On occasion I like to come to Panera for a bit of relaxing coffee/tea drinking and internet surfing. It’s pretty much the only time I can browse a few sites or get something done without a 3 foot red-head pulling on my pant leg.
I have a favorite little nook here at the Panera on N.W. Expressway. I’m relatively tucked away in this seat, but I have a good view of the door and can hear a lot of what people say. Perfect for my nosey ways. Well, I can hear a lot, but apparently I’m also something of a captive audience too. Last April, I was just talking to my mom about travel plans since I was browsing for flights. A woman who had clearly just wrapped up some kind of meeting kept looking over at me and finally made her way over to me, forcing me to remove my headphones in order to hear her. She was apparently involved in some sort of direct marketing travel business, an independently marketed business if you know what I mean. Yes. It was like Arbonne, but for travel. Crap! So I was dumb and gave her my real phone number. I’ve now learned my lesson. She called me so many times, literally nagging me to get involved with her junk business that I actually saved her number under the title “travel hag” just so I’d know when to ignore the call. Finally, I guess she gave up.
Today, it happened again! This is why there are no soliciting signs guys… read!! I’m sitting here once again enjoying a very limited amount of time to myself, not bothering ANYONE when a woman in group of three people in front of me who are also clearly having a meeting starts paying too much attention to me. Today the lead-in was my laptop skin—a burnt orange homage to the University of Texas of course (thanks Jason). So this lady chats with me for a moment about OU versus Texas and I’m happy to indulge her in a bit of mindless chit chat… until she stands up to introduce herself. I'm thinking, either you are lesbionically attracted to me which is unlikely considering I look awful today, or you are trying to sell me something. Oh no! I know where this is going and you can just sit back done missy. Honestly, I’d rather you hit on me than pull your crap to get me hooked into your lame scheme. But as her partner fetches me some information on this health drink thing they’re pedaling, she gives me her best knowing look and says, “I feel like there is something going on with your health and you should know about this product. I don’t know if it’s god or what…” I didn’t capitalize God there because clearly her god communicates through bizarre health related psychic messages sent through extremely unhealthy looking strangers!
You know, if she hadn’t just been having this meeting not three feet in front of me where I could hear every word, she might have shaken me up a bit. What bull! This makes me so mad I’m actually having a hard time not letting her read this exact blog post! Why do all these scams attatch God to their marketing strategies? Is it just good business to have the Almighty endorse your product and/or services?
I am involved in a direct marketing business myself. Only one business and it is the first and only one we’ve ever become involved with. Oh, you didn’t know that? Well, that’s because I’m not going to tell you about until I’m convinced it’s in your best interest. I can promise you that.
Oh, I hate being manipulated like this. Now, I'm going to have to make an appointment with my doctor for a physical because I'm paranoid. Stupid woman! :)
Friday, September 21, 2007
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Taking Tea
Originally written on a rainy day a few months ago.
--------------------------------
Another day of rain inundated her car windows as she drove toward her favorite coffee haunt with determination. Upon arrival, the place was busy and once again, out of nearly everything. Instead of going someplace else or becoming irritable like the last time this happened, she opted for less flash and more satisfaction in the form of her old, nearly abandoned favorite of steaming hot Earl Grey tea.
“Even this simple, do it yourself beverage is overpriced here,” she mutters to herself as she succumbs to a to-go cup instead of the thick white mug she was looking forward to holding in the palm of her hands. They were out of those too.
“Hot tea!” yells the girl from behind the counter. Hot tea? This was a large cup of steaming water. She picked two tea bags from the Earl Grey jar since this was an exceptionally large cup of near boiling water. She headed to the fix-it counter and collected her sweetening agents. She sat down at her table inserted her tea bags, stirred and replaced the lid in order to let it steep properly. She looked out at the rain strewn window as her computer booted up and realized that this accidental cup of tea was a much needed retreat from her constant emersion in noise, sights and fast, explosive flavors.
