not walk

in the counsel of the wicked,

Nor stand in the path of sinners,

Nor sit in the seat of scoffers!

But (her) delight is in the law of the LORD,

And in His law (she) meditates

day and night.

(She) will be like a tree firmly planted by streams of water,

Which yields its fruit in its season

And its leaf does not wither;

And in whatever (she) does,

(she) prospers.

These words from Psalm 1 gave me peace... To know that even the tree that is firmly planted by streams of water -- in God's Spirit and drinking in God's living word, that is -- even that tree isn't expected to bear fruit year-round. No, and just because it's not bearing fruit in a particular season does not mean it's dead, for "its leaf does not wither." And that was me last year. Not dead, just not particularly fruitful. And that was OK. God didn't (and still doesn't) expect me to bear fruit year-round (or even every year). He gave me rest and peace in the truth that there is a season to be fruitful, but that there is also a season to simply be alive.

But this year... This year, I can already sense will be different. I believe, I hope, I pray this is my season to bear fruit. Whether that means more intentional (but also more organic) ministry to women and music-lovers and blog-readers... whether that means starting a family... whether that means taking Thornfield beyond little coffeeshop gigs to wider audiences... Whatever it means, I think it will involve planting seeds, nourishing them, and letting them grow. And if I want them to produce much fruit, good fruit, lasting fruit, there is only one thing I must do: abide in the vine.

So, 2012, I'm drinking of the fruit of the vine to this: to abiding, and thereby to bearing much more fruit to drink of!

Heavenly Peace

2011-12-14T11:19:00.001-06:00

For those wondering what I do with all the time I'm not blogging (which, as you know, is quite a lot of time, indeed), the last few weeks have involved two primary things: a few more-important-than-usual gigs to prepare for, and a really annoying cold that has gotten in the way of much of the necessary prep time. I'm finally feeling myself again, which is good since this coming weekend will involve 2+ hours of wedding and dance music for the marriage of some good friends from Holy Trinity Church. Between crooning some jazzy slow songs and belting out classics like the Hokey Pokey, my weekend is certainly going to be one for the books. (Which books are yet to be determined, but I'm guessing either a sappy romance or a love-gone-wrong horror novel.) It's sure to be a fun time, either way.

In addition to that, given it's Christmastime and all that, there are of course Christmas concerts. Last Friday our church hosted our annual holiday event, Christmas on the Town. Though I was still somewhat in the throes of a sinus infection, I still somehow managed to do this:

The song, composed by our friend and church music colleague Ben Lynerd (who is also at the piano in this video), is called "Heavenly Peace: A Blues Ballad," and it's based off of poet William Cullen Bryant's piece, "A Rain-Dream." Here are the words straight from the poem:

These strifes, these tumults of the noisy world,

Where Fraud, the coward, tracks his prey by stealth,

And Strength, the ruffian, glories in his guilt,

Oppress the heart with sadness. Oh, my friend,

In what serener mood we look upon

The gloomiest aspects of the elements

Among the woods and fields! Let us awhile,

As the slow wind is rolling up the storm,

In fancy leave this maze of dusty streets,

Forever shaken by the importunate jar

Of commerce, and upon the darkening air

Look from the shelter of our rural home.

You might notice that some of the words were changed a bit to fit the song, and particularly Ben's arrangement of it with "Silent Night." For instance, in the song the excerpt ends with, "Upon the darkening air, let us gaze from the mountain on a silent night." While these words always have something to say to a busy city-dweller like myself, forever ready to hear, "Let us in fancy leave this maze of dusty streets" (a truer image of the city ne'er was uttered), the poem was particularly meaningful last week. My cold kept me up most nights with wearying congestion and perpetual coughing, and oh -- how often I thought to myself, "oh, to have a moment's peace... oh, to sleep again!!," I could not possibly recount.

Sick or not, this concept of peace is tonic for the weary soul. This city, not to mention the world in general, is full of strife, fraud, abuse and oppression, and its inhabitants are not only shaken but imprisoned by "that importunate jar of commerce." And while here in Chicago I often believe a rural home to be the far-off image of peace, even that is not the source or epitome of it. No, true peace is only found in this: a wee baby, a paradoxically tiny God in flesh, come to bring peace with God to all mankind the only way it was possible, by becoming like us. With us.

God with us.

Finally, not just a moment's peace, but an eternity's.

And not simply "peace on earth" but heavenly peace on earth.

Thank you, Father, and oh, how we long for peace on earth as it is in heaven, through your Son...

*****

Special shout-outs to my dearest friends: Jenna who captured this video, and Graham Nelson, who plays that mouth harp like nobody's business! Also much thanks to Roy Patterson from Moody Radio, who graciously stepped in to lead the congregation in "Silent Night."

*****

EDIT: I can't believe I forgot to mention this, but one of Eric's beautiful compositions was also a highlight of the evening!! Click here to hear it on his own blog!

An Ornamental Christmas

2011-12-09T15:30:00.001-06:00

One of the most exciting parts of Christmas for me -- besides delicious homemade goodies, fragrant pine wreaths, slow-burning red candles and mischievous elves hiding throughout our home -- is decorating the tree. To be honest, I couldn't even wait until after Thanksgiving this year to get our tree up and decked out. Thankfully, Eric and I both came into marriage with pretty big collections of ornaments. And, sure, most of them are from our childhood and therefore make our tree seem less "mature" than perhaps the average childless adult's Christmas tree. But since Christmas is all about children, childish things and child-like joy, I think it's perfectly appropriate. (If that sounds too consumeristically child-centric, consider the point of Christmas: a child.) Anyway, I decided, just for fun, to share with you some of the ornaments that give me such delight throughout this season. (Forgive some of the blurry ones... low lighting and all...) Here they be:

How true this is? Too true.

Couldn't resist this Irish lass & her cottage!

I don't remember how I acquired this star... a teacher gave it to me, maybe? Help, Ma?

Cinderella's castle, which I got last year when we spent Christmas at Disney World. Magical times. :)

This is actually a pin, not an ornament, but I put it up anyway to represent my beloved home state, North Carolina.

Another home-made ornament. Burt's Bees: my lifeline.

I believe we got this one a few years ago in celebration of Eric's first composition publication.

Yay, Eric!

I love him, by the way.

Ah... and gotta love that mean old Mr. Grinch!

Don't do the math, please.

We picked up this while visiting the enchanting Smokey Mountains this past summer.

Dancer was always my favorite ornament to put up, as a child, and remains an absolute favorite.

What five-year-old wouldn't adore "The Littlest Angel"?

Another childhood favorite: The Old Lady in the Shoe

OK, we're not really spending Christmas in Ireland. Not this Christmas, anyway...

(More on that later!)

This is a series of "Curious Kittens" I got throughout a cat-loving phase of my childhood.

Of course, real kittens don't get into any trouble whatsoever, right Ellie?

Eloise, you stop licking the tree this instant!

Yes, as charming as it would be, Ellie spends very little time around Christmas doing this:

... and much more time doing this:

and this:

Nevertheless, we're somehow able to retain a somewhat in-tact tree.

(As long as we keep a water bottle nearby to keep the naughty cat from eating it to pieces.)

Merry Christmas!!!

What is your favorite ornament? Do tell!

Adopting the Unadoptable

2011-11-17T13:34:00.001-06:00

You know that feeling you get when you just know God is asking you to do something kinda difficult, and you don't know how or when you'll be able to do it, but the peace you need for the process finally rests in your heart after years of uncertainty? We had that feeling this past Saturday, when we attended a conference called "Together for Adoption."

We didn't mean to go. I mean, E and I have given a little thought to adoption, and always figured that the time would come someday in which we'd need to give it serious consideration, given both the theological and practical reasons for pursuing it. But with no plans or finances or second bedroom to make it happen now, we weren't planning to go to this particular event. Then, three weeks ago, we were asked if Thornfield would be willing to play some background music during the lunch break. Jenna had already been planning to go, and since one of Thornfield's missions is to support mercy ministries, we agreed to play for free, and with it came complimentary tickets to the whole shindig. We were officially going. And what began as a gig ended as a life-altering calling.

Orphans by Thomas Kennington

It's impossible to convey all that transpired in those seven hours, but suffice it to say: God is moving hearts and souls and hands and feet toward helping the helpless and loving the unloved, sometimes unlovable. He always has been, of course, but only in the last few years have I begun to open my own eyes to the needs of others and allowed myself to understand that God wants to use my heart, my soul, my hands and my feet to bring about His will "on the earth as it is in heaven." Sure, I've known for ten years now that He was calling me into Ministry Proper. It's only just now that I'm seeing the vast, organic, dirty, crazy, lovely world that is Ministry Improper, and seeing that I have a much larger role to play in that than in the other.

Anyway, What about all this Adoption Business?, you may be wondering. Me too. The first speaker at the conference was Vermon Pierre, who spoke of "The God Who Adopts" from Ephesians 1. Here's part of the Scripture he read:

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places in Christ, just as He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world, that we would be holy and blameless before Him. In love He predestined us to adoption as sons through Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the kind intention of His will, to the praise of the glory of His grace, which He freely bestowed on us in the Beloved... In Him also we have obtained an inheritance, having been predestined according to His purpose who works all things after the counsel of His will, to the end that we who were the first to hope in Christ would be to the praise of His glory. In Him, you also, after listening to the message of truth, the gospel of your salvation—having also believed, you were sealed in Him with the Holy Spirit of promise, who is given as a pledge of our inheritance, with a view to the redemption of God’s own possession, to the praise of His glory.

To be honest, these verses, though absolutely overflowing with the superfluously wonderful merits of God's grace, always make me a little nervous when they're about to be preached on. It was while at Moody -- where Calvinism is the presumed doctrine of the educated believer -- that I became suspicious of the word, predestined. To my utmost relief, Pierre didn't once focus on predestination as a calling of "the elect," but explained the word's use as it shows God's very deliberate and intentional purpose from the very beginning of creation to adopt His people. Before the foundation of the world, it says, He chose us, to adopt us, to lavish upon us an inheritance not merely of riches but of His very presence as the Holy Spirit within us.

What really struck me about Pierre's message, what's so remarkable about all of this, is that before God adopted us, we were unadoptable. We were unwanted, unruly, unworthy to be children of God. Pierre explained that when people decide to adopt, they're given, basically, a list of things to choose from in a child. First, they get to decide definite traits, like whether they want a boy or girl, how old a child they'd like, etc. After that form comes another with checkboxes beside other, less tangible, likely less desirable traits. Traits such as "Likes to start fires," "Has extreme ADHD," "Has emotional baggage," "Is violent," "Has a history of scraping walls with knives," etc. This page is often skipped entirely, as these children are often considered "unadoptable." Now, it may be difficult for us to see ourselves as unadoptable when we compare ourselves to these children. But if we put ourselves in their shoes, take on their experiences, memories, etc., we may find ourselves closer to their states than we're comfortable with. And if we believe the gospel is true -- that Jesus died for us -- then we must also believe that we were each personally involved in His death, that we victimized and brutalized and killed God's Son.

And yet, He still wants us in the family.

And yet, He planned to use our own violence to provide salvation for us.

What a gospel! What hope! What a good, unbelievably good God!

But notice why He did this, this amazing adoption of the unadoptable, according to Ephesians 1: "that we would be holy and blameless before Him." In other words, that we would be set apart, that we would be conformed to His own image by and through His Son. That we would become more like our Heavenly Dad, extending gracious love like He does, adopting the unadoptable like He does.

And that's why my own thoughts concerning adoption have changed from, "This is something we should really think about, Lord willing," to "This is something we should actually do, and He is." I won't be anyone else's Holy Spirit, of course. He leads us each according to His own will for each. But I've become convinced, not only through this amazing Scriptural concept but also through the callings all Christians are given in James 1, in Zechariah 7, in Proverbs 31, in Isaiah 1, and in countless other verses and chapters and books in God's word, that it is every believer's direct calling to care for the helpless, and in many cases the orphan specifically. What that looks like for each family will be different. What that looks like for our family -- I'm nervous but excited and timid but eager to say -- will hopefully someday be a house overflowing with love for each other, adopted and non-adopted children alike. Because, actually, we're all adopted.

A father of the fatherless ... is God in His holy habitation.

{Psalm 68:5}

Biblical Theologiannes: Mary

2011-11-09T22:02:00.001-06:00

It was cold out today. Very cold. Chapped-fingers, running-nose, hurting-ears-cold. Wind-blowing, leaves-swirling, raindrops-floating-cold. The kind of cold you really don't want to feel without snow on the ground. Maybe that's the real source of frustration... the painful cold without the delightful snow... the lingering of the temperature in the upper 30's, too chilly but not chilly enough to actually enjoy. One thing is for sure: that Winter Season I proclaimed was just around the bend, well, she seems to be rounding it right now. As I said before, though, along with her dark skies come some bright moments... One of which, if you'll pardon my jumping-the-gun, is the Christmas Story. No, not that one! (Forget I said "gun." And don't get one; you'll shoot your eye out!) You know: THE Christmas Story.

Every year about this time, I reopen the gospel account of Luke and lose myself in the Christmas Story all over again. And every year, it seems, the most striking part to me is this passage from Luke 1:

⁴⁶ And Mary said:

“My soul exalts the Lord, ⁴⁷ And my spirit has rejoiced in God my Savior.

