Songs that Hurt, Songs that Heal

I love music.  I grew up listening to music; my parents hosted hootenannies, my grandmother taught guitar and piano, my dad played jazz piano.  I’ve studied folk music and written out “clean” lyrics of popular rap songs for my students to read.  I’ve taught songs to Girl Scouts, youth groups, Sunday School classes, and hundreds of students.  The first album I owned was a Joan Baez LP that Mom passed on to me:  folk songs and protest songs.   The song “Pass It On” led me to Christ when I was 15.  The first “date” Marty and I went on was to a feminist singer’s concert.   I sang songs and hymns to Mom when she was recovering from cancer surgery, and many years later as she was going through the dying process.  One of my favorite things to do is to worship God, singing His praises with other worshippers.

Several years ago I went through a rough patch.  A crime was committed against my son and because of that a handful of our church family judged us to be unfit (for ministry, for the church, for working with kids, for parenting…?).  This, along with other traumas sent me into a spiritual and emotional depression.  During this period I found out that songs that used to bring me joy could hurt.  For a couple of years I couldn’t worship God…well, I worshipped Him but I couldn’t feel it.  It was hard work sometimes, but I did it.

We had to look for a new church.   It was often a song that would send me fleeing from a church that previously felt “okay.”  It might have been a song that the kids at my previous church home used to sing.  The song hurt because I missed my ministry, I missed my kids.  It might have been a song that we sang dozens of times at our previous church home; and I simply missed hearing Kathy sing harmony.

God heals.  Time heals.   I started being able to worship God again with my heart as well as my actions.  We are part of a new church family – and the worship team rocks!  I’m making new memories with new favorite songs.

Last Saturday  I went to GraceFest AV.  I sat with friends from school, and through the afternoon I saw other friends from work.  What a blessing to work with brothers and sisters in Christ!  I felt so comfortable and at home, sitting with my friends. 

Gracefest - with friends!

Ahead of me, to my right, were friends from my previous church family (Judy!).  To my left, friends from my new church family (Anita, Nahrin!).  In the past few years I’ve often felt anxious in situations like this, worried that I might see someone who would trigger difficult emotions.  I felt no anxiety yesterday at GraceFest….. until I remembered what MercyMe’s biggest hit was.

MercyMe at Gracefest AV 2012

The band MercyMe was blessing our socks off.  I was surprised how many songs were familiar.  I had heard them at Spirit West Coast ten years ago or so, and we loved the band, but I hadn’t kept up with their music (hadn’t purchased any songs).  I checked my iPhone to see which music I had, and checked iTunes to see what their biggest hits were.  That’s when I realized…. I Can Only Imagine.

I Can Only Imagine beautifully ponders what heaven will be like, and what the singer’s reaction to God’s presence will be.  My friend, Mary, has sung it at memorial services.  I loved the song when it first came out.  I “broke up” with I Can Only Imagine seven years ago.

My son and “N” were driving to a wedding rehearsal, singing along to I Can Only Imagine when a gust of wind caught the car and they slammed into a telephone pole.  Our pastor called us to tell us about the accident – I was in the hospital in Bakersfield for bilateral carpal tunnel release surgery.  I wouldn’t let them give me anesthesia until I spoke to Calvin and found out he was okay.  A month later we learned that “N” had betrayed our family, and my world began to fall to pieces.   

Spirit West Coast DelMar

Spirit West Coast Monterey

Saturday evening I asked Mary to pray for me if MercyMe played I Can Only Imagine.  She was away from our group of chairs when the song started, and I braced myself for anxiety or bad memories.  HOWEVER, instead of bad memories I remembered worshipping God at Spirit West Coast ten years ago.  I remembered singing I Can Only Imagine with over a thousand people.  I remembered Marty’s vision – that this was a glimpse of what heaven would be like; the joy, honor, and pleasure of worshipping God eternally.  Mary came back, put her arm around me, and asked if I was okay.  YES!  I was okay!  I was good!  Praise God, I can sing and listen to that song again.


Sunday morning I went to church by myself.  We had spent the past two weekends at our retirement home in Nipomo, and Marty was there again this weekend (working on the sprinkler system).  I found a friend to sit with, and found joy in worshipping our Lord through music.  Then the song Jesus Paid It All started.  This was a song that we (my sister and I) sang to Mom last February, and we sang it at her memorial service.  I wondered whether I would cry, remembering Mom’s passing.