As she watched the steam slink up the sides of her cup and whisper upwards into oblivion, she was launched into a memory about thirteen years prior. Her first cup of Earl Grey tea was in London at a simple lunch counter. That had been a real lesson in tea! After ordering Twinnings Earl Grey because a character on a beloved television show always drank it, she was surprised to be presented with a tiny metal teapot with scorching hot water in it, a tea strainer full of Earl Grey leaves, a selection of sugar, saccharine, honey, lemon and milk as well as a tea cup complete with saucer and spoon. She tried a cup with nearly every choice and decided she preferred hers with honey and nothing else.
She smiled at the fact that her preference hadn’t changed in all these years, while blowing the steam off the top of her current to-go cup full of aromatic memories. She pulled the cup closer and heat floated to her face bringing with it the uniquely citrus scent of Earl Grey leaves. She pulled out the tea bags and used the spoon to squeeze them tightly against the side of the cup, extracting every last bit of essence from it before setting it aside. Next she added the honey—the best part. She stirred it slowly allowing the cold honey to merge fully with the steaming tea. Finally, all one must do is let it cool enough to take a sip without burning your tongue beyond usefulness.
The first sip is the test. You examine its burnt amber color and wonder, is it cool enough now? Is it sweet enough? Is this brand too acidic, or more lemon than orange? When it is right, it is comfort, relaxation and warmth in fluid form. You open your eyes a little less fully and you look beyond a thing and see only its color and movement. It is only a few moments stolen from the day, but the right sensory experience can clarify the mind and foster creativity. Taking tea is indeed a necessary luxury.
--------------------------------
Another day of rain inundated her car windows as she drove toward her favorite coffee haunt with determination. Upon arrival, the place was busy and once again, out of nearly everything. Instead of going someplace else or becoming irritable like the last time this happened, she opted for less flash and more satisfaction in the form of her old, nearly abandoned favorite of steaming hot Earl Grey tea.
“Even this simple, do it yourself beverage is overpriced here,” she mutters to herself as she succumbs to a to-go cup instead of the thick white mug she was looking forward to holding in the palm of her hands. They were out of those too.
“Hot tea!” yells the girl from behind the counter. Hot tea? This was a large cup of steaming water. She picked two tea bags from the Earl Grey jar since this was an exceptionally large cup of near boiling water. She headed to the fix-it counter and collected her sweetening agents. She sat down at her table inserted her tea bags, stirred and replaced the lid in order to let it steep properly. She looked out at the rain strewn window as her computer booted up and realized that this accidental cup of tea was a much needed retreat from her constant emersion in noise, sights and fast, explosive flavors.
As she watched the steam slink up the sides of her cup and whisper upwards into oblivion, she was launched into a memory about thirteen years prior. Her first cup of Earl Grey tea was in London at a simple lunch counter. That had been a real lesson in tea! After ordering Twinnings Earl Grey because a character on a beloved television show always drank it, she was surprised to be presented with a tiny metal teapot with scorching hot water in it, a tea strainer full of Earl Grey leaves, a selection of sugar, saccharine, honey, lemon and milk as well as a tea cup complete with saucer and spoon. She tried a cup with nearly every choice and decided she preferred hers with honey and nothing else.
She smiled at the fact that her preference hadn’t changed in all these years, while blowing the steam off the top of her current to-go cup full of aromatic memories. She pulled the cup closer and heat floated to her face bringing with it the uniquely citrus scent of Earl Grey leaves. She pulled out the tea bags and used the spoon to squeeze them tightly against the side of the cup, extracting every last bit of essence from it before setting it aside. Next she added the honey—the best part. She stirred it slowly allowing the cold honey to merge fully with the steaming tea. Finally, all one must do is let it cool enough to take a sip without burning your tongue beyond usefulness.