⁴⁸ For He has had regard for the humble state of His bondslave;

For behold, from this time on all generations will count me blessed.

⁴⁹ For the Mighty One has done great things for me; And holy is His name.

⁵⁰ AND HIS MERCY IS UPON GENERATION AFTER GENERATION

TOWARD THOSE WHO FEAR HIM.

⁵¹ He has done mighty deeds with His arm;

He has scattered those who were proud in the thoughts of their heart.

⁵² He has brought down rulers from their thrones,

And has exalted those who were humble.

⁵³ HE HAS FILLED THE HUNGRY WITH GOOD THINGS;

And sent away the rich empty-handed.

⁵⁴ He has given help to Israel His servant, In remembrance of His mercy,

⁵⁵ As He spoke to our fathers,

To Abraham and his descendants forever.”

I'd like to introduce you to Mary, Biblical Theologianne. As is widely accepted, this (literally) iconic lady was only in her mid-teens when she found herself to be the incubator of the Savior of the world. (You're going to have to pardon a lot of my choices of words/phrases tonight; I'm just in one of those moods.) A teenager. A teenager who was also, apparently, not only a poet (singer/songwriter?), but a dang good Old Testament scholar and theologian. Of course, if one does much Bible reading at all, it's clear that Mary's word choice in her song -- called the Magnificat -- harkens back to psalter-like Old Testament poetry. In fact, two of the phrases used in the song (those in all caps) are direct quotations from the psalms:

Ps. 103:17

But the lovingkindness of the LORD

is from everlasting to everlasting

on those who fear Him,

And His righteousness to children’s children...

Ps. 107:9

For He has satisfied the thirsty soul,
And the hungry soul He has filled with what is good.

What may be a little less obvious is the resemblance and subject relativity to one psalm in particular: 113.

Let's give the second half of that one a gander, shall we?

⁴ The LORD is high above all nations;

His glory is above the heavens.

⁵ Who is like the LORD our God,

Who is enthroned on high,

⁶ Who humbles Himself to behold

The things that are in heaven and in the earth?

⁷ He raises the poor from the dust

And lifts the needy from the ash heap,

⁸ To make them sit with princes,

With the princes of His people.

⁹ He makes the barren woman abide in the house

As a joyful mother of children.

Praise the LORD!

Psalm 113 is what OT scholars label a "praise psalm," written with the purpose of inciting praise to God by His people, the reason for which is pretty obvious if you read the first three verses. Now, I really could go on and on about Psalm 113; I could write 20 pages on it! In fact, now that I think about it, I already have... So I guess there's another blog post in the making. But for now, I'm satisfied to merely say that the most apparent similarity between Psalm 113 and the Magnificat is the idea of God exalting the humble. But the fact that God lifts the lowly is not the most staggering part: it's the fact that he humbles, even humiliates Himself in order to do so. In the psalm's case, He must stoop down into the ash heap in order to lift up His people. In Mary's case, He must bring Himself down so far... to the point of a fertilized human egg, a growing fetus, a screaming baby... in order to "give help to Israel His servant, in remembrance of His mercy."

Mary understood this. She understood that God wasn't simply sending the Messiah in flashing lights and trumpet calls and galloping horses. No, He was doing something much less self-exalting. Instead of battlecries, He came in baby cries. And He chose her to swaddle His own Son not because she was somehow "worthy," but because she was humble in heart, one of "the least of these" that her Son would cherish and guard and call others to become. It's funny -- when the angel Gabriel told her she was "favored of the Lord," she was "perplexed at this statement." When he told her that she would bear the world's Savior, she trustingly replied, "Behold, the bondslave of the Lord; may it be done to me according to your word." In other words, it seems she was more ready to believe in the impossible birth than in the fact that God favored her. I believe that's why God favored her. And as her song shows, it is God's regard for "the humble state of His bondslave" that causes her to rejoice in such beautiful song!

In the past few years, I've given a lot of thought to "biblical womanhood." A lot of times, it seems to be illustrated by some white-washed Martha-Stewart-esque pastor's wife who likes to sew and craft and cook and clean and do all her husband's bidding. Now I love crafty things and I value cleanliness, but these are simply not the Bible's mandates for women. Mary, mother of Jesus -- not yet a wife, mind -- was not noted for doing any of these things, and was certainly not chosen because of her faithfulness in them. But we can see from her words that she is a fine example of -- and quite literally -- a "biblical woman." And as such, she was also a theologian -- one who knew and loved God's word and was able to express her own experiences in light of it, teaching others to do the same. And thankfully, she's not the only one. Over the next couple of months, I'm going to be delving deeper into the lives of other "Biblical Theologiannes" like Hannah, Miriam and Elizabeth. I'm not sure yet where this is going to take me (I never was good at sticking to a plan), but I hope you'll share the journey with me.

A Change in Seasons

2011-11-07T18:03:00.002-06:00

The leaves have mostly fallen, except a brave few.

The wind has developed a certain brazen chill.

The skies have traded a sweet Carolina blue for a dreary heather gray.

The night falls much sooner and quicker than it used to.

The squirrels have gotten more than a wee bit on the chubby side.

(And, thanks to all that All Hallow's Eve candy, so have I...)

Signs of The End of Autumn and The Start of Winter are all around me. And though I thrive in the quiet Autumn evenings that follow full and active Summer days, solemn as the crickets' song yet teeming with life, I'm almost ready to say that I'm almost ready for the long, dark season that waits just around the bend. I bear no shame when I admit that I've already dusted off and listened to two Christmas albums. And, honestly, the only reason I haven't felt utterly compelled to decorate my home with deep red hues and bright twinkle lights is because that happens to be the state of the place year-round. I don't know if I've ever taken the time to be thankful for each of the Seasons at once. But I'm trying to today. Instead of complaining about the coming Five Months of Torture that make up a Chicago Winter, I want to remember the Charming Two Months of Spring, the Delicious Two Months of Summer, and the Bittersweet Three Months of Autumn. And I want to look forward to the truth that even the coldest season ahead boasts tummies full of the warming goodness that is a homemade stew, bodies full of armor against the unmerciful but beautiful elements, and hearts full of the love and joy and generosity that springs from the remembrance that "unto us a Child is born."

A season of my life is also starting to fade. That post-graduate season in which rest from past toils and the saving of energy, time, money and dreams for future hoped-for pursuits has defined the past 18 months of my existence, but I'm beginning to wonder if "future hoped-for pursuits" are more present than I'd even realized. I just turned 26... which means I'm now older than a quarter-century, and the age my mother was when she had her first wee bairn. I always said I would start down the childbearing road before she did, but here I am: 26, childless, and happily so. And while the professional and musical ambitions I've developed and fostered like an overly-zealous mother haven't dissipated in the least, I can't help but think that a change is yet around the bend, and I'm not sure if I like it or if I'm ready for it, but -- true as Old Man Winter himself -- it must come whether I want it or not. And it has a purpose. And it's purpose is good. And it, too, might be brimming with full tummies and hearts.

And so, as the wind feverishly blows,

and the skies gloomily darken,

and the squirrels greedily hoard,

and the night swiftly falls like the leaves from the trees,

even so, I shall be thankful for what goodness this Season also brings... like a tendency to settle down and cuddle up... and the peace that comes with the quiet... and the thankfulness that wells up and out when we reflect on a bountiful and exciting and full-of-love year.

May all the goodness of the Season ahead be with you -- whatever Season that may be!

C'est la vie d'artiste

2011-09-23T12:10:00.003-05:00

Hello my friends!

It's been a while since I gave an update on the musical endeavors of my life. Since they pretty much rule me right now, it seems an appropriate time to let everyone else in on the craziness that is being a working (which does not always -- and in fact most often does not -- mean paid, by the way, but I digress) musician. Truth be told, sometimes it doesn't look like being a musician at all. For instance, last night I picked up my guitar for the first time in almost two weeks and realized that -- although these two weeks have consisted almost entirely of planning and organizing some very musical events in which I play a large musical role -- often the administrative side of being a musician takes over much of the time and energy I would otherwise put into actually playing and creating music. And I have to admit, it's frustrating. I also find it ironic that being a "productive" artist usually consists of such overwhelmingly unartistic endeavors.

C'est la vie d'artiste, I suppose. But must it be?

Well, that was about to become an entirely other post. But the intent of this one is to tell yous guys what's up in our music world. So here it is:

Saturday, October 1st: For One Chicago

I'll be leading the worship times of this event with a lovely, lovely group of friends and musicians. The event itself is for a fantastic cause -- serving with our hands and feet the beautiful people of this magnificent city. It's not just going to consist of coming to a big auditorium and praising God with our lips and asking Him to make us better servants at some undefined time of our lives. It's going to involve both worship and response. Now, I know worship is a response... to God. We're also going to worship Him, though, by responding to Chicago, by serving the way Jesus served. Check out the link above if you're interested in getting in on this very exciting city-wide project.

Friday, October 14th: Acoustic Blend

Now, this little fella has been a long time in the making. It's the folk arm of the Fusion Concert Series that my body-of-Jesus home -- Holy Trinity Church -- puts on annually, including concerts of jazz, blues, classical and other awesome genres of music. I coordinated the first Acoustic Blend in the Spring of 2010, and -- as it's already Fall (today!) of 2011, we thought it was about time to get around to it again. This concert will be held at The Tapestry, a great little venue for these sorts of concerts in Chicago, and coffee will be provided gratis by CityGrounds coffee bar of Lincoln Park. Thornfield (including yours truly) will be playing, as well as some other fantastically folksy folks. So, if you're at all interested in folk music, great coffee, or just like to hang out with people who are, this is the place for you. There is a "Suggested Donation" of $5 to help cover costs, but don't let that stop you from coming if you really can't afford it!

Friday - Sunday, October 28-30th: Women's Weekend Away

This is specifically for the women of Holy Trinity (though if you don't attend HTC, you're still more than welcome... er... if you're a woman). I'm organizing the music and worship for this weekend, which has been super easy thanks to my friend Shandra and some other awesome organized women. (What would we creative types do without organized people?!?)

So. October. Is. Crazy. But as all of these projects seem to be coming together -- not effortlessly or seamlessly, but together nonetheless -- it's sure to be an exciting month for us. And the craziness has definitely taught me a lesson or twenty on depending not on my own strength but on the Spirit's. What He gives us to do, He will enable us to do. ::sigh of relief:: Thornfield will not be doing our monthly gig at CityGrounds for obvious reasons, but we'll be back there on Saturday, November 12th. Please check out our website (www.thornfieldmusic.com) for more up-to-date events, interviews, recordings and more.

Aaaaaaand... Since I'm writing about music, I think there should be some inspiring picture to go with it all in your mind. So here it is:

Have a great weekend!

Housekeeping

2011-09-14T11:18:00.000-05:00

No, I don't mean the actual keeping of my actual house. That is the stuff of legends. I just have a philosophical question for those faithful few who visit my tiny nook in this corner of the www. And that is this:

Can you see the blue/brown damask wallpaper on either side of this page?

OK, maybe not the mind-blowing question you were expecting. But insofar as it has to do with perception and points of view (heh) I stand by my calling it "philosophical." I, for one, have to zoom out my screen from its normal "zoom" to see it. Zoom, I tell you! Which, now that I think about it, sounds like a fun thing to do. But in this case... I digress.

Anywho. I consider that damask wallpaper essential to the experience of my blog. That's right, essential. It colors everything about this page. Paints my more difficult posts a shade cheerier and my silly posts a shade more serious. And as it is my dearest determination to start blogging more regularly again (again, heh), I want to make sure everyone else sees things the way I do (why else would I blog???). If that requires a little tweaking of the template, so be it.

So...?

A World of Mourners

2011-09-11T22:04:00.003-05:00

"I'll always remember where I was when President Kennedy was assassinated."

As I grew up, there were just a handful of occasions that would bring these words to my mother's lips. She was a small, quiet school girl, sitting attentively in class, when the news came and the press exploded with shocking film footage and unbelievable reports on the youngest president's death. Although her words always gave me pause, I never expected to experience in my life a memory so vivid. But, like her and -- I expect -- like you, I do.

Third seat from the left,

Second row,

Mr. Bunch's Earth Science class,

Perquimans County High School,

Hertford, North Carolina

United States of America

You could send a time-traveling torpedo to my precise location, I remember it so exactly (which is an ironic illustration, now that I think about it...).

After we heard the announcement over the school-wide speakers, Mr. Bunch turned on the television and we sat in disbelief, motionless and silent, with eyes glued to the monitor -- showing the kind of rigorous attention that the science teacher had probably always desired but never quite achieved for himself. And as we watched in amazement the burning of the north tower, hit just minutes earlier by the Boeing 767, our amazement was overpowered by astonishment as we watched, live, the second plane slice through the south tower. Unbelievable.

"Where are you lost?" depicts the victims of the 9/11 attacks

A dedicated student, I'd read, reviewed and memorized facts about war in many history classes before, and as my father was an avid CNN follower at the time, I'd even seen it, in some sense. Yet still, the reality and personal nature of war was absent from my 15-year experience of the world. Watching it happen in real time on the soil of my own country, land of the free, for God's sake!, I was still too dumbfounded to even cry.

