Seven Hundred Miles

Bittersweet.

There's truly no better word in my mind for it.  Leaving home and coming home at the same time.  I didn't think, or at least didn't anticipate feeling so sad...  I hoped the joy of a new, long-awaited season in none other than my beloved home state would overpower any feelings of sorrow or regret.  Yet, Chicago has become my home, too, over the past six years.  My family by blood, Carolina's rolling hills and deep waters call me home.  But so do my family in Jesus, endless motion and cloud-scraping wonders in Chicago.  Both have captured my heart, yet for such opposing reasons... 

I can't believe this day has come -- nor that I've had to push back tears (unsuccessfully) as I gazed down at the beautiful, lush mountains of Carolina.  What a glorious view...

{journal entry from May 11, 2012}

Thus I wrote thirty thousand feet up and three months back, on my exploratory mission to Greensboro, North Carolina.  And here I am, on the other side of our seven-hundred mile journey, settling into our lush landscape.  We're on the eastern side of the Smokey Mountains by about a hundred miles, so my sunsets don't have all the beauty I'd wish, but they sure are green here.  No el tracks stand between my apartment and the western skies, only a tall, deep forest full to the brim with little creatures... Carolina Chickadees among my favorite visitors to our back porch.  If only my living room and dining table weren't still cluttered with the remains of a move, I'd show you how green it is.  Oh, it's so very green.

Green is my favorite color; have I ever told you?  Chicago does well to litter the vast interior of its borders with miles of boulevards and hundreds of parks.  I always loved that I could walk or bike 15 minutes in any direction and end up in something akin to natural surroundings.  Ironically, the "parks" in Greensboro are not walking distance from my new home (more like a 15-minute drive), but the natural surroundings are ten feet away.  I think I can get used to this new way of life.

Have I mentioned how quiet it is?  All I can hear at the moment is the buzzing of my own computer.  If I open the windows a bit (which, sadly, I scarce can do here, as the heat and humidity keep windows shut this time of year), I can hear the screech of the cicadas.  Oh yes, I remember hearing that once in Chicago, one Summer evening in which I longed for this landscape more than anything.  And the chirruping of the chickadees, my new forest friends who come to visit me only for the birdseed I provide.  I can't begin to explain how happy I am that I can put a bird feeder out on my porch and not worry about being overrun with dirty old city pigeons and their dirty old city pigeon poop.  And yes, there is a train whistle every few hours.  Not the "beep beep" of the el that I'd become so accustomed to that I didn't even realize how annoying it was, but the deep-throated, tri-toned whistle of a distant freight train, taking goods from this end of America to the other.  I love that sound and giggle a bit every time I hear it.

Do I dare admit that I like it here?  I suppose it's kind of obvious.  But school hasn't started for Eric yet (did I mention that's why we're here?), so the loneliness of it all hasn't quite kicked in.  Once he's gone eight hours a day, I may sing a different tune.  A melancholy one.  One a bit more like this: 

Lord, I'm seven hundred miles from my home... May your grace and peace abound in this new one.

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

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.

C'est la vie d'artiste

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!

Summertime

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

Thornfield

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...

The Same Grace We Were Given

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...

Giggity Gig

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.