The first sip is the test. You examine its burnt amber color and wonder, is it cool enough now? Is it sweet enough? Is this brand too acidic, or more lemon than orange? When it is right, it is comfort, relaxation and warmth in fluid form. You open your eyes a little less fully and you look beyond a thing and see only its color and movement. It is only a few moments stolen from the day, but the right sensory experience can clarify the mind and foster creativity. Taking tea is indeed a necessary luxury.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Your Firsts
1. Who was your first prom date?
It was Christmas Banquet, but his name was George.
2. Who was your first roommate?
Melessia Camille, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how you spell her name. Freshman year, Hatley Hall.
3. What was your first alcoholic drink?
A white Russian.
4. What was your first job?
A hostess at China Coast. “Ni hao, and welcome to China Coast! Smoking or Non?”
5. What was your first car?
’80 Honda Accord. I called it Rusty.
6. Who was the first person you texted today?
No one yet.
7. Who is the first person you thought of this morning?
Jason since he was saying goodbye to me. Then Jager.
8. Who was your first grade teacher?
Ms. McIntyre. I’m pretty sure she was psychotic, and would be fired if she did that stuff today.
9. Where did you go on your first ride on an airplane?
To the U.S., Oklahoma specifically
10. When you snuck out of your house for the first time, who were you with?
I never really snuck out. If I had, I’m sure I would have been with Christina though.
11. Who was your first best friend and are you still friends with them?
A girl named Miriam Merbaba (sp?). I don’t know her anymore.
12. Where was your first sleep over?
My house most likely and probably around 2nd grade.
13. Who was your first?
boyfriend? Jason Luper.
14. Whose wedding were you in the first time?
Charmaine’s, one of my sisters
15. What is the first thing you do in the morning?
check the time
16. What was the first concert you ever went to?
Probably Carmen or something, although, I vaguely remember some kind of outdoor show… but I don’t know more than that.
17. First tattoo or piercing?
ears, I think I was about 11. Tattoo, I was 17.
18. First foreign country you went to?
The U.S.
19. First crush?
His name was Adam and I tried to kiss him on the round rug at preschool. :)
20. When was your first detention?
I can hardly narrow it down. Probably 8th grade.
21. What was the first state you lived in?
A province, not a state and it is called Natal/Kwa Zulu.
22. Who was the first person to break your heart?
A boy named Jason (not my first BF, or my husband… I just have a thing for Jasons).
23. Who will be the first to repost?
Like I know!
It was Christmas Banquet, but his name was George.
2. Who was your first roommate?
Melessia Camille, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how you spell her name. Freshman year, Hatley Hall.
3. What was your first alcoholic drink?
A white Russian.
4. What was your first job?
A hostess at China Coast. “Ni hao, and welcome to China Coast! Smoking or Non?”
5. What was your first car?
’80 Honda Accord. I called it Rusty.
6. Who was the first person you texted today?
No one yet.
7. Who is the first person you thought of this morning?
Jason since he was saying goodbye to me. Then Jager.
8. Who was your first grade teacher?
Ms. McIntyre. I’m pretty sure she was psychotic, and would be fired if she did that stuff today.
9. Where did you go on your first ride on an airplane?
To the U.S., Oklahoma specifically
10. When you snuck out of your house for the first time, who were you with?
I never really snuck out. If I had, I’m sure I would have been with Christina though.
11. Who was your first best friend and are you still friends with them?
A girl named Miriam Merbaba (sp?). I don’t know her anymore.
12. Where was your first sleep over?
My house most likely and probably around 2nd grade.
13. Who was your first?
boyfriend? Jason Luper.
14. Whose wedding were you in the first time?
Charmaine’s, one of my sisters
15. What is the first thing you do in the morning?
check the time
16. What was the first concert you ever went to?
Probably Carmen or something, although, I vaguely remember some kind of outdoor show… but I don’t know more than that.
17. First tattoo or piercing?
ears, I think I was about 11. Tattoo, I was 17.
18. First foreign country you went to?
The U.S.