I don't remember much of the rest of the school day, except the one girl who weeped in the cafeteria because her father worked at the Pentagon, and she still hadn't heard a word from him. But I do remember that evening, standing absently in our living room, staring blankly at our own television set, wondering if this was the end of the world... wondering if Armageddon was actually going to happen in my lifetime... in my childhood... before I got a chance to fall in love, to be married, to have children of my own... wondering if this was just the beginning of the end. I remember questioning everything I'd worked for. Nights of tireless study and days of diligent activity, all for naught. This was it, and I had nothing truly meaningful to show for it.

9/11 Memorial photo by Denise Gould (DOD)

Ten years later, I still don't have much to show for my small existence, and my heart and mind are still full of questions about what happened that day. But in the time that has passed, my questions have evolved a bit. Now I ask questions like,
What is my role in the defeat of evil?
Why did God ever allow it to enter this world?
What must I feel towards those who take violent action in the name of their own god, Allah?
Am I allowed to hate him, while still loving those who trust him?
Can I mourn this loss and its effect on my nation, while not neglecting to appreciate, understand and grieve the tragic devastation that people around the world experience at the hands of such violence every day?

I, of course, have more questions than answers. Yet, some things have become a bit clearer in the past few days as I've remembered 9/11 once more. As much as I hated those possessed men on the day they mercilessly killed nearly three thousand people, I realize today that they, too, were victims of evil. They believed the lies of the Enemy, and were as much in his grasp that day as any have ever been.

I was also reminded today how timely the Holy Spirit often uses His word. Our church community has been studying the book of Ephesians for the entire summer and, whether coincidentally or providentially, we landed in chapter 6, verses 10-18 today. Here's J.B. Phillips' translation of that passage:

In conclusion be strong—not in yourselves but in the Lord, in the power of his boundless resource. Put on God’s complete armour so that you can successfully resist all the devil’s methods of attack. For our fight is not against any physical enemy: it is against organisations and powers that are spiritual. We are up against the unseen power that controls this dark world, and spiritual agents from the very headquarters of evil. Therefore you must wear the whole armour of God that you may be able to resist evil in its day of power, and that even when you have fought to a standstill you may still stand your ground. Take your stand then with truth as your belt, righteousness your breastplate, the Gospel of peace firmly on your feet, salvation as your helmet and in your hand the sword of the Spirit, the Word of God. Above all be sure you take faith as your shield, for it can quench every burning missile the enemy hurls at you. Pray at all times with every kind of spiritual prayer, keeping alert and persistent as you pray for all Christ’s men and women.

I could easily -- and I imagine many probably do -- use this passage to target Al Qaeda as the headquarters of evil, and the men who sustain it, the enemy. But as I've said before, no human being is my enemy, for that would mean that my battle is physical. It is not. And Christian Americans are certainly not its only victims. Every person is a child of God and therefore a target of Satan's burning missiles. Even those who use their own bodies as burning missiles. Every person is in deep need of God's mercy, in desperation of God's peace. Even those who withhold mercy from others and make peace seem unattainable.

"Dying, He destroyed our death..."
by Lawrence OP

I still have unanswered questions and deep sorrow over what happened as I sat wide-eyed in that silent classroom ten years ago. The deaths of so many people must be remembered and mourned on days like this. But even as we mourn, we must also bear in mind that the death of one Person was all that was necessary to defeat the powers of darkness, and to bring mercy and peace to a world of mourners...

Agnus Dei, qui tollis pecatta mundi,

Miserere nobis.

Agnus Dei, qui tollis pecatta mundi,

Dona nobis pacem.

Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world,

Have mercy on us.

Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world,

Grant us peace.

Bedroom Bliss

2011-08-12T13:04:00.003-05:00

The first installment in a home tour series I think I'll call "Our Nookie Nest" or "Our Crampy Cranny."

For my 25th birthday last October, Eric bought for me what I'd been longing the past four years to buy: Bedroom Furniture. We'd avoided this rather costly purchase for the first few years of our marriage because, well, we were poor and barely able to feed ourselves on Aldi fare, and because we weren't sure what the next few years would bring. If we ended up oversees for any extended period of time -- for grad school or missions or whatever -- we didn't want to have to pawn off on Craigslist such an important (read: expensive) purchase. Plus, it was my own silly, outward-focused judgement that made me think that I should focus on decorating the "public" parts of our little home -- the rooms that our guests would see. This meant that, when I went on my little interior decorating sprees, our poor bedroom always got neglected. So, at least in our bedroom, we managed four years of marital bliss on free hand-me-down dressers and the metal frame that came with our mattress.

Eric -- thoughtful man that he is -- knew that this was a big dream of mine, though, to have matching furniture (oh, rapturous thought!). So last year -- since we'd saved up enough, didn't have any major move plans coming up, and were able to find a furniture discount store with just the kind of bedroom set I'd always wanted -- he decided to splurge a bit for his little wifey. Ever since then, my mother (who hasn't been able to visit us in Chicago since my graduation in May 2010) has dropped the hint once a month or so for me to display some pictures of my "new" bedroom here on my little ol' blog.

So, Ma, this one's for you. :)

First, though, lest any of you read this and subsequent "Our Nookie Nest" / "Our Crampy Cranny" posts and come away with the idea that I'm some Domestic Diva, let me just set the record straight. I cannot sew or knit, and although I once crocheted a scarf for Eric (before we were married, when I was still wooing him* ;), I couldn't tell you the first move if I tried to do it again today. I'm not all that great in the kitchen, either. Yes, I can follow instructions and can therefore cook one darn good meal if I have a good recipe, but most days I just don't feel like cooking. Keeping my home clean is another trouble point, and almost always happens only because I know someone is coming over that evening (or because I am planning to take pictures). ::whew:: Now that the air is clear of all housewifely expectations, let us begin...

Come on in, but don't make yourself too comfortable!

Here's our bedroom in "natural" light

(um, OK, plus twinkle lights):

And here it is in the unnatural variety.

The bedroom set came in three parts. Obviously, the bed...

(And yes, that is my "secret" stash of Irish chocolate leaning against the bedside.)

the chest of drawers / mirror...

... and the dresser. Cat scratches and all.

Or is this the chest of drawers, and the other was the dresser?

The world may never know.

Here are some pictures for perspective:

Please ignore the very crowded "work area."

Really, does anyone's desk not have a pile of junk (and very important) mail attempting to hide away? And for that matter, does anyone actually use their desk for desk-related activities like writing and reading and such, anyway?!?

Just pretend this is where the compositional genius happens, and I won't bother to correct you.

And now back to pretty things, like my gorgeous husband.

... and our pretty wedding picture that our cat got jealous of and decided to smash onto the floor.

And here's my home beautifying tip of the day: sheer curtains.

It was really amazing how much softening they brought to the room.

Though, putting them right beside the scratching post may have been a bad idea...

OK, that's it. Now get outta my bedroom!!!

***

Stay tuned for my next home tour: Our Brimming Bookshelves

That may sound boring, but believe me -- it's epic.

***

*I'll buy you a coffee if you know this reference.

What Is It with Cats & Linen Closets?

2011-08-09T12:50:00.002-05:00

I don't know, but they seem to go together so well...

Oh Baby

2011-08-05T13:29:00.001-05:00

OK, be thou warned. This is not a typical City Songbird post.

Frankly, the hormones are taking over the head today, and I'm a bit surprised myself at the outcome, but...

Today I want a baby.

Of course, it has ~~nothing~~ everything to do with this...

and this...

and this...

heh. OK, maybe not the last one. Gotta admit it's catchy, though.

Baby, baby, baby, oh... I'm like baby, baby, baby... Oh, excuse me. er... Where was I?

Oh yes, babies. I've been through all this before, of course. I had a (rather superficial) longing for a little one a few years ago when I was still in school and absolutely not allowed to get pregnant. (Yes, I was married then, but just had to finish school first!) At that point I think it was more the You Always Want What You Can't Have theory working overtime on me. I eventually got over it and realized that life with my hubby minus kiddos was actually pretty great, and that I likely wouldn't get this set-up back for 25 or so years once we start being "productive." So I eased back into my contented self and enjoyed the last couple of years tremendously. Till this summer when, with more gravity and depth, it hit me again.

Baby, baby, baby, oh... I'm like baby, baby, baby, oh...

Gosh darn it! Does anyone have a cure for getting this dang song outta my head?!

Maybe it's simply my "reproductive clock" ticking a little more loudly, like the closing in of a great alligator. (Yes, that would make me Captain Hook. Makes sense, contextually, I believe.) Maybe it's the discovery that there is a lot of cute "Enchanted Forest" nursery decor to be had. Maybe it's the fact that everyone and their mother seems to have a baby. Whatever it is, it's got a good grip on my heart strings and is not letting go. Of course, there are still a lot of ~~difficult~~ dreadful questions looming in the recesses (and, believe me, there are plenty of recesses) of my mind. Questions like,

What will happen to my music career when I'm needed 24/7 by another, totally dependent, human being?

Isn't raising a person kinda expensive?

Will I be able to fit into the bridesmaid dress for my best friend's wedding next Spring?

What kind of education would be best for him/her?

How will I discipline the child if when he/she is really naughty?

How do I prevent passing on certain... hm... "undesirable" traits? Like perfectionism, for instance.

What if he/she grows up to despise his/her father and I or - worse - Jesus?

Will I even be able to get pregnant / carry a child to full term?

If I am, where the heck will we put the dang baby???

Very moving questions. Questions for which I have no answers. Questions which I'm told every mother-to-be worries over and eventually figures out without so much as breaking a sweat... Well, OK, maybe one or two. Still, not an easy pill to swallow. Much harder than the one that kept me out of this whole mess to begin with.

Who knows to what end this battle raging in my mind will bring me. Whatever it is, at least I'll have a good fight song to get me through it...

Baby, baby, baby, oh... I'm like baby, baby, baby, oh... I'm like baby, baby, baby, oh...
I thought you'd always be mine. Mi-i-ine.

Five years...

2011-07-22T11:59:00.000-05:00

of dreaming about castles in the sky,

and of building our own on the fertile soil

of loving someone else more than life itself

... and counting.

Photo by the fabulous Casey Jo Jenkins of J7 Photography

Summertime

2011-07-21T11:28:00.000-05:00

Summertime, and the livin’ is easy.

Fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high.

Oh, your daddy’s rich and your mama’s good lookin’

So hush, little baby, don’t you cry…

The dog days of Summer have come to the city of Chicago. All it took was a few sequential days of 90’s for me to realize it. As I pealed away the dead, limp buds of petunias and snap dragons, baked brown in the heat of July’s merciless sun, I heard it… The cicadas singing their deafening song, announcing the late arrival of a season that’s been around for a month but has hardly been noticed. And I felt it… the hot breeze that just barely keeps the sweat off my brow and my thirsty lungs from suffocating. And I knew it.

Summer in this city is just not Summer to me.

Yes, I take part in the long, warm strolls down charming avenues with ice cream cones in hand.

I make my way to the beach and play volleyball like Old Man Winter will never return.

I even find myself in the dog park, catching lightning bugs in the darkening dusk.

But Summer is lost. I think I left it behind when I left Carolina…

The land of warm riverbed squishing between my toes.

The land of weeping willows draped across dark but … shhh… secretly alive creeks.

The land of water moccasins that we don’t mind as long as there’s a shotgun or shovel handy.

The land of swelteringly hot but gloriously peaceful sunsets carelessly painted across breath-taking skies.

I see Chicago’s charm and beauty in the Spring and Fall. But this city seems to skip the romantically wild season that is Summer, a season not found in overpopulated beaches, overheated asphalt, or air-conditioned skyscrapers, but in wind-blown fields running green and white forever, in bare feet doing their best to keep up, in quiet evenings of star-gazing and moon-whispering, in gentle laps of water on the old, dirty bulkheads…

One of these mornins’, you’re gonna rise up singin.’

Then you’ll spread your wings and you’ll take to the sky.

But till that mornin’, there ain’t nothin’ can harm you,

With daddy and mama standin’ by…

There’s something so old and sad in that song, some longing that I’m not quite sure I ever knew before.

But I think I know it now.

The Perquimans River, my home

N. Carolina's state flower, also part of my wedding bouquet: the Dogwood

Missing Mill Park - Hertford, NC

We used to stare into these trees for hours, looking for eagles' nests.

Perquimans River's famed Log Turtles

Another attraction of my homeland: Shelby Lynn Harrell

Holy War

2011-07-19T14:37:00.004-05:00

I'm a perfectionist and therefore a very bad decision-maker. There, I said it. I struggle often with understanding the purpose of this little nook in the cranny of the World Wide Webmonster. Is this a place for opinionated free-thinking or for Scripture-based teaching? Is it the home of the world's worst cook's cookbook, or a family album of adorable nieces, Regency balls, and phantasmagoric trips abroad? Is City Songbird a hoard of shameless gig promos, or a collection of creation? Of reviews or recordings? Of the silly or the sacred? Well, apparently, it is all of the above.

Some days are days for harmless tête-à-tête. Other days are days for gentle encouragement. Still others are days for brutal but honest conviction. The latter are the most anxiety-ridden, for I've seen the damage that "honest conviction" can do. So I sit on my windy little balcony, coffee at my elbow, air conditioner six stories down serving as white noise to distract me from the traffic-cluttered street below and the thought-cluttered mind within, thinking and thinking and alluding to but never typing exactly what I'm thinking, afraid of hurting or being hurt. Or worse still, being called a heretic.

