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.

Heavenly Peace

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!