19. First crush?
His name was Adam and I tried to kiss him on the round rug at preschool. :)
20. When was your first detention?
I can hardly narrow it down. Probably 8th grade.
21. What was the first state you lived in?
A province, not a state and it is called Natal/Kwa Zulu.
22. Who was the first person to break your heart?
A boy named Jason (not my first BF, or my husband… I just have a thing for Jasons).
23. Who will be the first to repost?
Like I know!
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Songs That Always Make Me Cry
Jacob’s Dream – Alison Kraus and Union Station
No song in the English language manages to cut to the heart of a mother quite as succinctly as this one. The song is an extremely sad gothic sounding folk tune about two boys who wonder into the mountains to find their dad. Instead, they get terribly lost in the freezing temperatures and the whole town is filled with dread as they search for the lost boys for days.
The chorus reads,
“Oh mommy and daddy why can't you hear our cries
The day is almost over, soon it will be night
We're so cold and hungry and our feet are tired and sore
We promise not to stray again from our cabin door.”
Even typing those words brings tears to my eyes. No mother can handle the image of her child suffering in the cold, hungry and scared and to ask the mother why she can’t find him or hear him is even worse. You know time is of the essence yet you are utterly helpless to even comfort the person you love most in the world. Death is a better fate for a mom in that situation.
The song goes on to tell about an old, sickly man in the village who dreams of a location in the mountain where he dreams that he sees the two boys huddled near a tree by a swollen stream. He dreams this for many nights before his wife finally persuades him to tell someone about it. When he does, the men recognize that location and head there immediately. When they arrive, they find the boys frozen to death in the exact position described in Jacob’s dream. AWFUL!!! All I can think of at the end of that song is “JACOB IS AN EFFING MORON!! He waited for three days???!!”
As the song says, “For two more nights the dream returned this vision sent from God,” for what purpose? To torture their poor parents at the fact that they might have been saved!?
The song ends, with a reinvention of the crushing chorus, remade to make us feel a sense of peace as this awful story comes to a close.
“Oh mommy and daddy, look past the tears you cry
We're both up in Heaven now, God is by our side
As you lay us down to rest in the presence of the Lord
Know that we will meet you here at Heaven's door.”
Oh, Alison. I know you love to sing sad songs, but this is just too much for my heart.
To hear a sample (track 3):
http://music.barnesandnoble.com/search/product.asp?z=y&EAN=011661055520&itm=1
------------------------------------------------
When God Ran – by Phillips Craig and Dean
I suppose I am especially moved by the idea of the prodigal and equally so by the love of a parent for a child. They are intertwined. This song was originally written as a unique perspective on the parable of the Prodigal Son. This song details the part of the story when the son comes home to his Father’s house and plans to beg for a place in the home as a servant, knowing that he no longer had the rights of a son. Instead of the reception he expected, he is greeted by his Father who not only happy to see him, but openly running at full speed toward him—a social faux pas in that day. The Father’s love was so great that the forgiveness was given before it was requested and the wrongdoer was reinstated to his previous position of privileged by the man he had most wronged… all because of unselfish love.
The P.C. & D. version of this song is kind of lame—lots of synthesizer and echo effects added to the vocals to add intensity. The song elicits enough awe all on its own, so the original recording falls victim to typical 80’s indulgence (although it has been redone). Last week at church, a few guys from our music department got together and performed this song during the service. Of course, the pastor had been talking about the story of the Prodigal Son and even referenced a painting by Rembrandt of the same name. Before the service began I was in the choir room and heard the guys practicing this song and in a flash I was transported to my parent’s living room, watching my sister, Melanie practicing the exact same song (unfortunately, the Phillips Craig and Dean version). She sang that song in church and all over the place so many times that I actually knew the words to it. She loved it. I can’t believe I forgot this song! I especially couldn’t believe how it didn’t come to me while planning her funeral or during the many many hours I’ve spent since her death coming to a startling realization about God’s love in her life. This was her song and she had always known it! This is how her story ended too and in an even more perfect way. The shock of realizing my sister knew how her own story had to end caused me to weep openly as they sang this song last Sunday.