But today... today is a new day. I'm going to say what's on my mind. I'm going to trust that the Spirit is still in my heart, guiding and guarding my thoughts and words and actions. And I might stir up the holy water a bit, but better a little choppy than stale. So. Here goes.

I have a problem with the way Christians (myself included) use God's word. We use it as a defense for our prejudiced -- no, not strong enough -- bigoted opinions. We use it to hate and bully others whose lifestyles and preferences we detest. We use it to judge and to tear down and to condemn. We do all this in the name of "edification," forgetting that to edify means to build up. We remember well that the Bible is "a double-edged sword," but instead of turning it on our Enemy, we turn it on one another -- on other Christians and on those of other faiths and decrees. We teach our children to do the same, preparing them with "Sword Drills" but often neglecting to teach them which Holy War they're being prepared to fight. With it, we slay our brothers and sisters, our mothers and fathers, even our children. With it, we pierce and leave for dead those we should be protecting and fighting on behalf of.

We forget that "our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places" (Ephesians 6). Not against the government. Not against the liberals. Not against the communists. Not against the conservatives. Not against the feminists. Not against the LGBT community. Not against the Catholics, nor the main-line churches. Not against the legalists or the licentious. Not even against the Arminians or the Calvinists. Not against the "effeminate" men or the unfeminine women. Not against the filthy-mouthed rappers or the over-sexualized pop idols. In short, not against any other human being, but against Satan. Truth is, we're so busy fighting our battles with one another, we don't even notice him craftily smirking on the sidelines, pleased with the work he has done in distracting us from the Real Battle so that he can keep dragging sword-less souls into the pits to share his sentence of despair and destruction. Really, we're making his job a whole lot easier.

I'm not exempt from this lot of sword-mishandling slayers. This is as much my own battle as it may be yours or the next person’s. But I hope someone'll hear me out while I crawl on my knees, scarred from the battles I've won as badly as the ones I've lost, begging the Church -- the Body of Jesus, Prince of Peace -- to please stop using God's word to break wills and hearts. Instead of using it to kill, we must use it to heal. Instead of using it to tear, we must use it to mend. If the greatest commandment is to love God and love one another, than the surest way to defeat the Enemy is to use God's word -- the one weapon He has for some reason given and trusted us with -- to love.

I read Matthew 5:43-45 for the umpteenth time this morning, and the Father graciously let me in on something I’ve overlooked or simply ignored so many times before, and that is: God loves His enemies. Loves them. Lavishes blessings on them – the sun, the rain (which may be difficult to see as a blessing in Ireland, but is sure as day a blessing in Israel), not to mention eternal salvation – all good things. And what does Jesus say reveals us as God’s children? Doing the same. Loving people. And not loving only those who love us back or at least agree with our doctrine, but loving those who disagree, despise, would destroy us if they could… like they tried to do to Jesus. What was His response? “Father, forgive them; they don’t realize what they’re doing…”

Father, forgive us. We don’t realize what we’re doing – how we’re slapping and beating and killing Christ Himself when we use Your very word against Your body, against Your image-bearers. Teach us to use Your word to love, rather than to prove our doctrinal positions. Teach us to wield this sword with truth and grace, aiming it true toward the heart of Satan, and placing it with grace into the hands of our brothers and sisters. Teach us which Holy War You'd have us fight, and keep us far from the battlefields of those in which our enemy is not actually our Enemy, but an object of Your love. And teach us to love as You do, so that we may be Your children.

I'm Late

2011-07-02T14:37:00.001-05:00

No, it's not what you think. It never is... (and if it ever was, I should hope I am capable of thinking up a more poetic way to say so!) But it did get you to read this post, so its job is done. :)

Honestly, though, if you've ever attended any regularly scheduled class, service, job, etc. with me, you know it's true. I'm perpetually late. It's like the clock doesn't apply to me, and if it does, well, that means it's running 15 minutes (or weeks) late, too. Of course, this wouldn't bother anyone if I lived in some reasonable place closer to the Mediterranean, but here in the northern part of the western hemisphere, it seems to matter. It's not my fault, though. Nurture over nature, I say! Mom still hasn't sent the package she promised in April, but I don't blame her for that: her Mother's Day card still sits peacefully, collecting dust on our bookshelf, right next to Dad's Father's Day card. Nobody in my family likes being late. It's just what we do. It's one of those strange genetic facts of life that everyone complains about but no one remediates and everyone perpetuates. Like Aunt Petunia's jello salad.

Anyway, what now? you might be wondering. Yes, Carrie, we've been reading this blog long enough to know that you're not exactly jive with The Now and have a very difficult time finishing what you started, even if you started it within a reasonable time period after you were inspired to begin it!

Well. Thanks for the vote of confidence. I'll ignore that comment and maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to finish this very post.

So.

(Two days later...)

As I was saying...

I'm late.

There are many things in life to which I have been late, but this is one of the more lamentable, as I'm enjoying myself with it more than I have with any other. It's called Harry Potter. Maybe you've heard of it? I bought Eric the first book for Christmas, as I knew he liked the series, but sometime last month, between novels myself and at loss for something new to read, I decided to give it a whirl. Eh, the last movie's comin' out this Summer, so I may as well give the first book a shot. Oh boy, if ever I signed up for something that turned out to be way more than I bargained for, about which I was happy, this is it. Now I somehow find myself on the verge of delving into the fifth book, having hit up the local used book store about once a week since May, trying with all my might to get through the seventh before going to see the movie in two weeks. Eric has picked up the series again too (he can never settle for having less fun than I), for the third time I think.

I suppose I should explain why I never picked up the decade-old pop phenomenon before now. I guess it was the whole "witches and wizards are of the devil" Southern mentality that kept the books out of my hands. No, poor Bobby Boucher's upbringing isn't rare down there.* Not that my mother is at all likened unto his, but many of the Bible Belt Mothers were, and I'm pretty sure our church at the time shunned the series altogether. As I wasn't one to rock the boat, I instead just went with the flow and avoided it. Now that I'm past "the point of no return" that is book four, I do realize that this is no longer a cute, albeit incredibly well-written, children's series, but a serious fight of Good and Evil. Actually, it's almost totally not unlike the story of Scripture. And there are certainly very dark elements, but the story never enshrines the dark. It totally upholds the defeat of the dark and depends upon the sacrifice of self for one's friends and even grace towards one's enemies (besides He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, of course, who -- in calling himself "the Dark Lord" -- is nearer the image of Satan than any other fictional character I've encountered).

My point is: I was forbidden from reading Harry Potter because it was so anti-Christian, but the truth is: Harry Potter is more "Christian" than a lot of "Christian fiction" out there. I could just say it's been a fun read, and it has. But really, it strikes a chord with me because it is so near The Truth. The Truth about a beautiful, magical world created for pleasure and glory, but tainted with fear and pride by evil and selfishness. The Truth about a horrible, powerful "lord" scraping and slithering and slaughtering for even more power and glory. The Truth about One who is more powerful than he, who uses his own power for good, risking and eventually laying down his life for the safety of not only his friends but of all mankind. Of course, I haven't read the last three books yet (please don't tell me how it ends!!!) so I'm still somewhat in the analogical dark, but I think you get my point.

So, what's next?, I wonder. Will I manage to surmount the seemingly unsurmountable by getting through the next 2100-odd pages before July 15? Eh, probably not, but I don't care to stand in line for the first showing of the last movie anyway.

And you? Any good, un-Christian Christian novels out there we should know about? What do you think (or what have you been told) about Harry Potter? Whatever you say, don't give away the ending or I may have to put a spell on you!

-----------------------------------------

*If you don't understand this reference, then you probably weren't raised in the South, but perhaps in a similarly restrictive culture. I promise, this restriction was well-founded.

Thornfield

2011-06-09T12:51:00.002-05:00

Yes, City Songbird has been m.i.a. lately... at least in the blogosphere. I've been pretty active elsewhere, believe it or not. For one thing, I've got this band, see... and we've been writing some music, see... and performing regularly in Chicago, see... so much so that (yes, I'm going to say it again) we've finally gone and made a name for ourselves, see... No really, see. Right here:

Oops! Wrong picture! er... sorry! ... er, where did I put that file...? Oh yes, here we go:

Much better. Or at least more informative.

That's right, folks, we're officially a band! With a real, cool band website, to boot! (Please check it out and let us know what you think!) We've each and all been working on some new material (rather faithfully, if I may say so, for working-class people with day jobs) and have been able to debut, on average, about three new songs every month. June is no exception, so we'll be bringing some fresh tunes to CityGrounds coffee bar in Lincoln Park this Saturday (June 11), from 7 to 9pm. So, if you like folk, jazz, singer/songwriter, or blues, please do come out and hear our fusion of all these styles and more.

In addition to playing at our favorite coffee spot, we're on the prowl for some new venues to visit this Summer. If you have any suggestions, please do let me know. I'll do my best to update you on our schedule, but of course the best way to keep track of all-things-Thornfield is to check regularly thornfieldmusic.com, where you'll find all you need to know about us, and a few extra things thrown in for good measure. And if you're all about the social media connections out there, you can also find and become fans of Thornfield on facebook, follow us on twitter, and listen to us on ReverbNation or myspace.

Well, time for me to be about practicing... or convincing Jenna to get that awesome tattoo...

Reader's Poll: Should we encourage Eric to let that facial hair grow? I'm kinda drawn to it, myself...

Music Poureth Forth!

2011-05-13T14:01:00.001-05:00

Hello my friends,

I've been doing some extra work lately on my music site (including some new videos!) , so I'd be thrilled if you'd stop by carriepaz.com.

In other musical news, my lovely musical companions Eric and Jenna will be joining me once more at CityGrounds Coffee Bar in Lincoln Park (507 W. Dickens, to be precise) this Saturday (yes, tomorrow!) night at 7pm. We're adding three new songs to the mix in addition to the three new songs we brought last time, so if you haven't been to see us in a while ... or ever, for that matter ... I think you'll find yourself pleasantly surprised.

Lastly, I'm so happy to announce that after months and months of soul- and word-searching, we've finally chosen a band name! Let there be much rejoicing!!! However, before we make the big announcement, we really need to get our new website up to a reasonable standard of beauty and maneuverability. So... while I pine away in Wordpress for Dummies, I hope you'll listen to one of our newest additions to the setlist, a beautiful lullaby composed by the lovely Jenna Satterthwaite (who is also singing that beautiful harmony!), which we debuted at CityGrounds in April and got this live recording of:

So, the joke goes...

2011-05-11T11:11:00.000-05:00

One beautiful afternoon, the pastor of a small Southern town decided to make the rounds to visit some members of his congregation. After chatting a while with one, he'd move on to another, and all was going fine and dandy until he knocked on the fifth door on his route. No one answered, so he knocked again. After trying a third time, he got out a pencil and paper and left this note on his apparently absent congregant's door:

"Revelation 3:20"

The following Sunday there was a business meeting involving elections after the church service, for which ballots were taken up and given to the pastor. He read each and kept tally, and all was going fine and dandy until he came upon a ballot which only read:

"Genesis 3:10"

*****

For your reference:

Rev. 3:20 - Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me.

Gen. 3:10 - I heard the sound of You in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid myself.

*****

Please note: This joke works best (and maybe only) if told with a heavy Southern accent.

to die is gain?

2011-05-02T21:49:00.000-05:00

last night i wept. and wept. and wept. for how long, i don't know. my husband's steady shoulder didn't keep the time as it soaked in the endless tears. streaming, on and on, from the limitless source of who-knows-where. and i didn't know why either. such sadness as i've hardly known before shook my body and poured from my lips and eyes, and i couldn't explain one shake or one tear or one moan. as i cried, part of my sadness flowed from the very thought that i shouldn't be so sad. no reason. yet, the weeping continued as i cried out, "Heaven would be so much better!" oh, how i longed for Heaven last night. how i longed to be there more than anywhere else in the world or out of it. but i still didn't know why. why was i so discontent with this world and my lot in it?

and then we heard the news. the news that sent our nation into an uproar of jubilation. and i couldn't believe my eyes, the same eyes that had just wept so bitterly. they were seeing the words plastered on the screen, immovable: Osama bin Laden is dead. shock ensued, but no joy. i admit, i felt some relief of justice served, some pride in my nation's actions to serve it. but deeper still in my heart, i felt the bitterness of death. though i can't see this man's heart, his actions suggest his forever separation from life, from love, from his Creator and Father. and people are happy about this, thinking his death might bring peace. but i know it won't. twenty-four hours later, it has only brought a morale boost tainted with the fear of retaliation.

knowing this bit of news didn't alleviate any pain in my heart, didn't bring any peace to my soul. my sigh still exhales, Heaven would be so much better. so much better. and then i finally realized why i wept: death. death itself. i long for Heaven because Heaven is life. there, no tear falls and no voice weeps because there, death has no place. and i realized Jesus wept about death too. the corrupted earth we inhabit exudes death, and God Himself was no more comforted over that reality than i was last night. peace seems so void, life so fleeting, hope so vain.

then, this evening, my eyes rested on new words. words from someone else who longed for Heaven the way i did last night: to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. but if i am to live on in the flesh, this will mean fruitful labor for me; and i do not know which to choose. but i am hard-pressed from both directions, having the desire to depart and be with Christ, for that is very much better; yet to remain on in the flesh is more necessary for your sake. convinced of this, i know that i will remain and continue with you all for your progress and joy in the faith... for to you it has been granted for Christ's sake, not only to believe in Him, but also to suffer for His sake, experiencing the same conflict which you saw in me, and now hear to be in me.

to die is gain... for me. but to live is Christ. Christ is life. the death of those who do not yet know Him saddens me beyond expression, but that's why i'm still alive. He has a purpose for this breath still in me: to encourage others to desire Him as i do. for progress and joy in the faith, He has destined me (and every other believer) to live today and perhaps tomorrow. this is suffering, this is why i wept last night: this conflict between desiring to be with Christ in Heaven and realizing my purpose on earth.

i weep still.

