life on shuffle

Listen Here: Paramore - “That’s What You Get”

This song will always make me think of one of my favorite vacations ever: a Northwest road trip that I took with my big brother Jim in 2009.

When you embark on a road trip with your sibling, one of the challenges you have to face is your trip’s playlist… especially when your traveling companion can be extremely snobby picky when it comes to music.  Jim can usually tolerate most of my music choices but rarely withholds his opinion if he’s not a fan.  So when he and I decided to journey across Oregon and Washington, I knew that we’d be sharing control of the iPod and fighting over a few songs here and there.

Turns out Jim loves this song by Paramore.  I think the only reason I really remember that fact is that I didn’t expect him to be a fan of the band (didn’t see a girl-fronted pop rock band of teens as his “thing”), but I pretty clearly recall him singing along, getting at least 50% of the words right.  

Yep, we jammed out to Paramore, somewhere along a windy road in the Olympic Peninsula.

   

 

It was such an incredible trip.  I frequently thought to myself, “I can’t believe this is in the United States,” followed quickly by the thought, “I really don’t want this trip to end.”  From the top of Mt. Hood, to the haystack rocks at Cannon Beach, to the driftwood of Kalaloch, the scenery was just unbelievably gorgeous.

We didn’t need good music to make our sibling trip memorable, but a little Paramore singalong didn’t hurt.

Listen Here: AJ Cheek - “The Art Of Letting Go”

{photo via we heart it}

I just broke my own rules.  

This song did not come up when I pushed “shuffle.”  But when you don’t post a blog for months, I don’t think the rules apply to your return to the land of the writing.  (Besides, if the number of recent plays was a factor in the results of a shuffle, this song would absolutely have started playing.)

So here I am, reuniting with my blog.  I’ve missed writing, but I haven’t known how to start back.  I think breaking the rules was probably the best answer. 

“I’ve been living here for so long // I’m scrapin’ cobwebs off the wall // I think I’m ready for a new song // I’m ready for the weight to fall // This is the art of letting go”

It’s been a weird, unsettling, “Who Moved My Cheese” few months, a phase that I think probably started in September when my roommate of more than three years, (and one of my best friends), accepted a new job that would have her moving to Texas at the end of December.  It sounds overdramatic to say it, but losing an amazing long-term roommate, (not to mention the awesome apartment that she got you an incredible deal on), can really throw your little world off its axis.

In the months that followed, there were lots of tearful conversations and avoidance of the inevitable, a weekend first-time trip to Chicago, a birthday spent in the mountains, a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Europe (which I’m sure will come up more later), at least four different baby showers for at least four different babies (don’t worry, none of them mine), a white Christmas in Knoxville with a sunny New Year’s in Disney World, another goodbye to another migrating friend and a search for a new place to live.  Change.  And lots of it.

“It’s like I’m changing with the seasons // My leaves of green have turned to brown // But I know there must be a reason // There is so much more than what I’ve found // This is the art of letting go”

I’ve never been one to “welcome” change per say.  I might go as far to say I avoid it sometimes, and I’m pretty sure it’s a control issue.  Maybe it’s more accurate to say it’s a trust issue.  Big change has always led to big growth for me.  But the process is hard.  And the not-knowing is harder.

One of my dearest friends was recently doing her best to talk me out of a panic attack, and she shared with me some words of wisdom.  She said, “God can hit a moving target just as easily as one that’s standing still.  It’s of course important to always be seeking the Lord’s will and listening for when He gives direction, but sometimes I think He calls us to take a step.”

“Place me in your hands tonight // As I fall down to my knees // While all the things I held so tight to // Sink to the bottom of the sea”

So, after a couple weeks of sporadic pity parties and late-night Craigslist searches, I took a step: I signed a lease for a new apartment — a one-bedroom apartment on top of an older house close to downtown Nashville.  My first time living alone.  I’ve already bought a new shower curtain for my claw-foot bathtub, so I think that means I’m committed. 

It would be nice if finding a place to live answered all my nagging questions, (it doesn’t), but it’s a step, one I’m excited to take.  

 ”So quiet my soul, and empty my hands // Put this tired heart to rest // I can feel the weight lift off my back // And the burden’s off my chest // This is the art of letting go”

I think letting go of control is just what the song says it is: an art.  You can try to perfect it.  You can think you’ve got it right.  But creating something beautiful requires a lot of patience, a LOT of grace and quite a bit of risk. 

I’m always simultaneously reading multiple books, (which is probably why it takes me entirely too long to finish one), and one of the books I’m borrowing right now is Just Do Something.  In it, author Kevin DeYoung writes, “Too many young people today have no stability, no certainty, no predictability, little decisiveness, and lots of self-doubt… But I am advocating floundering less, making a difference for God sooner, and — above all — not spiritualizing, year after year, our inability to make decisions in the elusive quest to discover God’s will.  I’m arguing that our eagerness to know God’s will is probably less indicative of a heart desperately wanting to obey God and more about our heads spinning with all the choices to be made.”

Been there.  Maybe still am?  But I’m working on it.  This is “The Art Of Letting Go.”

By the way, I’m going to go back to the rules for my next blog post.  I like those rules — more of a challenge.  Besides, I think we’ve all had enough change for a little while, right?