I’m sure everyone around me was thinking, “Poor prodigal girl… perhaps she shouldn’t be leading music if she’s gone astray.” :) That thought alone made me laugh enough to stop crying.
To hear a bit of it (track 14): http://music.barnesandnoble.com/search/product.asp?z=y&EAN=094638191025&itm=1
-------------------------------------------------------
Bring Him Home– “Jean Valjean” from Les Miserables
from the album, Les Miserables - The Musical That Swept the World (10th Anniversary Concert at the Royal Albert Hall)
This song makes me cry, but it doesn’t make me emotional. Instead it pushes and inspires me. What makes it so powerful? It could be that you get the sense that Valjean is crying as he sings this desperate song about a boy he loves like son. It could be the way it builds in intensity without the singer ever straying from his original pleading tone. While the subject is moving and the delivery, poignant, it is the song as a whole entity that makes me weep. I cry for the overwhelming aesthetic perfection of this particular version of “Bring Him Home.” In fact, to say that this song overwhelms me is a bit of an understatement. I usually begin with goose bumps and progress into a minor case of the shakes. By the chorus, when Jean Valjean begs, “Bring Him Home” to God, there are hot tears streaming down my face. I look like a right fool, but I feel privileged to be able to be moved by beauty in this way. It is too easy to breeze past art and not be affected by it. This song shows me that I am still sensitive to the awe inspiring sensations of good art performed with a sense of obsession.
To hear a tiny version that doesn’t do it justice (disc 2, track 10—not track 11):
http://music.barnesandnoble.com/search/product.asp?z=y&EAN=766927332623&itm=1
-------------------------------------------------
I Can Only Imagine - MercyMe
I realize how totally cliché it is for me to list this song among those whose lyrics, memories and shear artistry move me to tears. This song was built to get to you—that is its purpose. I hate that I am subject to its carefully orchestrated emotion seeking lyrics. Gag!
With that said, this song makes me feel peace about the deaths of those I have loved and I am overwhelmed by the truth of its words. For someone who truly loves their creator, this song is a great love song sung by the prodigal lover to the faithful lover. These are the kind of words any parent would die to hear come their children’s lips—it is love finally requited. It’s the opening gasp of desperately happy cry, of relief, of pure unerring and perfect joy. The song paints a picture of someone finally getting God’s love and showing it by immediately throwing off their restraints and running toward that eternal unknowable obsession—the love of a master for his creation, of a parent for his child, for a lover for the object of his passion.
My uncle always gave some version of the same Easter sermon except once—the Easter before he died four years ago. It was the most unusual Easter sermon most in that audience had ever heard, so much so, that the District Superintendent, who was there that day, ordered a copy of it on C.D. Three months after giving that sermon, my uncle (whom I admired and loved) died suddenly in South Africa after spending a week comforting his cousin who had just lost his own son. At my uncle’s funeral, that D.S. spoke in hushed tones about the sermon my uncle gave at Easter. His awe was palpable as he began playing the last five minutes of it for everyone there. Without warning, the sanctuary was suddenly filled with the sound of my uncle’s voice saying these words…
“I can only imagine what it will be like when I walk by your side. I can only imagine what my eyes will see when your face is before me. I can only imagine, surrounded by Your glory, what will my heart feel. Will I dance for you Jesus or in awe of you be still? Will I stand in your presence or to my knees will I fall? Will I sing hallelujah; will I be able to speak at all? I can only imagine.
I can only imagine when that day comes and I find myself standing in the Son.
I can only imagine when all I will do is forever, forever worship You. I can only imagine.”