The Same Grace We Were Given

2011-04-19T13:17:00.002-05:00

I've been gone for a long time. Over a month, I see...

Don't know what kept me away, except the realization that I didn't have to do this. I didn't have to have a steady flow of blog posts to have friends who think I'm pretty fun. I didn't have to write cleverly or poetically or even thoughtfully about trivial or important things in order to be understood and loved. I just needed to step away for a while to see that. Now that I'm back, I find I'm the recipient of a bloggerrific honor (Much to my surprise! Thanks, Jenna!), and that -- while I may not have a storehouse of interesting things to converse about with my world wide websters -- I do have a few things stored up in my heart that are longing for an out. And I do have friends out there who might be interested to hear about them. And as long as I don't base my self esteem on the inflow of positive comments, I can actually enjoy this outlet.

And so I return, fresh blog post in hand and my heart not quite so on my sleeve, but certainly available to those who ask for it kindly. Or those who rip it from my chest. Well, I'm getting ahead of myself...

*****

One thing I've been thinking a lot about in the last several days is urban poverty and homelessness. Last week Hope For Chicago (who's Executive Director I work for) and Holy Trinity Church (our home away from home), along with several other gospel-centered social justice groups, sponsored/attended a one-day conference (directly following the three-day Gospel Coalition Conference) entitled Christ+City, which was headlined by Manhattan church-planter Tim Keller (who has a most excellent theology of the gospel lived out as both justification by faith and social justice in our communities... but that's a parenthetical statement for another day!). I can't believe I just sputtered that out all in one sentence, but there you have it.

Between that conference and BSF's recent study of Isaiah 58, I've been done in with thoughts and prayers for the urban poor. Especially on days like today -- cold, windy, rainy, pretty much the epitome of miserable days -- I am quick to think of my own misfortunes (Sheesh! I can't take a leisurely walk to my favorite new coffee bar and drink in Spring's glory!) and not the misfortunes of others, which may very likely exclude the cozy chair and warm cup of one's own home-brewed coffee with a roof over one's head and dry clothes on one's back.

It's taken a long, long time to see poverty through the eyes of Jesus. I was raised in a culture that said, "God helps those who help themselves" and "You reap what you sow" and "I'll help you if you prove to me you're worth it." Nowhere in any of those statements is the gospel present. The gospel is about God helping people who cannot help themselves, and reaping something that someone else sowed, and understanding that we're all unworthy of help and that's why it's so awesome that God's love and care is not based on worth! The gospel is God helping the poor, namely me and you. And those who've heard and understood and accepted this gospel are called to be extenders of the same grace we were given.

That means helping people who can't -- maybe even won't -- help themselves.

That means giving people things that they didn't work for.

That means extending care and grace and provision to people whether we deem them "worthy" or not. Because neither are we. Yet, God lavished all of his fullness on us anyway.

The gospel -- justification by grace alone -- demands that we extend it in just the same way we received it. It demands that we care more about the person on the corner with the cardboard sign than we care about what that dollar or two that we painstakingly give him might be spent on. (Really? You care more about a practically worthless piece of paper than a human soul?) Please forgive me if this sounds like a frustrated rant. I promise you it's as much -- and even more -- directed to my own heart than it is to anyone else's. I suppose ~~part~~ most of my frustration comes from the realization that I've been walking with the Lord, meditating on his word, sitting under the teaching of good theology for years, and am only just now starting to have these sore, oozing eyes parted, slowly and painfully and resistantly opened to the reality of my place among the poor and my calling to their welfare. Consider these words, spoken from God's lips to our hearts:

Is this not the fast which I choose,
         To loosen the bonds of wickedness,
         To undo the bands of the yoke,
         And to let the oppressed go free
         And break every yoke?
   Is it not to divide your bread with the hungry
         And bring the homeless poor into the house;
         When you see the naked, to cover him;
         And not to hide yourself from your own flesh?

That is our calling, my friend. That is our fast, our prayer, our demonstration of our faith to our God and our fellow earth-dwellers. To bring freedom through the gospel to people. Freedom not only for the poor, enslaved to their poverty, but freedom also for the rich, enslaved to their wealth; freedom that breaks every yoke. And freedom involves sacrifice. For Jesus that involved death. Can I, then, not spare some food, money, shelter, clothing, etc., for the freedom of others? For me, that's what it will sometimes involve. It most definitely always involves giving respect: Is the fast which I choose not to hide yourself from your own flesh? To me that says, don't turn away. Don't look in the other direction when you see someone in need. Don't ignore them. Respect their personhood by looking them in the eyes. Respect them by not only acknowledging them but speaking to them, and not with pity but with compassion. Showing pity is not the same thing as showing compassion. Pity says, "I'm sorry," and then may spare some loose change for the alleviation of one's own guilt over being richer than someone else. Compassion builds a relationship with someone, and then says, "What do you need? How can I help?"

I've shared a song, "Winter's Ashes" on here before. Eric and I recently worked on a video/montage for it (for the above conference), so I hope you won't mind me sharing it again. Look and listen and pray let the spirit stir in your heart and mine a grace for others more like God's... more like the grace we were given...

World's Cutest Pazdziora Turns One!

2011-03-18T11:24:00.001-05:00

It's true. Yesterday was Fern Rose's birthday and as her doting aunt, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to show off the cutest Pazdziora in the world. Just look at those chubby cheeks, those searching eyes, and I defy you to tell me there is another!

Remember, Fern's the one on the left. Yeah, now I defy you!

Like every other intelligent baby, Fern likes to hear the Belly Button Book. "Be bo!"

She also enjoys the company of others, especially their fingers.

I almost can't stand how cute she and Eric are together.

Makes me wanna... ::clears throat:: Moving on...

Like her namesake, she's a young girl who -- I can already tell -- will thoughtfully and passionately defend the weak and fight for good. Can't you see that in her eyes?

But like I said, she's one now. The big one point zero. So I suppose she's grown up a bit since we last saw the wee thing, due to a ginormous pond between us. Her lovely parents keep us in the loop, though.

Lately she's been laughing at plates...

and swallowed by drinks...

Oh my word. I must see this young thing soon! We miss her whole family so much...

Happy Birthday, Fern! We miss you and your Mommy and Daddy so!

Giggity Gig

2011-03-09T21:28:00.000-06:00

If you're in Chicago or within reasonable driving distance, I hope you'll maybe stop by... pleeeease? :)

P.S. Excellent lattes will be had.

Finding the Spiritual in the Musical: White Winter Hymnal

2011-03-04T11:56:00.005-06:00

As I was sipping the good stuff and puttering about the blogosphere this morning, generally minding my own business, my quiet thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of an echo-like stutter, an "I was followin' the I was followin' the I was followin' the...", and my heart leapt. I'm not typically enraptured when I come upon blogs with music playlists. Not that I'm annoyed by it by any means; it's a great way to get to know someone, really, hearing what they like to listen to. But most times I just politely turn down my laptop's volume and keep reading. It's not a music elitist thing, truly (though I have been known to keep U2 up for reasons unknown to myself); more like an I-only-have-so-much-ability-to-concentrate-and-music-always-demands-more-than-background-status-so-I-have-to-keep-it-to-one-thing-at-a-time thing. When I heard the above words, the same principle stood, but I couldn't turn it down. Instead, I listened and forgot to read the blog (till after the song was over, at which point I turned down the volume and thoroughly enjoyed the reading)! The song I was listening to was the Fleet Foxes' enigmatic "White Winter Hymnal," which I'd heard many times before, every time proving as wonderful (in the word's truest sense) and mysterious as the first. Listen and watch, and see what I mean...

What do you think? Do you have any idea what it could mean? Who was the pack, and why was he following them? Why were they wearing "scarves of red tied 'round their throats to keep their little heads from falling in the snow"? What does that mean, anyway? Who's Michael and how did he fall? Did the snow turn "red as strawberries" because his fall caused him to bleed? If that's the case, do the red scarves represent blood as well?

Is this just a sweet memory of boyhood pleasures, simple as the words used to describe it, or is there something deeper in these lyrics? How does the video relate to the song, or does it at all?

Some friends and I did an analysis of this song for a class last year, and listening to it again this morning brought back all the memories and all the emotions this song stirred within me when I first heard its beautiful harmonies and enchanting lyrics. It hauntingly evokes in my mind the passage of time, the loss of innocence, and the coming of death. Maybe that's not what it means at all. Robin Pecknold, Fleet Foxes' lead singer and songwriter, doesn't believe that giving away an absolute meaning behind the song is imperative, but rather understands that a certain enigmatic element is desirable. It's a perspective I admire in a songwriter, even if I don't - and sometimes can't - adhere to it myself.

When doing research on the Fleet Foxes, I found this review, (from the UK's newsreel, The Independent) which is very telling of the band's style and history. As a believer in the sacred, I'm always interested in the spiritual side of things, so my interest was piqued with these words:

There's a churchy quality to the rich, rousing vocal-round that begins "White Winter Hymnal", and some critics have picked up on the devotional sound that informs parts of Fleet Foxes' debut. It's easy to imagine the group bringing in the sheaves, but Pecknold is not a believer.

"My dad was quite critical of organised religion, so we kids were never scuttled out to church. I don't know if there is a Judeo-Christian God, but if there is, I wouldn't blame Him for everything that's wrong in the world. I suppose music is a devotional vocation for me, and even if you're not religious that thing of aspiring to some kind of greatness can be a very useful tool. When you hear pure devotion, though – like Brian Wilson aiming to honour God on Pet Sounds – it's a lot more powerful than the average love song."

Rather than honouring God, Pecknold's songs seem designed to honour those closest to him. He describes his compositions as "happy accidents" and says that he is not particularly attached to them, something that surprises me, given their quality and intensely personal nature.

Although he is not a Christian, Pecknold's perspective on God is so fresh, so humble. And his words on the "devotional vocation" of music truly inspire me to be a better songwriter, both for those who simply hear the power in music directed to honor God, and for those who with me desire to honor God. Despite his calling them "happy accidents," I'm a great believer in absolute meaning in music, whether or not the composer intends it. I'm quite compelled by a lot of what the Fleet Foxes have said in their music so far, looking forward to what they will say in the future, even if I don't ~~always~~ ever understand it...

What have you been listening to lately? Do you think all/much of music ultimately has something spiritual to say, or can it sometimes just be enjoyed at face value?

Five years and counting...

2011-03-02T08:00:00.013-06:00

This past weekend was a special one for the gentleman friend and I. You see, one bitterly cold Monday in late February, 2006, I flew to Chicago and, in true Chicago fashion, was made an offer I couldn't refuse. Quell your Untouchables fantasy, my friend; that's another story for another day. Rather, mon amour Eric asked for my hand in exchange for his heart. (Gladly and thankfully, we each gave the rest of us, too, five months later.) Sunday last was to mark five years since that day, so E and I decided to spend the whole weekend celebrating.

After a jazzy Friday evening out, we spent a sleepy Saturday morning in. It was a perfectly snowy morn, so we spent it with coffee in hand and sighs escaping our refreshed lips. Not wanting to waste that perfect snow, though, we set out in the early afternoon for a Classic Chicago Date: Millennium Park's Ice-Skating Rink, which was a first for us! I started to hem and haw about the weather a bit when the perfect snow turned into questionable pellets, but we went forward with our plan anyway and enjoyed a wonderful afternoon on ice.

I realized after the fact that ice-skating kind of reminded me of our marriage. Eric and I were not exactly natural on the ice together. Sure, once I took off on my own, I was fine. But getting into a rhythm together -- having to move forward in such a way that one wouldn't trip up the other -- was challenging, honestly. We had to support each other, even suffer a few falls before we got the hang of it (and after we got a little full of ourselves), but still, we laughed (with one another) a lot. The hippity-happy sixties and seventies music didn't hurt, either. :)

Before leaving Millennium Park, we hopped on over to The Bean (er... Cloudgate... right.) for a few fun, albeit cloudy, shots:

After a few hours in this part of town, the sun (well, what was left of its rays, many of which got lost on their way through the cloudy Chicago skies) began bidding us good evening and called us on to other places. One place we'd had in mind to visit was our bench. The one just east of the sidewalk that passes through Jane Addams park on the Ohio Street Beach. The one that has such a brilliant view of Lake Michigan and this amazing city, all in the turn of one's head. That's the one. That's where all the magic happened those five years ago, and we wanted a small taste of its magic once more.

