Singing out of tune

I went on a road trip about a month ago to Spearfish, SD. What is in Spearfish, SD you ask? Good friends. And Sturgis motorcycle rally goers. Apparently I should have checked Harley.com before planning my trip.

I went to Sioux Falls first to pick up a friend to join me on the journey. She is a good friend I met my freshman year of college. She was a junior and couldn't stand me. She thought I was too sassy the first day I walked into choir with my ball cap on backwards and cracking jokes with anyone in my vicinity. However, I quickly won her over and she's been one of my closet friends for over 10 years. But, we are still very different. I'm still quite sassy and she is learning how to not be embarrassed by me little by little.

Like most people on road trips I crank the stereo as loud as it will go and sing along at the top of my lungs, but the difference is I sing the harmony and not the melody. My roadtrippin' friend asked me, "How do you know all the notes for harmony?" The truth is I don't know all the notes. I make them up as I go. I try to listen for the right harmony. Sometimes I'm wrong. Very wrong. I can be singing a great harmony to Brooke Fraser, Shane and Shane or Dave Barnes and then out of nowhere I hit a note that would send dogs running home with a whimper. I responded to her inquiry with an air that I knew would challenge her. "You are a better singer than me. Why don't you sing the harmony?" She replied, "Because I get notes wrong." She obviously hadn't been listening closely to my little "concert" on the driver's seat stage.

Someone once said, "If you are going to fail, fail BIG". I wish I could say that in all areas of my life I take risks and fail with the kind of gusto that makes people question whether I really failed at all. But the truth is, it's easy to fail with confidence from the confines of your car. I lack the stamina and character to fail in front of a crowd, out of the safety zone of comfort. When I make decisions I often find myself evaluating every possible outcome to the point where I don't make a decision at all. I'm so afraid to fail that I don't take action at all. I stack the cards in my favor. I'll do things I know I'll succeed at. Where is the growth in that?

So, there is this recurring theme of courage coming to the surface again and again. It's time to be brave and sing the harmony, even out of tune, beyond the steel cage of my Hyundia Elantra. Singing out of tune outside of my comfort zone is so much better than singing in tune in my small little world and hopefully I'll eventually learn the right notes...

beauty in the struggle

Ever since I read a quick side note about a Joshua Tree in a book, I've been fascinated and obsessed with these angular, gnarled, and striking trees. They grow and even find a way to thrive in the inhospitable deserts of California, Nevada and Utah. At first glance, Joshua Trees look ugly, harsh, beaten down and weary. They aren't the kind of tree you'd curl under and read your favorite book or catch a reprieve from the sun by basking in its cool shade. But, Joshua Trees are making it. They can survive where few vegetation can. They are hardy...and they are beautiful.

In the book I read about a naive, sweet, little girl. She feels sorry for the Joshua Tree. She sets out to water it everyday and protect it from the hard wind that tosses it about and causes it to grow sideways. Her mother raises her voice in an emphatic No! "The struggle is what makes it beautiful" she says.

The struggle is what makes it beautiful. The struggle is what makes us beautiful. I have many friends going through some pretty rough times right now and I know that this may sound trite and cliche, but I think there is profound truth in that phrase.

The struggle is only part of your story. The rest is beauty. Be beauty...because you are.

Sink or Surf?

During my two years as a youth director in Huntington Beach (a.k.a. Surf City, USA), CA I thought it was my duty to take up the sport of surfing. And I thought it would be wicked cool to be a surfer chick.

Thanks to some awesome students and their parents, my road to becoming a full-fledged surfer chick was relatively bump free. I had patient teachers, great surf (most of the time) and super cool students that were always willing to take me out, albeit at a crabby 7 a.m. I could probably wax poetic about many metaphors for surfing and my life, theology, etc, but today one came to mind.

One Sunday afternoon I went with two of my favorite surfing buddies, Lou and Zach, to Newport Beach. Usually we stuck close to home. I was familiar with Bolsa Chica Beach in Huntington. It was where I always surfed, ran, and went to study and prepare my messages. But today the boys thought I was ready for more...

Newport was packed. I was intimidated by all the shortboarders hoarding the waves with skill and ego. They seemed to pop up out of everywhere and I felt out of place, clumsy and awkward with my huge 7'6'' longboard. Now please understand that at this point and still today, I am a NOVICE. The longest ride I'd taken on a wave was roughly 5 seconds...of pure bliss, but still only five seconds! I maxed out on three foot waves and even the sight of that height sent my heart rate spiking.

I tried to be cool. I am with high school students after all. I'll just let them go out in the pack and catch the four-fives while I catch the little whitewater beach breaks Sure, they were only like one foot high, but I wasn't ready for the four-fives that were my only other option. Plus, I didn't want to look like an idiot with the rest of the surfers. They were experienced and I was well...blunderful (the opposite of wonderful combined with blunder).