To hear although, I’m sure everyone already has (track 5):
http://music.barnesandnoble.com/search/product.asp?z=y&EAN=080688613327&itm=7
--------------------------------------------------
Be Thou My Vision – Celtic Call, a local duo, or any other version done in the Celtic tradition
If I focus on this song, I will tear up for every reason mentioned previously, not just one of them. I immediately fill with joy and expectation as is only fitting considering this is our love song. I walked down a grassy aisle toward to my future husband to a live version of this very song by Celtic Call. The husband and wife duo that performed this at our wedding consists of a harpist (the wife) and a bagpipe, fiddle or any other kind of pipe player (the kilted husband). The harp opened the song and played for several minutes as the anticipation mounted for me to enter that garden. Just when I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest and my breath would stop all together, the piper said, “It’s time,” and began playing those first few shocking notes of his segment of the song on his bagpipes. I walked, clinging to my dad for dear life, just steps behind the man “piping me in.” The bagpipes are an extremely powerful and emotional instrument. That was the only time they were played at the wedding. I wasn’t paying attention to the crowd at the time, but when I watched the video later, the look on the faces of that congregation as those pipes began was never to be forgotten. They looked almost as awestruck as I felt. Yeah pipes, you did your job well!
The lyrics of this song are so beautifully written. The rhyme and meter is elegant and the words themselves betray such unerring devotion and admiration that it transforms this simple Celtic melody into something quite innocently powerful.
To hear a different version (track 4):
http://music.barnesandnoble.com/search/product.asp?z=y&EAN=083616392929&itm=7
----------------------------------------
What songs move you?
No song in the English language manages to cut to the heart of a mother quite as succinctly as this one. The song is an extremely sad gothic sounding folk tune about two boys who wonder into the mountains to find their dad. Instead, they get terribly lost in the freezing temperatures and the whole town is filled with dread as they search for the lost boys for days.
The chorus reads,
“Oh mommy and daddy why can't you hear our cries
The day is almost over, soon it will be night
We're so cold and hungry and our feet are tired and sore
We promise not to stray again from our cabin door.”
Even typing those words brings tears to my eyes. No mother can handle the image of her child suffering in the cold, hungry and scared and to ask the mother why she can’t find him or hear him is even worse. You know time is of the essence yet you are utterly helpless to even comfort the person you love most in the world. Death is a better fate for a mom in that situation.
The song goes on to tell about an old, sickly man in the village who dreams of a location in the mountain where he dreams that he sees the two boys huddled near a tree by a swollen stream. He dreams this for many nights before his wife finally persuades him to tell someone about it. When he does, the men recognize that location and head there immediately. When they arrive, they find the boys frozen to death in the exact position described in Jacob’s dream. AWFUL!!! All I can think of at the end of that song is “JACOB IS AN EFFING MORON!! He waited for three days???!!”
As the song says, “For two more nights the dream returned this vision sent from God,” for what purpose? To torture their poor parents at the fact that they might have been saved!?
The song ends, with a reinvention of the crushing chorus, remade to make us feel a sense of peace as this awful story comes to a close.
“Oh mommy and daddy, look past the tears you cry
We're both up in Heaven now, God is by our side
As you lay us down to rest in the presence of the Lord
Know that we will meet you here at Heaven's door.”
Oh, Alison. I know you love to sing sad songs, but this is just too much for my heart.
To hear a sample (track 3):
http://music.barnesandnoble.com/search/product.asp?z=y&EAN=011661055520&itm=1
------------------------------------------------
When God Ran – by Phillips Craig and Dean
I suppose I am especially moved by the idea of the prodigal and equally so by the love of a parent for a child. They are intertwined. This song was originally written as a unique perspective on the parable of the Prodigal Son. This song details the part of the story when the son comes home to his Father’s house and plans to beg for a place in the home as a servant, knowing that he no longer had the rights of a son. Instead of the reception he expected, he is greeted by his Father who not only happy to see him, but openly running at full speed toward him—a social faux pas in that day. The Father’s love was so great that the forgiveness was given before it was requested and the wrongdoer was reinstated to his previous position of privileged by the man he had most wronged… all because of unselfish love.