After a while of reminiscing over the past and dreaming of the future, I finally decided that my fingers were cold enough and I was ready to start that long, lovely walk home. To my complete surprise, Eric replied, "Oh, but there's one more thing..." and then, reaching into the camera bag, just like he did five years ago, he pulled out a box that had been hiding away inside, all along, and showed me this, a lovely new companion for my cold fingers:

Needless to say, I was in total shock! My left ring finger has worn a precious symbol of Eric's heart in my hand for five years, and I certainly wasn't expecting another. But you see, the ring he gave me five years ago had years of history already behind it. It belonged to his mother, who passed it along to him for me, a beautiful sign to me of her blessing on our marriage. For five years I have treasured that ring more than any other earthly thing, but still, somewhere in the deep, secret places of my heart, I hoped to someday wear something that my love had picked out specifically and only for me. The breath caught in my chest when I realized that this secret longing was coming true.

After breathing deeply to prevent the hyperventilation my surprised gasp might have begun, and while taking in a few more breathtaking views from and around our bench, we made our way to the next destination down memory lane...

Panang is the Thai restaurant where we, happy but poor, ate our first meal together as an engaged couple. (I can't wait to tell you about our very first date meal. All I can say now is, the mafia was involved. Yes, I wasn't kidding. Another story for another day...) After some delicious stirfry, we headed home. Well, actually, we went to Homegoods. E was actually in a good enough mood to admit that he wouldn't mind shopping, so -- knowing well our need for new sheets and a meat thermometer -- I gave superficial romance a suckerpunch and took advantage of love in its purest form: self-sacrifice. I love my husband.

The weekend rounded out beautifully with a restful Sunday, the best kind. I had some time to reflect on how truly blessed I've been these five years, and took in every moment of it. It's so easy to take someone for granted, you know? I hope never to, while I know there will be times I do. But oh, how I love him. Beautiful rings don't remind me of that. A gentle, patient, kind husband whose hands and words demonstrate every day what his heart believes and knows and feels: that's what reminds me that our love is rooted in something much deeper than we can even perceive. And oh, if five years can be so, so good, I can't wait to see what "happily ever after" brings...

Oh, how I need...

2011-02-28T22:08:00.001-06:00

Last Friday night, backed by four of Chicago's finest jazz musicians, I had the privilege of performing a classic at HTC's annual "Jazz and Java" concert. Thanks, fellas, for making me sound like I actually knew what I was doing. And thank you, Gershwin brothers, for being both untouchable and totally accessible at the same time.
Jazz love abounds.

Piano: Ben Lynerd, Bass: Jonathan Gilley, Drums: Erik Montzka, Vibes: Stephen Lynerd
Man Behind the Camera: Someone to Watch Over Me (a.k.a. Eric)

Silenced Voices, III

2011-02-26T12:27:00.001-06:00

Last month I began a series on the roles -- and specifically, the voices -- of Ancient Near Eastern women, a subject I studied while taking a course on Life in Bible Times. The subject still fascinates me, of course, as a woman, as a student of the Bible, and as an avid believer in the rights of all people to speak up. I believe our voices are our representatives to the world. If a person cannot speak or does not have permission to speak, a critical part of her personhood, of her individual heart and mind, is lost. And while we postmodern women were perhaps raised to believe that our voices were given to us by the Civil Rights Movement of our mothers and grandmothers (a campaign which I am 100% behind, by the way), I'd suggest that Someone else gave us our voices, Someone much more interested in our individual hearts and minds. We certainly haven't always and won't always use our voices for the glory of God, but to believe that He has ever silenced women is to believe a lie.

While I remind you that the following is an academic paper, I hope you may glean some "devotional" thoughts as you consider the history of woman's voice throughout sacred texts of our faith as well as those of other religions. In this series, I've already covered Woman's Voice in the Social Sphere of the Ancient Near East (in general) and Woman's Voice in the Social Sphere of the Old Testament (in particular). Without further ado, today I'm covering... (drum roll, please)...

Woman's Voice in the Religious Sphere of the Ancient Near East

In addition to the voices women had in the social sphere at home and beyond, like Ruth, they also had a say in the religious sphere. Miriam, Moses’ sister, is a good illustration of the active involvement of women in leadership and worship of Yahweh among the Jews. In Exodus 15:20, Moses recorded, “Miriam the prophetess, Aaron's sister, took the timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dancing.” As a prophetess, Miriam used her voice to speak God’s word to God’s people, and as a song-leader, she used her voice to lift praises back up to the Lord. 1 Chronicles 25:5-6, Ezra 2:65, and Nehemiah 7:67 also all record women involved in the temple worship of Yahweh.

"Judith and Holofernes" by Giorgo Vasari, c. 1554

Besides these Old Testament examples of women’s voices used for religious purposes, we also have extra-biblical sources to guide us in understanding how women were involved in this sphere of life. The apocryphal book Judith, for example, tells the powerful story of a daring woman who, totally trusting in Yahweh for victory, saved Israel from the Assyrians. Judith’s story is not strictly religious, but it is a story of social action informed by religious beliefs.

Although Judith “punctiliously obey[ed] religious regulations,” she did not consider her womanhood to be a variable in preventing her from doing what was right in protecting Israel and Yahweh’s name. Toni Craven explains:

When Uzziah tells her to pray for rain, she responds by upbraiding his lack of faith, urging him and the other officials of Bethulia to listen to her voice (8:32; cf. 8:11). She decides for herself that she will go against the enemy with a planned deceit that culminates in an assassination (Judith 9 – 13). Unconventional conduct is not only permitted these women [referring to Judith, Esther and Ruth], but it is approved because through their acts tradition is being served.

The Book of Judith is non-canonical to Jews and Protestants, and deuterocanonical to Catholics and Orthodox, and many do not consider Judith’s story to be historical. Nevertheless, it may illustrate for us some elements of truth in Jewish thought, including a certain respect for bold women in the religious and social spheres, or it most likely would never have been preserved.

Outside of Judaism, women of the Ancient Near East were quite involved in certain aspects of religious life. In Jeremiah 7:18 and 44:19, Jeremiah condemned Judean women who were “making offering cakes for a goddess called the queen of heaven.” Susan Ackerman notes that although this goddess was worshipped by men, women, children and people of very high political standing in Jerusalem, “the special stress on women as the makers of the queen’s cakes, as well as their role in pouring out libations and offering incense to the goddess (Jer 44:15, 19, 25), probably indicates that the queen’s cult was particularly appealing to females” (Meyers 327). Ackerman also suggests that “the cult of the queen of heaven” may actually have been “an example of domestic or household-centered religion,” which would explain the significant role women played in a culture where “women were generally excluded from official or public religion” (ibid).

Egyptian Priestess with sistrum, a musical instrument

There is also much evidence that women in Egypt were quite involved in the religious sphere. “In the Old Kingdom, the evidence for women of particularly high social rank reveals a wide variety of priestly positions” (Goslin 34). Women served “in the priesthoods of both male and female deities. There is also evidence that women served in the mortuary priesthood of Cheops and for the god Ptah” (ibid). Furthermore, women were among those who “performed in ceremonies for king Neuserre’s jubilee in the solar temple of Abusir” (ibid). Goslin suggests that women’s involvement in Egyptian worship was less associated with harems and prostitution than we tend to believe, and more to do with their service to the gods as “devotee[s] to a divinity,” perhaps similar to Nuns of the much later Catholic tradition (29).

In Mesopotamia, women were particularly considered the “intercessors” of their husbands and families. In addition to this, there appeared to be “cloisters in the Old Babylonian period,” – specific places of intercession – “rather than an economic motif to preserve the family capital. Rich and even royal families sent their daughter to this secluded place, where they prayed and made sacrifices on behalf of their relatives” (Stol 139). Again, this seems to be quite like a monastic ritual, though specifically for the purpose of praying for one’s family.

Of course, when considering the religious association of women with Judaism specifically, one can hardly overlook the Wisdom Woman of Proverbs 1-9, especially in light of the fact that some people “see an indigenously Hebrew goddess beneath the surface” of this text, “hypothesizing this goddess to have been a vigorous participant in a quasi-Canaanite pantheon in prehistoric Israel” (Moore 148). Obviously, this is not a Christian view, but this perspective should not be left out of this discussion. Others consider the origins of this woman to be from Mesopotamia or Egypt, comparing the “Wisdom Woman in Proverbs to Inanna in Sumer, Ma'at in Egypt, and even Athena in Greece” (ibid).

Another (more biblically coherent) view is that the Wisdom Woman is a personification of the wisdom tradition, and specifically of Yahweh’s wisdom. Even so, the fact that Yahweh chose to reveal His wisdom by means of a feminine personification proves that it is impossible to believe that women had no voices in the religious sphere, for God apparently does not. In using a woman to illustrate His attributes, He validated women in religious thought, ensuring that women had a voice. As Moore notes, there were certainly examples of wise women in the Hebrew Scriptures, namely the “wise mediator” (Abigail) of 1 Samuel 25, “the ‘wise woman’ of Tekoa in 2 Samuel 14 and the ‘wise woman’ of Abel in 2 Samuel 20” (Moore 152).

God continued to hear and speak through the voices of women long after these wise women no longer walked the earth. The New Testament was written in a Hellenistic culture which had its own opportunities and problems for women in both the social and religious spheres of life. But that, my friend, is another subject for another day. Stay tuned for my next and final say on Silenced Voices: Woman's Voice in the New Testament Era. To read all of this series in one place, go here, where you'll find them in reverse order, thanks to good ol' blogspot.

*****

Works Cited

Craven, Toni. "Tradition and Convention in Judith." Semeia 28 (1983): 49-61.

Goslin, Sheldon L. "Female Priests: A Sacerdotal Precedent from Ancient Egypt."

Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion 12.1 (1996): 25-39.

Meyers, Carol, Toni Craven and Ross S. Kraemer, eds. Women in Scripture.

Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 2000.

Moore, Michael S. "'Wise Woman' or Wisdom Women." Restoration Quarterly

35.3 (1993): 147-158.

Stol, M. "Women in Mesopotamia." Journal of the Economic and Social History

of the Orient 38.2 (1995): 123-144.

*****

Seemingly Appropriate Post Script:

You better believe it!

Introducing...

2011-02-17T08:00:00.001-06:00

So, I'm pretty lucky, apparently. For my sister is also my friend. After years of putting her head in the toilet (the story she tells everyone when she talks about her family, though I'll have everyone know it only happened once, and my brother and I didn't actually let her hair touch the water, so, so what?!?), I have a kindred spirit in my little sister. Shelby Lynn Harrell -- six years my junior -- is ...

breathtakingly beautiful

fun to hang out with (even when we don't know where we're going)

~~crazy~~ excitable

smart (honor student, what what!)

kind to ~~the elderly~~ her elders

remarkably talented at acting and singing

filled with ~~childish~~ childlike wonder

grumpy before coffee

{er... make that butterbeer}

and -- over the last couple years -- she's been developing a lot of interests that have interested me for a while too. {Isn't it kind of crazy and strange when your younger siblings start to resemble adults? Weirder still, when they resemble adults at an earlier age than you did?} Take, for instance, her interest in literature. She's more of an English Regency Period geek (like myself), but she doesn't say no to good American literature, the likes of Louisa May Alcott's Little Women. In fact, last year she snagged the leading role at Perquimans High School's musical production of this great work. Funny thing is, she and Jo March really have a lot in common. About each, one could say:

She's a lover.

She's a fighter.

She's a swinger.

She's a dreamer.

She's a nonconformist.

She's a creator.

Which brings me to my next point...
Shelby's been developing her creativity in the culinary arts, lately, which has produced some tasty results.
For instance, pound cake.

My sister made this one:

I wouldn't be able to make this cake now, and she's practically a master at it. Thankfully for me, Shelby has gone and made herself a blog of her very own, in which she has devoted her whole life long (or at least a few hours a week of it) to teaching me how to make the aforementioned cake. OK, the blog will probably serve other purposes to other people. To each his own. And I suppose you want in on the action, don't you... Well, all right, fine, I'll share her!

May I introduce to you, the blogging world, my lovely sister, Shelby! Her brand new blog is ready and just waiting for eager readers to bask in troves of culinary treasures, as well as get to know her dear heart and fun-loving soul. Just please promise to come back to me eventually!

In Vino Veritas

2011-02-14T21:34:00.003-06:00

I don't really know enough about wine to make recommendations on a regular basis, but today I'm making one anyway. We found this lovely, Hamilton-Steven's Pinot Noir, at Trader Joe's for a satisfyingly surprising $8.99. Flavorful and sweet, it gave more room to bittersweet chocolate and cherries than to alcohol, which is in its favor in my book. If your conscience allows you to enjoy it, drink up! If not, consider this...

The LORD of hosts will prepare a lavish banquet for all peoples on this mountain;

A banquet of aged wine, choice pieces with marrow,

And refined, aged wine.

And on this mountain He will swallow up the covering which is over all peoples,

Even the veil which is stretched over all nations.

He will swallow up death for all time,

And the Lord GOD will wipe tears away from all faces,

And He will remove the reproach of His people from all the earth;

For the LORD has spoken.