Yes, I cried!  I cried because Jesus melted my heart of stone (I really did feel like my heart had turned to stone for a couple years there).  I cried because I truly felt like I was worshipping with a church family.  I was sitting next to Nicoletta; we’re praising God because her husband’s recent accident did NOT kill him or take away his hand when his van tipped on its side with his hand out the window.  I was sitting in back of friends of Stan and Gail.  Gail recently died in a motorcycle accident, and this church family rallied around Stan and the kids beautifully.  Right behind me was another friend, whose teenaged daughter was positively glowing with a bright scarf around her neck.  The scarf covered the stitches from very recent thyroid cancer surgery.   Our strength is small, but in Him we find our healing, but even more:  our HOPE!

I hear the Savior say, "Thy strength indeed is small;
Child of weakness, watch and pray, Find in Me thine all in all."

Chorus:
Jesus paid it all, All to Him I owe;
Sin had left a crimson stain, He washed it white as snow.

Lord, now indeed I find Thy power and Thine alone,
Can change the leper's spots And melt the heart of stone.

(Chorus)

And when before the throne I stand in Him complete,
"Jesus died my soul to save" my lips shall still repeat

(Chorus)

O Praise the one who paid my debt
And raised this life up from the dead
O Praise the one who paid my debt
And raised this life up from the dead
O Praise the one who paid my debt
And raised this life up from the dead
O Praise the one who paid my debt
And raised this life up from the dead

"Here You Go!"

Yesterday was Eliora's fourth birthday.  Rhiannon hosted a Minnie Mouse birthday party for 17 kids, complete with Mickey-shaped watermelon slices, Mickey-shaped PB&J sandwiches, Mickey-shaped cheese slices, and Mickey soy-free, gluten-free yummy cupcakes.  Jason made a vat of strawberry lemonade with lemons from our tree (the first time we used our lemons!). 

Rhiannon made ears for all the guests - parents and grandparents included. 

Ears for all!

Ears for all!

Rhiannon has the kid-party down: 
     1)  Guests to arrive and decorate their gift bags; free-play in the yard and bounce-house
     2)  Party games and favors
     3)  Lunch
     4)  Piñata (made by Jason)
     5)  Cupcakes
     6)  Presents

When the computer went to sleep, cutting off the Pandora stream of Disney-tunes, I jiggled the mouse and saw Rhiannon's spreadsheet including the schedule and the number of guests (including how many wouldn't be eating (babies).  When the last guest arrives Rhiannon marks on the spreadsheet how many of the guests actually arrived (it's usually within one or two of the number that RSVP'd). 

Needless to say, Rhiannon is a planner.  I knew that her oldest daughter, Nayeli, takes after her.  She's been making lists for a few years now and has melt-downs when her plans go awry.  One morning (a couple years ago) she told her dad that she was tired because she stayed up late the night before "ornagizing things."  Eliora, or "Peep" is much more of a free-spirit.  She has her own fashion sense; she loves to mismatch her pajamas. 

Brielle sorting out Eliora's gifts

What I didn't know until yesterday is that the third daughter, Brielle, also takes after her Mama.  When Eliora finished unwrapping her pile of presents, Brielle started sorting them out. The big kids went back out to the bounce house.  Brielle picked up each present, showed it to the grandparents, then put it in some kind of logical pile. 

"Here you go!"

Brielle handed a couple presents to Pam, Marty, or me, saying "Here you go!"  She decided the Baby Minnie Mouse should go home with her cousin Kyle.  She trotted over to toddler Kyle, "here you go!"  The Minnie Mouse was quickly returned to the present pile, but Brielle picked it up again, and tried to hand it to Kyle as he headed out the door.   For a little while Brielle put her hands up and turned in a circle in the middle of the presents and wadded paper, like she was saying "What am I going to do with this mess?"

Brielle, two years old, had been straightening things out all day.  For example, she knows that her Grandpa belongs to her.  Marty was holding baby Declan.  Brielle came over, picked the baby up off of Grandpa's lap, slid the baby onto the floor, and climbed up on Grandpa's lap. 

Declan on the floor, where he belongs

A little later Brielle noticed that Declan was playing with the hem of my long, colorful dress.  She climbed off of Grandpa's lap onto the floor, picked up my skirt and handed it to me:  "There you go."

Yesterday evening the Schmidt family came over to our house for dinner and more presents.  Rhiannon and I were looking at a restaurant's to-go menu on Marty's MacBook.  Brielle picked up my MacBook and walked across the room, computer clutched to her tiny body.  She brought it to me and said, "Here you go!"  Thank goodness Brielle is also very strong (her swim instructor said she was the strongest toddler she had taught).  This two-year-old can handle computers and baby brothers!

"What am I going to do with this mess?"