The P.C. & D. version of this song is kind of lame—lots of synthesizer and echo effects added to the vocals to add intensity. The song elicits enough awe all on its own, so the original recording falls victim to typical 80’s indulgence (although it has been redone). Last week at church, a few guys from our music department got together and performed this song during the service. Of course, the pastor had been talking about the story of the Prodigal Son and even referenced a painting by Rembrandt of the same name. Before the service began I was in the choir room and heard the guys practicing this song and in a flash I was transported to my parent’s living room, watching my sister, Melanie practicing the exact same song (unfortunately, the Phillips Craig and Dean version). She sang that song in church and all over the place so many times that I actually knew the words to it. She loved it. I can’t believe I forgot this song! I especially couldn’t believe how it didn’t come to me while planning her funeral or during the many many hours I’ve spent since her death coming to a startling realization about God’s love in her life. This was her song and she had always known it! This is how her story ended too and in an even more perfect way. The shock of realizing my sister knew how her own story had to end caused me to weep openly as they sang this song last Sunday.
Almighty God, the great I am
Immovable rock, omnipotent, powerful, awesome Lord
Victorious warrior, commanding King of Kings
Mighty conqueror, and the only time
the only time I ever saw Him run
Was when He ran to me, He took me in His arms
Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again”
Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes
With forgiveness in His voice He said,
“Son do you know I still love you?”
He caught me by surprise when God ran
The day I left home I knew I’d broken His heart
And I wondered then if things could ever be the same
Then one night I remembered His love for me
And down that dusty road ahead I could see
It was the only time – it was the only time I ever saw Him run
And then He ran to me, He took me in His arms
Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again”
Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes
With forgiveness in His voice He said,
“Son do you know I still love you?”
He caught me by surprise as He brought me to my knees
When God ran – I saw Him run to me
I was so ashamed, all alone and so far away
But now I know He’s been waiting for this day
I saw Him run to me, He took me in His arms
Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again”
Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes
With forgiveness in His voice I felt His love for me again
He ran to me, He took me in His arms
Held my head to His chest, said “My son’s come home again”
Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes
With forgiveness in His voice He said, “Son”, He called me Son
He said, “Son do you know I still love you?”
He ran to me and then I ran to Him
When God ran
I’m sure everyone around me was thinking, “Poor prodigal girl… perhaps she shouldn’t be leading music if she’s gone astray.” :) That thought alone made me laugh enough to stop crying.
To hear a bit of it (track 14): http://music.barnesandnoble.com/search/product.asp?z=y&EAN=094638191025&itm=1
-------------------------------------------------------
Bring Him Home– “Jean Valjean” from Les Miserables
from the album, Les Miserables - The Musical That Swept the World (10th Anniversary Concert at the Royal Albert Hall)
This song makes me cry, but it doesn’t make me emotional. Instead it pushes and inspires me. What makes it so powerful? It could be that you get the sense that Valjean is crying as he sings this desperate song about a boy he loves like son. It could be the way it builds in intensity without the singer ever straying from his original pleading tone. While the subject is moving and the delivery, poignant, it is the song as a whole entity that makes me weep. I cry for the overwhelming aesthetic perfection of this particular version of “Bring Him Home.” In fact, to say that this song overwhelms me is a bit of an understatement. I usually begin with goose bumps and progress into a minor case of the shakes. By the chorus, when Jean Valjean begs, “Bring Him Home” to God, there are hot tears streaming down my face. I look like a right fool, but I feel privileged to be able to be moved by beauty in this way. It is too easy to breeze past art and not be affected by it. This song shows me that I am still sensitive to the awe inspiring sensations of good art performed with a sense of obsession.
Bring Him Home
God on high
Hear my prayer
In my need
You have always been there
He is young
He's afraid
Let him rest
Heaven blessed.
Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home.
He's like the son I might have known
If God had granted me a son.