I quickly lost sight of my students and started my "safe" shorebreak session. I remember thinking to myself, "It's so much nicer here. Nobody's surfing here. Nice". I tried unsuccessfully for about 20 minutes to catch anything decent and I was starting to feel really discouraged. It felt a little different than the waters I was used to, but I just dismissed that feeling to the fact that we were in Newport instead of Huntington (kinda like we're not in Kansas anymore). But the feeling wouldn't go away. Before I knew what had happened, I had drifted out. The shoreline was no longer a quick paddle away. I thought I'd get off my board and see if I could touch. As I wiggled off my board, I looked up just in time to see the most gigantic wave I'd ever encountered crash directly on top of me. The next five minutes felt like five hours. I was tumbling in an endless sea of saltwater unaware of where the surface was. I didn't even know which end was which or where to paddle toward. I opened my eyes to try and see any hint of sunlight amidst the sting of salt, but I was clueless. My leash was still attached to me and my board and somehow, mercifully, just as I felt the last bit of breath exit my body, I surfaced. No sooner than I could gulp in a breath to replace what I had exhaled, another wave pummeled me under in the same twisting relentless force of ocean. This happened one more time. I remember thinking that I could die. I was exhausted and didn't see an end to this ruthless game of cat and mouse. I was being tossed about like some rag doll and I had nothing more to give. I could no longer fight the all - consuming, never weakening strength of the waves. Just then as I popped out for the third time I heard one of my students say, "Hey Dana, need some help?" I couldn't even answer. Zach told me to get on my board and grab his foot as he paddled us sideways. As we entered calmer waters Zach said with a bounce in his voice, "That was a pretty gnarly rip! You had like 6 foot overheads!"

A RIP TIDE!?!?! Seriously?!????? So, that's what they feel like...pretty darn awful.

As I reflect on that story today it reminds me of living a life of safety versus living the life God has called you to. I was too scared of putting myself out there...in the bigger waves, with the more experienced surfers. I thought I'd be safer if I stayed closer to shore, but that was definitely not the right choice. Sometimes the choice to be brave and step out into the deeper waters is the choice that needs to be made, it's the choice to experience more of what God has for you.

I'm not saying that if you don't pick His choice, He'll send you into a tumultuous season of constant riptides. I don't think our God is like that. We have many choices. What I do think is that we paralyze our growth by choosing to stay in the seemingly safer waters. We stunt our own growth. Maybe this is a bit like what Peter felt when Jesus called him out on the water. Staying in the boat would stunt his growth. It would keep him stuck in the same pattern, a status quo of discipleship. Jesus was calling him out to more.

So, have I learned my lesson? Do I still gravitate toward the shore or am I ready to catch some bigger waves?

Battling Expectations: Review of THE SHACK

A friend of mine in high school vowed to never watch Forrest Gump. It didn't matter how much time we spent convincing him it was worth watching because that wasn't the point. He felt that the hype had elevated the movie to a height that it would surely not be able to reach upon his viewing.

I battled this same expectation as I read The Shack. Although the hype hadn't been as big as a feature-length movie with a powerful studio behind it, Christians have an uncanny way of rooting for "their own team" in a sense and as a result I felt like I read The Shack with a much more critical eye.

Plainly said, I deeply enjoyed some parts of the book while other sections left me feeling a bit cheeseball and wishing that Christian allegory and metaphors could be a bit more.

#1: My all-time favorite theme of the book was redemption found through relationships. My favorite quite comes from the Foreward, "I suppose that since most of our hurts come through relationships so will our healing, and I know that grace rarely makes sense for those looking in from the outside." I exhaled deeply and re-read this sentence about four times before continuing. I just wanted to camp out right here. If there were no more words written in the book, I would have been satisfied. But, gracefully there was more.

#2: The theme of redemption through relationships continued to weave itself beautifully throughout the book. I never thought the author claimed to be a theologian and so I never questioned any of the concepts he introduced. What the author, Young, did do was paint a picture of relationship between the trinity and Mack that was beautiful, authentic, and heart-lifting. When the main character, Mack, struggled to connect with a God in whom he could trust he looked to Jesus and built a solid, loving, caring relationship with a man he found so easy to love.

Thank you for emphasizing relationship and denouncing religion. That almost made me laugh out loud picturing Jesus talk about his dislike for religion.

Here is what I thought was a little cheeseball:
#1: Mack's over-eagerness to engage in such a "spiritual awakening". For a man stuck in a deep depression, he seemed a bit to easy to convince that God was inviting him on a journey to the shack. Really, is it that easy? The next weekend? I wanted to see a bit more inner fight and maybe some spiritual battle happening just to get him there.

#2: Whoa! Slow down Mack! What happened to your anger? your sadness, your questions? For me being in the presence of the Holy Spirit doesn't make my emotions any less raw. What happened to your passion? I wanted more rage, more anger, more throwing of the fist up at Papa. He just seemed to melt into submission around the crew and let them do all the talking. And, when I say all the talking, I really mean ALL the talking. I definitely get it that the mystery of God is just that, but why does Mack need to look like an idiot replying in one word phrases and insisting that his brain was turning to mush while the crew continued to simplify by using metaphors and analogies that made me feel like I was reading a devotion by John Eldredge? (not bad by any means, but not original).