A Poem From Mom's Files

I've been tackling Mom & Dad's two four-drawer filing cabinets.  I knew there might be surprises (I didn't know that they applied for the position of director of the Museum of Australia!), embarrassments (yes, I found the naked picture of the Governator), curiosities (neatly labeled folders of every place they ever stayed, as well as things Daddy was interested in, like "naked mole rats").  I expected, and got, their finances (at least until 2001 when Daddy died) neatly labeled and organized - tax returns and bank statements. 

I had asked a friend to pray protection for me as I went through the files.  I knew the lower the file drawers, the more personal the files.  Divorce decrees (both mom and dad had been previously married), love letters from my dad to my mom, medical records including psychiatric treatment of family members.

Tonight I found one that made me cry.  I found a file folder all about Boyd.  Many of you know that Mom had a little boy who drowned when he was a toddler (before I was born).  There were a few stories Mom would tell about Boyd, how happy and smart he was, and how much John, our big brother, doted on him.  When I became a mom it hit me one day that "oh my gosh, my mother lost a child... how did she survive that?"  I know that the way Mom "survived" it was by putting all her grief into getting laws changed; so that fences would be required around all swimming pools.  The case went all the way to the Supreme Court. 

When Mom stopped drinking in 1990 she started grieving the child she lost 35 years before.  She paid for a safety fence for the toddler playground at her church in Morro Bay, and had it dedicated to Boyd Calvin King.  Mom wrote Boyd's story a few times while writing her memoirs.  Near the end of her life she talked about Boyd more often, and we encouraged her, telling her she would soon be joining her little boy in heaven. 

Mom shared her feelings about the loss with Rhiannon.  Rhiannon was so affected by her grandma's story that she desperately wanted her kids to  learn how to swim.  During the summer, she'd sign Nayeli up for swim lessons at park district pools, but as soon as Nayeli started screaming the teenage instructor would give up.  Last May we read a blog by a friend (The LangGang Loves) that told how quickly an accident can happen at a pool, even with responsible adults on duty.  Together we decided to  have the girls take "Baby Seals" classes this summer.  The instructor teaches babies and toddlers how to survive in the water - they learn to float on their backs, not to struggle, and to hold their face up so they can breathe.  Babies are put in the water with their clothes on (most drownings of infants and toddlers occur when they get into a pool by accident, not when the family is swimming together). 

Brielle was a tough one - the instructor said she was the strongest toddler she had taught, and was very stubborn.  She knew what to do, but kept kicking her legs, which would pull her face down.  The instructor weighted Brielle's legs with two pairs of sweatpants to keep her from kicking.  On Wednesday I saw the girls at their last session.  I was amazed and delighted to see Brielle, two years old, swim through the water, then flip on her back to breathe air, before flipping back over again to reach her Mama's arms.  (Oh, and Nayeli is now a fish in the water).



Back to the file folder I found.  I was surprised to find this file folder labeled "Boyd", because I thought Mom had pulled all the material she had about Boyd together when she was writing about him.  The folder contains his birth certificate, a passbook for his memorial fund, sympathy cards, and newspaper clippings. There was a story titled "Then there was one," in which Mom told the account first-hand (it was part of the material for the lawsuit).  It will be interesting to compare that version with the ones she wrote 50 years later.

There was also a poem.  I'm almost certain Mom wrote this poem.  Mom wrote a lot of poetry, and the typewritten page looks like other papers she typed.  I searched for key phrases, and didn't find this poem anywhere.  Whether she wrote it or not, it doesn't matter.  This is what made me cry.

MOTHER TO HER DEAD BABY

My little one,
The cool gray mist is bringing in the evening,,
Filling the air with the rhythm of quietness,
Sleep
Gently steals over
The garden,
The small yellow roses
Sway
Beseechingly to the sound of the wind.

Little one, love of my heart.
You sleep early;
Too willingly are you quiet;
Your small murmurings
Sound in my heart like the broken music
Of a small silver brook
In the summer.

Baby, I remember how your small warm hand
Clutched my fingers.
Do you remember the kisses I gave you,
Kisses that were small words in the language of my heart?
Baby, you were warm.
Where are you?
I want to touch you.
How can I live if I cannot touch you?

The darkness is soft, tonight,
Like a blanket.
You had warm blankets, baby;
They are piled in the bedroom,
So neatly folded.
I was always glad when you slept well,
Little one.
Under the soft coverings.
Now you have a covering that is even softer
Than the blanket
That you liked to hold against your cheek,
Now you have rest deeper than any you ever had.
I love you, my baby, I love you . . .
O, I am glad that you sleep well.