The summers die
One by one
How soon they fly
On and on
And I am old
And will be gone.
Bring him peace
Bring him joy
He is young
He is only a boy.
You can take
You can give
Let him be
Let him live.
If I die, let me die
Let him live, bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home.
To hear a tiny version that doesn’t do it justice (disc 2, track 10—not track 11):
http://music.barnesandnoble.com/search/product.asp?z=y&EAN=766927332623&itm=1
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I Can Only Imagine - MercyMe
I realize how totally cliché it is for me to list this song among those whose lyrics, memories and shear artistry move me to tears. This song was built to get to you—that is its purpose. I hate that I am subject to its carefully orchestrated emotion seeking lyrics. Gag!
With that said, this song makes me feel peace about the deaths of those I have loved and I am overwhelmed by the truth of its words. For someone who truly loves their creator, this song is a great love song sung by the prodigal lover to the faithful lover. These are the kind of words any parent would die to hear come their children’s lips—it is love finally requited. It’s the opening gasp of desperately happy cry, of relief, of pure unerring and perfect joy. The song paints a picture of someone finally getting God’s love and showing it by immediately throwing off their restraints and running toward that eternal unknowable obsession—the love of a master for his creation, of a parent for his child, for a lover for the object of his passion.
My uncle always gave some version of the same Easter sermon except once—the Easter before he died four years ago. It was the most unusual Easter sermon most in that audience had ever heard, so much so, that the District Superintendent, who was there that day, ordered a copy of it on C.D. Three months after giving that sermon, my uncle (whom I admired and loved) died suddenly in South Africa after spending a week comforting his cousin who had just lost his own son. At my uncle’s funeral, that D.S. spoke in hushed tones about the sermon my uncle gave at Easter. His awe was palpable as he began playing the last five minutes of it for everyone there. Without warning, the sanctuary was suddenly filled with the sound of my uncle’s voice saying these words…
“I can only imagine what it will be like when I walk by your side. I can only imagine what my eyes will see when your face is before me. I can only imagine, surrounded by Your glory, what will my heart feel. Will I dance for you Jesus or in awe of you be still? Will I stand in your presence or to my knees will I fall? Will I sing hallelujah; will I be able to speak at all? I can only imagine.
I can only imagine when that day comes and I find myself standing in the Son.
I can only imagine when all I will do is forever, forever worship You. I can only imagine.”
To hear although, I’m sure everyone already has (track 5):
http://music.barnesandnoble.com/search/product.asp?z=y&EAN=080688613327&itm=7
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Be Thou My Vision – Celtic Call, a local duo, or any other version done in the Celtic tradition
If I focus on this song, I will tear up for every reason mentioned previously, not just one of them. I immediately fill with joy and expectation as is only fitting considering this is our love song. I walked down a grassy aisle toward to my future husband to a live version of this very song by Celtic Call. The husband and wife duo that performed this at our wedding consists of a harpist (the wife) and a bagpipe, fiddle or any other kind of pipe player (the kilted husband). The harp opened the song and played for several minutes as the anticipation mounted for me to enter that garden. Just when I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest and my breath would stop all together, the piper said, “It’s time,” and began playing those first few shocking notes of his segment of the song on his bagpipes. I walked, clinging to my dad for dear life, just steps behind the man “piping me in.” The bagpipes are an extremely powerful and emotional instrument. That was the only time they were played at the wedding. I wasn’t paying attention to the crowd at the time, but when I watched the video later, the look on the faces of that congregation as those pipes began was never to be forgotten. They looked almost as awestruck as I felt. Yeah pipes, you did your job well!
The lyrics of this song are so beautifully written. The rhyme and meter is elegant and the words themselves betray such unerring devotion and admiration that it transforms this simple Celtic melody into something quite innocently powerful.
To hear a different version (track 4):
http://music.barnesandnoble.com/search/product.asp?z=y&EAN=083616392929&itm=7
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What songs move you?
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