I believe The Shack can and is being used to touch the hearts of many. I am passing it on to my dad the next time I see him and I hope he'll pass it on. The message of hope and that God is especially fond of us is one that I will never tire of hearing or praying that people can accept. I've known too many people who don't believe that they are loved by God and their relationship or lack thereof with God affects all the relationships around them. For them and for all of us the message of being loved by God rings loud and true in this book.

P.S. In his acknowledgements he cites Matt Wertz as one of his many musical inspirations, but then adds after Matt's name in parentheses "you are something special". This dude has GREAT taste! :)

Kids Say the Darndest Things!

Back in the 50's and 60's Art Linkletter hosted a show with a section devoted to chatting with kids aged 5-10. Obviously, I wasn't around to see it live, but I've seen many clips and years later Bill Cosby attempted a show of his own in the late 90's with the same title. I LOVE the silly things kids say. I love how uninhibited they are and how they say exactly what is on their mind. What I also love is how they point so directly to the words on our own hearts. Often times kids say what we feel and what we wish we didn't feel. Kids haven't yet learned the art of tact or humility and in many ways they expose our own lack of humility.

Monday I took my nephews to the zoo. If you are losing interest, please stick with me. This is no doting auntie post believe me. I could post a long list of funny things my nephew, Tatum, has said, but what struck me more was a conversation he had with my dad after I took them home.

Tatum loves cars. He is a typical four year-old boy. He loves to race matchbox cars and crash them. He always asks you which one you want to be. If you answer incorrectly, he'll let you know. You have to pick the winning car. That's the way it works. As Tatum prepares for an upcoming matchbox race he proudly displays the two options before my dad.

"Which one grandpa?"

My dad selects a car at random fully aware of Tatum's game.

"No grandpa. That one loses."

My dad answers, "That's okay."

Tatum is fully bewildered at this point and tries to reason with my dad.

"Don't you want to win?"

My dad replies with a quick and easy, "No."

"But, then you'll lose. You want to lose?"

Tatum is puzzled beyond belief and his poor little head is trying to figure this concept out. His face is all contorted and if he had wrinkles on his brow, I'm sure they would've furrowed. Tatum tries again, "You don't want to be a winna" (he has a toddler accent :) and says this pleading with my dad to change his mind)

My dad responds with a classic line that characterizes the man I'm so blessed to call father. He says, "No. I don't want to win. Because If I lose, that means someone else wins and that makes me happy."

I felt as if the air stood still for a moment. It hung thick all around me as I felt tears rising from my clenched throat. Like a flood I recalled all of the countless times my dad has put me first. He truly lives his life this way. He is happiest when he loses...because others win. I am overwhelmed to have a father that has lost so many times for me so I could win. I wish I could be more like my dad, but I fear that I am more like my nephew Tatum questioning, "Don't you wanna win?" What is life really about? Can I be happy losing? or will I continue to question the sanity of those who willingly choose to lose?

Redpath

Some friends of mine just started a new group, Redpath, and I got to go into the studio to record their process. I thought it would be fun to do sort of a "behind the scenes" peek. This is their first single, "Let Go" produced by Darren Rust. They have another song coming out soon produced by Joel Hanson. I think they're pretty neat-o, but in the very famous words of LeVar Burton, "You don't have to take my word for it." Go check them out for yourself. myspace.com/theredpathsmusic

A Love Story

I'm taking a short reprieve from my usual blend of sassy cynicism to write about a love story that delivers more oohs and ahhs than the silver screen.

This year my grandparents will celebrate their 66th wedding anniversary. 66 years! Even as I type, I find myself shaking my head in a dazed disbelief. How can two people be married for 66 years? Maybe my questioning comes from the poisonous message of the current culture that validates an "I'm sick of it and want out" policy. Maybe it's because I don't really believe people can marry their high school sweetheart; don't we have to "discover ourselves" first? DeLores and Joe Ackert answer my skepticism with proof that I can't deny. 66 years after they said "I Do" they still stand by each other with unwavering loyalty and a love that I can't even begin to do justice with my feeble words.

About three years ago my cousin, Katie, and I stumbled upon a box full of old letters. When we looked closer at the letters, Katie and I both thought we had struck gold. The box contained hundreds of letters written by a young husband stuck overseas involved in a war that tore him away from his lovely bride for three years. Katie and I both vowed to type the letters and create some sort of a book for our family. The way in which our grandpa wrote brought tears to our eyes. Life has gotten in the way of our once ambitious plan to bring the love letters to life again, but my passion to tell their story has been renewed. Their health has been slowly declining and each day brings a new set of challenges. In the wake of my very own love lost, I have come to see the rare and priceless beauty in a love that defies all odds, years, and even wars. It's a love that makes me believe it can exist and trust that love really does overcome. It's a love story that begs to be told...and so...I will.

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. ~1 Corinthians 13:1