And it will be said in that day,

"Behold, this is our God for whom we have waited that He might save us

This is the LORD for whom we have waited;

Let us rejoice and be glad in His salvation." {Isaiah 25:6-9}

At the celebration of the Lord's salvation, according to His word, we'll be lavished with a banquet -- a banquet! -- of aged wine. All I can say is, if a Californian 2009 can taste this good, I can't wait to relish the wonder of what God -- Eternal Being that He is -- considers refined, aged wine.

Stay-At-Home Warrior

2011-02-11T22:42:00.000-06:00

What do you want to be when you grow up? I don't know anymore... Maybe I never really did. I've answered that question multiple ways over the last twenty-five years, from "a teacher" to "a farmer's wife" (true) to "a musician," only one of which has yet to come to pass (though dairy farming and gardening are rampant in E's gene pool, so you never know what may come about). One thing I never answered was "a stay-at-home mom." Maybe that's because my mom worked full-time since I was a tot, and the world of hard-working, "we can do it" mommas was all I knew. I know now, of course, that stay-at-home moms have one of the most challenging (but subtly rewarding) jobs of all, but the thought of doing that job alone still gives me the heebie jeebies.

I think one reason I've resisted the "at home" career path is the stunning lack of glory it involves. While society still has marginal respect for women who choose to stay at home, the homefront itself doesn't offer much praise. Let's face it: the hours spent in cleaning, doing laundry, assisting the development of one's own children, and cooking a decent meal don't always generate praise because -- when they're done -- things are as they "ought" to be. Such chores do not necessarily bring kudos because, honestly, their completion doesn't necessarily bring recognition. Cleanliness, order, sound children, and food on the table are, in our culture, givens. Taken for granted. And maybe that's how they ought to be. But, still, the lack of praise can be deafening.

That's why I was truly astonished when I came across these words in the Word a few days ago:

The Lord gives the command;

The women who proclaim the good tidings are a great host:

"Kings of armies flee, they flee,

And she who remains at home will divide the spoil!"

Wow. What a picture. The women -- not just any women, but ancient, middle-eastern, home-making women -- are the warriors described in this psalm. As I've noted before, women of biblical times were certainly not given the same influence as men, though we now find their influence to be greater than we may have realized. (Read about that here and here, and brace yourself for the next installment; I promise, it's really coming!) But those few women who were noted for their influence were not noted as such because they were stay-at-home women. In fact, they were the opposite. (I'm referring to Ruth, Esther, Proverbs 31 Lady, etc.) This psalm, however, highlights the power of home-making women, at whose proclamation "kings of armies" run away scared, leaving the spoil to be divided among themselves. And I doubt the spoil of kings of armies included Hoover vacuum cleaners, Avon make-up supplies or KitchenAid Mixers, however American commercialism of the 1950's (which still holds firmly today) may influence what we deem "treasures" to women. I'll concede, diamonds were probably among the spoil (ahem, dear...).

But I'm forgetting the most important part: "The Lord gives the command." At His word, even the most traditional, seemingly powerless women are given the strength to fight mighty battles. Yet, this battle is fought with no weapons, but the words of good tidings. Again, wow. What are these "good tidings," then? If you read the whole psalm, you'll find that it is themed largely around three facts:

God is Present among His People:

O God, when You went forth before Your people,

When You marched through the wilderness, Selah.

The earth quaked;

The heavens also dropped rain at the presence of God;

Sinai itself quaked at the presence of God, the God of Israel (vv. 7-8).

God Provides for His People:

God makes a home for the lonely;

He leads out the prisoners into prosperity... (v. 6).

You shed abroad a plentiful rain, O God;

You confirmed Your inheritance when it was parched.

Your creatures settled in it;

You provided in Your goodness for the poor, O God (v. 9-10).

God Protects His People:

A father of the fatherless and a judge for the widows,

Is God in His holy habitation (v. 5).

Blessed be the Lord, who daily bears our burden,

The God who is our salvation.

Selah.

God is to us a God of deliverances;

And to God the Lord belong escapes from death (v. 19-20).

These good tidings {God's presence, God's provision and God's protection} are the battle cry of Psalm 68's stay-at-home moms, whose words make armed, bearded men pee their pants and ruthless kings desert their fought-for treasures. The truth is, the good tidings of ancient women are still our tidings today. The gospel (which, of course, means "good news") is still our battle cry, for in Jesus we too were made participants in God's presence, provision and protection. Both women who work outside of the home and stay-at-home moms alike have opportunities to tell these awesome truths to our friends, coworkers and children, not only in what we do but also in what we say.

May we, whatever our current or future job status may be, be great warriors of word, and may our weapon -- the gospel on our tongues -- always bring justice, mercy and peace. I still don't know if the life of a "stay-at-home" mom is in my future. The heebie jeebies may have their way yet. But I know that there is glory in such a calling, and it belongs to God.

Sing to God, O kingdoms of the earth,
Sing praises to the Lord,
Selah.
To Him who rides upon the highest heavens, which are from ancient times;
Behold, He speaks forth with His voice, a mighty voice.
Ascribe strength to God;
His majesty is over Israel
And His strength is in the skies.
O God, You are awesome from Your sanctuary.
The God of Israel Himself gives strength and power to the people.
Blessed be God!

{Psalm 68: 32-35}

*****

Seemingly Appropriate Post Script:

One Chili Night

2011-02-02T15:52:00.002-06:00

"Snowmageddon" doesn't scare Flower Fairy!

In case you haven't heard, it's been snowing in Chicago. Now, that's not particularly surprising, considering this city's precarious situation right next to a very large lake in the mid-northern part of the States. But this snowstorm is kind of surprising, expected to bring in up to 20 inches of the white stuff, flying violently along on 60 mph winds. Oh, and did I mention the "Thundersnow"?!?*

One good thing about chilly nights is that they also make great chili nights. Yes, that was an unforgivable pun, but seventy times seven, right? ;) Tonight, we've been taking in the scrumptious smells and mouth-watering flavors of a very basic chili recipe, but with a few healthy changes. First, meet Betty:

Good ol' faithful Betty Crocker lends a hand. Well, most of the recipe, actually. Here's her version:

Only, instead of a pound of ground beef, I make this chili with a half pound of ground turkey and some veggies. Namely, one zucchini and one green pepper. Here's all you need to make...

Chilly Night Chili

Oops. Forgot a crucial ingredient, as always. Beans!

Once you've assembled the necessary ingredients, just cook your turkey (or beef),
onion and garlic for 10 minutes over medium heat. Then add everything else but the beans.
At this point, your saucepan should look like this colorful combination:

Mix until edible brilliance.

Once mixed, bring the chili to a boil, lower your heat, cover and simmer for an hour.
Then, turn back to your cutting board and admire the beauteous remains of your pepper.
Aren't peppers gorgeous?!?

Remember to ignore the begging cat.
(Don't worry; she's well aware it's not her dinner time yet!)

After an hour of simmering and begging, add your rinsed beans.

Stir in, bring to a boil, lower heat and simmer for 10 minutes, uncovered.
While the chili is finishing up, you can gather your final supplies:

No chili is complete without plenty of oyster crackers and cheeeeeeeeeese!

I like to grate some cheese into the bottom of the bowl (a tasty trick I picked up from my mother-in-law).

Fill your bowl, sprinkle some more cheese on top, and stare mindlessly at your creation.

Um, and... oh yeah! Eat and be satisfied!!!

And try to stay warm, especially you folks "enjoying" this lovely winter storm.
Remember, Chicago kids, you only get a snow day about once a decade, so relish this fleeting opportunity!

*****

*Yes, Thundersnow is a real thing, folks. I just heard it with my own two ears.
Never in my nerd-like meteorology-lovin' life have I ever experienced anything quite like this.

*****

Author's Note: This post was actually written up and ready to be posted last night just moments before we lost our power for 18 hours, thanks to aforementioned "Snowmageddon." Thankfully we made it through the storm, and I'm happy to say we were able to save the leftover chili on our snow-laden balcony. Yes, my friend, this recipe serves 4. :)

Anne of Green Gables, The Egalitarian

2011-01-26T21:00:00.000-06:00

If I were a man I think I'd be a minister. They can have such an influence for good, if their theology is sound; and it must be thrilling to preach splendid sermons and stir your hearers' hearts. Why can't women be ministers, Marilla? I asked Mrs. Lynde that and she was shocked and said it would be a scandalous thing. She said there might be female ministers in the States and she believed there was, but thank goodness we hadn't got to that stage in Canada yet and she hoped we never would. But I don't see why. I think women would make splendid ministers. When there is a social to be got up or a church tea or anything else to raise money the women have to turn to and do the work. I'm sure Mrs. Lynde can pray every bit as well as Superintendent Bell and I've no doubt she could preach too with a little practice."
"Yes, I believe she could," said Marilla drily. "She does plenty of unofficial preaching as it is. Nobody has much of a chance to go wrong in Avonlea with Rachel to oversee them."

- Anne of Green Gables
(Chapter XXXI)

I love this book for so, so many reasons.

A Picture A Day If I Got One, And I Did.

2011-01-24T22:42:00.001-06:00

With the new year still somewhat fresh, resolutions are still squirming sneakily into my life, tantalizing me with their promises of A Better Me. One such resolution which several of you bloggers out there are apparently taking on is the incredible task of posting "A Picture A Day." It's a superb idea, giving the bold resolver the chance not only to hone her photography skills and make regular posts, but also capture unique moments that will never quite happen the same way again. Well, all I gotta say to that blogger is, more power to ya! As that is a resolution I'd be sure to break, my version of the story is, "A Picture A Day If I Got One." Thankfully, today I did. And this is it:

These were pert near the most beautiful and delicious cookies I've ever baked. Their creation was made possible by Jenna, who lovingly bestowed upon me, thy humble servant, a gift beyond the thanks I could return: a new KitchenAid mixer! It was a gift she received when she won a weekend with the Pioneer Woman(!!!), and as she already had one, she graciously paid it forward to this undeserving but eager baker. These cookies were the first product of that beautiful machine, and they shall henceforth be forever etched in my memory as gloriously tasty.

Jenna, I promise with all that is within me to prove myself worthy of this thrilling gift!!!

Silenced Voices, II

2011-01-22T14:24:00.001-06:00

I began this series, Silenced Voices, two weeks ago, to share with you my research on the roles of women in the Ancient Near East. I've already covered a bit about what we know about women's voices in the social sphere from sources outside of the Old Testament (which you can find here). Today we'll look at just a few outspoken women (or, simply, speaking women) within the Old Testament itself, in which we have clear evidence that God cares about the rights of women. Let's jump right in, shall we?

Part 2 - Woman's Voice in the Social Sphere of the Old Testament

Numbers 27 tells the remarkable story of five women, Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah and Tirzah, who stood before Moses and the assembly of the Jews to make the case that, since their father had no sons, they ought to have the right to inherit their father’s property and carry on their father’s name (a justice which even "modern" 19th century England did not incorporate, according to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice!). The purpose of this account was to clarify that in such cases, daughters would inherit. According to T. Desmond Alexander,

This purpose could have been achieved simply by including the point within the general case-law, but the writer includes the story of these particular women, describing their ability to speak out on their own behalf in a lucid and persuasive way…. Moses, perhaps recognizing the validity of their position but also reflecting the unwillingness of a male-dominated culture to accept their demands, instituted a special consultation with the Lord himself. It needed to be made clear that women were not to be deprived of their rightful inheritance within the community (903).

Such biblical stories relate to us that, even in such a male-dominated culture, God listened to the voices of women and acted out on their behalf. “Phyllis Bird states that, although wives were included among a man’s possessions, they were not reckoned as property” (King 49). And although Exodus 20:17’s “commandment against coveting… includes the wife as part of the household, along with the slave, ox and donkey,” Deuteronomy 5:21 does not include the wife “among the domestic property but... in a separate category” (ibid). It is the difference between ownership and identity. I belong to my husband, as he belongs to me, and as our children would belong to us if we had any. I would not own them as an object to be bought or sold, but identify them as people uniquely connected with me, as part of my family.

Julius Schnorr von Carolsfeld

Although the family structure in the Ancient Near East was predominated by patriarchy, signifying “that the father (paterfamilias) [was] head of the family,” the domestic sphere of a given family was governed largely by the mother (King 38). According to Stager, “besides raising children,” which involved “care, discipline and training,” women “were responsible for providing food and clothing. They engaged in crafts that could be managed while caring for the children, such as basketry, spinning, and weaving tapestries and mats” (ibid 50). They also baked cakes and breads, kept water troughs full, built fires, ground grains, worked in fields, milked sheep and goats, and tended flocks.

This may sound like an "ideal" world straight out of Leave It to Beaver, but -- in this particular culture -- what these women were essentially doing was considered all within the realm of the family business. It's not that the husband was the lone bread-winner, but that the husband, wife and children all worked together to make the bread. In addition to such chores, women were involved in economic trade, selling their creations and buying necessities for the family. There is a reason that most women get exhausted just reading about the “ideal wife” of Proverbs 31; she was one busy lady! To think of primarily domestic-leading, home-making women of the Ancient Near East as we do of the typical modern home-makers in our Western culture, would be a drastic mistake indeed. She wasn't a "housewife"; she was an integral economic contributor to her family.

Women’s voices in the home did not merely affect the home, however. Often, their voices were heard by and made effects on their communities. Esther stands out as a woman selfless and courageous, whose voice was the saving grace of the Jewish people. Agreeing to go before King Xerxes unbidden, a forbidden act that might have resulted in her death, Esther rescued God’s people from certain death, an act still remembered in the Jewish holiday, Purim.

"Ruth" by James Tissot

Ruth also comes to mind as a strong voice for Jewish women of the Ancient Near East. A Moabitess by birth, she left her home and even her religion in order to care for Naomi, the mother of her deceased husband, and to worship Naomi’s God, Yahweh, as her own. One might wonder, when she made this decision, whether she knew what bold things she would do at her mother-in-law’s bidding. Naomi advised Ruth to “‘uncover the feet’ of Boaz and propose to him (3:6-9).” In this act, “both Ruth and Naomi [acted] in ways which radically [defied] traditional standards of patriarchy” (Craven 51). Yet, in so audaciously doing, Ruth not only secured her and Naomi’s livelihood, but she also became another link in the Messianic line, speaking out in her social sphere, but being heard in the religious sphere.

Speaking of the religious sphere, well, you'll have to come back next week for that! Part 3 of Silenced Voices is subtitled Woman's Voice in the Religious Sphere of the Ancient Near East, and it's definitely a part not to be missed!

*****

Works Cited

Alexander, T. Desmond and David W. Baker. Dictionary of the OId Testament: Pentateuch. Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 2003.

Craven, Toni. “Tradition and Convention in Judith.” Semeia 28 (1983): 49-61.

King, Philip J. and Lawrence E. Stager. Life in Biblical Israel. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001.

Recurring "Dream"

2011-01-14T12:58:00.000-06:00

For those who were unable to hear us at Uncommon Ground a few Sunday's ago, here's a video of "Dream," graciously captured by my father-in-law. Thanks, Patrick!

You may recognize this song, if you've been following this blog for a while. Another friend got it on video previously, which I then posted here, but I've made a few slight changes to the song since then and am happy to share our newest version. Can you spot the difference? ;)

As always, my heartiest thanks and love go to Eric (on piano), Jenna (on harmony vocals) and Petras (on percussion). These folks make me so proud and giddy over what we're able to produce together. Also, I must highlight our venue - Uncommon Ground (on Clark). The food is excellent and the cozy atmosphere is perfect for acoustic music. Check it out if ever on Chicago's north side! I hope we'll get to play there again soon.

(If you have any trouble viewing it here, check out the original on Youtube.)

My Matthew

2011-01-11T21:55:00.006-06:00

So, I'm pretty sure I have one of the best jobs on the planet... 'cause... I got to spend today with this little guy:

Obviously this picture was not taken today, but last May. I can't believe how much he's grown since then!

I can't say too many wonderful things about Matthew. He's my super kid. He's one of the most kind-hearted, loving, sweet little boys I've ever known, and I love him back with all my being. Sometimes when I lay my head down to sleep at night, if I start telling Eric about whatever Matty and I did that day, I can't keep the tears from forming in my eyes. And I wonder at times whether I'll be able to hold as much love in my heart for my own child as I do for this one. My heart is just so tender towards him.

Because of Matthew, I'm really starting to understand the Father's heart in that it's not what I do but who I am -- His child -- that makes Him love me. 'Cause Matthew's not perfect (ahem, nor my child, but I think the parallel stands). But even when he has an "accident" again, even when he breaks down from exhaustion and throws a tantrum, even when he makes a mess on the just-cleaned kitchen floor,

I adore him.

Everything about him, from his slobbery kisses and heart-breaking smile, to his rambunctious parades of noise-making madness, I am totally smittened with. Sure, I get frustrated with him at times, but I still love him to death. I can't help it. His imperfections only make me so much more thankful for who he really is: a little boy who loves and needs to be loved.

I never wanted a little boy. Never. I once thought it might be a good idea merely to perpetuate what is one of the coolest last names on the face of the earth. But, in general, I thought I could do without the the mud tracked in and the trains abounding underfoot and the bugs brought to me for investigation and the generally loud running amok. But Matthew has changed my mind. I still long for a little girl to play princess with. But I'd be ever so thankful for a little prince, too. Which reminds me of another endearing thing about Matty -- his perpetual questions regarding my own perpetuation of the race. My favorite time was when he asked, "Carrie, do you have a baby in your tummy?" Laughingly I replied, "No, Matthew," to which he answered with his little hands on my... er... upper body, "But you have these."

He asked yet again a few weeks ago, "Carrie, when are you gonna get a baby?" Good question, Matthew. But not one I can answer, much to the chagrin of mothers everywhere (at least, one in North Carolina). I don't know and won't venture to find out, but -- while attempting to enjoy every minute of this short married-without-kids season -- I can say I'm looking forward to the next season with prayer and hope that I "get" a kid as darling as my Matthew.

A happily exhausted pair.

-----

Stay tuned for the someday-forthcoming prequel and sequel

- Rozzie and Daniel -

two more of my favorite kids in the world!

Silenced Voices

2011-01-08T17:18:00.003-06:00

A Study of Women's Roles in the Ancient Near East

Since the creation of man, he has needed woman. When God made Adam, the Master Creator admitted that His creation was incomplete without an “ezer” (translated “helper”), and wasted no time in forming Eve to be Adam’s companion. In this perfect setting, man and woman depended on one another, harmonizing in perfect compatibility as they communed with one another and with God.

God’s world, as He originally created and intended it to be, is a far cry from what creation became post-Fall: a “man’s world.” In the last century, women have taken great strides toward claiming their equality with men, but just because they lived for millennia in a man’s world does not mean they had no influence on it. History affirms for us that women have always had an undercover authority, even in ancient Biblical times, which we sometimes consider particularly misogynistic. Though men certainly had the upper hand in the social sphere, women’s roles in the domestic sphere and beyond gave women more of a voice in ancient near eastern culture than we typically grant them.

When I was a student at Moody, one of the classes I particularly enjoyed was "Life in Bible Times," which took a look at social, religious and other aspects of life in the particular time period of the Old Testament, spanning a few thousand years. We looked not only at biblical texts, but also other sources such as the Hammurabi Codes, ancient mythological narratives, religious texts of other faiths and even personal letters in order to understand better the context of the Bible itself. As a women's ministry major (and, simply, as a woman), I was very interested in understanding the context of the Bible insofar as it related to women's issues, and particularly authority issues between men and women. The following writing was the result of this interest and several hours of study. I'll have to chop my paper up a little to make it fit in the attention-span of the blogosphere, but I hope you find it as interesting as I do!

Part 1: Woman’s Voice in the Social Sphere of the Ancient Near East

From the earliest writings of our faith, the Pentateuch, come the voices of women. Subtly and discretely, they dream and scheme, quite under our religious radar. Then, suddenly, they stand up and speak, taking us a bit by surprise at times. Rebekah, Isaac’s wife, is a grand example of this. In Genesis 27, she connived to have her younger son, Jacob, receive Isaac’s blessing even though it rightfully belonged to Esau, the elder of the twins. By means of a series of deceitful actions, she not only ensured blessings upon her favorite son; astonishingly, this woman actually rerouted the Messianic line! (Not to the surprise of God, but certainly usurping the practices of man.)

"Isaac Feels Jacob as Rebekah Looks On" by James Tissot

According to King and Stager, “the mother’s authority was exercised in the household,” as seen in the cases of Sarah who “cast out Hagar and her son Ishmael (Gen. 21:20),” the Shunammite woman who “extended kindness and hospitality to Elisha (2 Kings 4:8-10),” and Rebekah, who, as mentioned, “perpetrated Jacob’s deception of his blind father Isaac” (50). Although we should not trust the total authenticity of stereotypes, there may be a reason Jewish mamas have a reputation of being lovably overbearing. Such conduct did not only affect their households, however, as may be obvious. Their voices and actions also had an effect on their social lives and even our salvation history.

The women of the Old Testament do have voices of their own, but we can better grasp their roles in their culture and time by studying the lives and words of other women in the Ancient Near East. A writing entitled, “A Letter from an Angry Housewife,” may strike us as thoroughly modern, but it is actually a Sumerian archival letter from the Ancient Near East, in which a woman defended herself “against charges of waste and mismanagement of her

Prologue to the Hammurabi Cod

husband’s estate as dealt with in… the Laws of Hummurabi” (Hallo 3: 295). According to these Codes, “If the wife of a man who is residing in the man’s house should decide to leave, and she appropriates goods, squanders her household possessions, or disparages her husband, they shall charge and convict her,” and, “if she is … wayward, squanders her household possessions, and disparages her husband, they shall cast that woman into the water” (Hallo 2: 344). It is no wonder this woman, if innocent, was angry! In her letter, she asked, “Why on account of the children does he demean my reputation?” (Hallo 3: 295). She went on to account for every good, but it is clear that goods were not her concern. By accusing her, her husband was disgracing her, bringing shame to her standing in the community. It may be surprising enough to find that this was a concern to women, but this letter ensures us that it was, while clarifying that women did indeed have voices and did not hesitate to use them when they were displeased or afraid for their own well-being.

The elaborately detailed marriage contracts of the Ancient Near East also magnify to us the protection of women’s voices and rights in this time period and culture. For instance, the “Document of Wifehood,” dated to 449 BCE, gives an intricate description of each possession (including the value of each) that the woman, Tamet, owned when she entered her marriage to Anani. The contract says that should Anani decide he “hates” his wife, and thus decides to divorce her, “silver of hatre(d) is on his head. He shall give Tamet silver, 7 shekels, 2 q(uarters) and all that, she brought in in her hand she shall take out, from straw to string” (Hallo 3: 172). Apparently, even this slave woman was not considered worthless enough that she could be disposed of and left penniless should her husband so design.

Despite what we may believe now about rights of women in the Ancient Near East, women were apparently given the right in most cases to retain and protect their own possessions. Even so, there were what we would consider unreasonable accusations against women in particular marital circumstances. For instance, “barrenness was unacceptable for the marriage and resulted in an alternative woman,” which was sometimes specified in the marriage contract (Hallo 3: 251). One such Akkadian contract says, “[I]f she does not give birth after seven years, he (Idat[ti]) may take a second wife” (ibid 252). Again, this seems like an obstinate requirement, but in a culture where procreation and thereby continuance of the family name and fortune were of first importance, this stipulation was apparently necessary.

In the Old Testament itself, there is clear evidence that God cared about the rights of women. As this installment is already pretty lengthy, however, I'm afraid I'll have to save that exciting part of the story for next time! I'll aim to post the next section of my five-part series on Silenced Voices, "Woman's Voice in the Social Sphere of the Old Testament," some time next week.

*****

Works Cited

Hallo, William W., ed. The Context of Scripture: Vol. 2. Boston: Brill, 2003.

Hallo, William W., ed. The Context of Scripture: Vol. 3. Boston: Brill, 2003.

King, Philip J. and Lawrence E. Stager. Life in Biblical Israel. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001.

Hello, Christmas

2011-01-04T16:59:00.002-06:00

Christmas is over for most people. The Christmas trimmings have found their way back into boxes, tucked away to collect dust till next Thanksgiving comes and goes and holiday excitement fills the air once more. The faithful Christmas albums have been placed back on the shelf, replaced this time with whatever happens to momentarily top the charts (which will be forgotten by this time next year). The Christmas mugs have served their fair share of hot cocoa and coffee, and it's time to wrap them up too.

But I can't say goodbye to Christmas so easily. So, I won't. My tree remains the highlight of our living room. The stockings are still hung by the electric fireplace with care and scotch tape. The elves will continue to peep out from unsuspected hiding places. I'll keep drinking in the Christmas season and all its joys as I drink my coffee from a Santa-suited cup. I don't really know where Christmas got to this year, but for me it passed by rather too quickly. Not enough time to take in all the laughter, all the excitement, all the truth and beauty that this season holds... like the impossible becoming possible. God becoming man. Whole things becoming broken, so that broken things could be whole again. That's something that must be meditated on all year long. Well, a new year's begun. Here's my chance.

And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us, and we saw His glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth... For of His fullness we have all received, and grace upon grace. For the Law was given through Moses; grace and truth were realized through Jesus Christ.

{John 1:14,17}

God's Word, which spoke everything visible and invisible into being, became flesh. How do I begin to grasp this? And not only did He become flesh, but in His flesh He became the blood through which we all would receive His fullness and that grace upon grace. His fullness. In us. And grace upon grace. The realization of grace and truth, because He embodied it and, through Him -- His fullness -- in me, I too can -- do -- must -- embody it.

This is Christmas. I don't begrudge all the trimmings and trappings. I enjoy them. But this is Christmas: the Word became flesh. And no, I won't pack it away, even when it becomes impossible for me to keep up the tree and the elves and the music and the mugs.

Hello, Christmas. Stay a while, won't you?

Something to do Sunday night in Chicago...

2010-12-29T10:03:00.002-06:00

I'm on at 9 with good old friends Jenna, Eric and Petras. Might I see you among us?
In the meantime, here's a song - "Winter's Ashes" - from our last show to whet your appetite for this one...

Or if you'd like to hear about the world of woe and wonder that is gigging
from the perspective of my delightful harmonizing friend, Jenna, read it here.