**Special thanks to my sweet friend Kandee who gave me AJ’s EP as a Christmas gift. You should check out more of his music!

Listen Here: Phoenix - “Lisztomania”

One of my favorite versions of this song involves a bunch of elementary school kids:

The PS22 Chorus is a public elementary school chorus from Staten Island, NY.  Gregg Breinberg started the chorus in an effort to provide the kids with a learning experience, a creative outlet and a safe environment for growth.  Their covers of various hit songs earned them a ton of media coverage and even the opportunity to perform for President Obama.  Breinberg has invested in these kids and given them a gift much more important than their new-found fame: a greater sense of self-worth.

When I watch the videos of the PS22 kids, I find myself thinking of another group of special kids.

The Adens are a family of Somali refugees who were resettled here in Nashville.  I honestly can’t even tell you how many people are a part of this family, which involves multiple siblings, some of whom have children of their own.  And I really can’t tell you much of their background other than that it hasn’t been an easy road for them.  But what I can tell you is that they are some of the most beautiful, loving, awesome kids I’ve ever gotten to know.

Earlier this year, I told my friend, Anna Beth, (who works for World Relief, a refugee resettlement organization), that I’d like to get involved with some of the refugees.  We started babysitting the Aden kids while their moms took English classes.  Let me just tell you that babysitting a bunch of refugee kids in one tiny apartment was no easy task.  The first experience involved mattresses-turned-slides and a close call with a bucket of toilet water.  However, we soon discovered that a coloring book and a bunch a crayons did wonders, and we were able to tame them for at least an hour.

Sadly, they had to move to a different apartment complex, and the English classes didn’t last very long.  But still, we’ve tried to stay in touch and check in on them every now and then.  (If you ever want to be seriously entertained, try watching The Lion King with an African family.  I think the kids’ mom was the most amused, absolutely lighting up when she recognized the Swahili “Hakuna Matata”.)

We paid a visit to the Adens just last week.  They now live over in the projects in East Nashville.  There is such a strange tension of sadness and joy every time I see them.  They really are incredible kids — so full of life.  But they are not living in a good place, and they know it.  With that many kids and minimal English skills, it’s hard for the mothers to get and keep jobs that will provide them with anything more than sparse apartments and food stamps.  

While sitting on the couch with one of the older boys, I asked him how school was going.  He just replied, “It’s not good.”  He got up off the couch and started playing with his younger sister, and his mom looked at us and said, “He started middle school.  It’s not good at his school.  The kids say bad things.  He comes home telling me.  This is not a good place.”

You watch the kids playing outside, where thugs are hanging by their cars, surveying the neighborhood.  You watch them running barefoot down cigarette-littered sidewalks.  You watch them tense up at the mention of going to school.  And all you can think is, “Lord, protect them.  Save them.  I want so much more for them.”

I’ve had a hard time getting those kids off my mind since that last visit.  I feel a little helpless but also hopeful that things will get better.  I feel a need to help… and yet a little baffled as to how to go about helping.  I want those kids to grow up with dreams.  I want them to believe they can do anything.  I want them to be able to sing songs and dance around like the PS22 kids.  

They came here as refugees.  I wish I could give them a better refuge.

{If you’d like to learn more about refugee resettlement or are interested in volunteering with refugees, please visit www.worldrelief.org.}

(Source: )

Listen Here: “Hey Now” - Augustana

                                                               {photo via we heart it}

“Hey now, we’re bleeding for nothing // It’s hard to breathe when you’re standing on your own // We’ll kill ourselves to find freedom // You’ll kill yourself to find anything at all.”

It seems to happen to everyone at some point — that push to “find yourself”, to become independent, to be your own person.  Sometimes it involves a leap of faith or a change in scenery.  Sometimes it starts with a grand adventure; other times it demands a deep commitment and a “settling down”.  Sometimes it’s motivated by success, but sometimes it’s prompted by failure.

We all want to prove we can make it on our own.  But maybe “freedom” can get lonely.

We were created to be in relationship, created to need others.  I’m not saying that any human friendship or romance will lead to total fulfillment, (it won’t), but maybe you come to know yourself better when you let others in.

Listen Here: “After The Storm” - Mumford & Sons

“And there will come a time, you’ll see, with no more tears. // And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears. // Get over your hill and see what you find there, // With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.”

                                                           {Kathryn Phillips Daniel, 1924-2010}

Sometimes your phone rings, and you know it’s going to be bad news before you even answer.  I got one of those phone calls at work this Wednesday.  It was my parents, calling to say that my Grandmomma had passed away that afternoon.

A stroke about five years ago sent her on a downward spiral that resulted in limited mobility and an inability to communicate well.  In so many ways, I lost my grandmother, the woman I knew, long before she stopped breathing.  

]                                                  {my grandparents’ wedding day}

Yet, in what I’ve come to see as a real gift, I had actually had a really sweet visit with her this past Sunday.  I got to feed her her dinner that night and just felt overwhelmed by what a blessing it was to be able to do something for her after years of her doing so much for me and my family.  She knew me, knew my birthday and held my hand for a while.  I got to kiss her forehead and tell her goodbye, and I am SO thankful for that.  

It’s been a long week.  Lots of handshakes and tears.  But there were also shared memories and unexpected laughs with family members.  We celebrated the life my grandmother led here on earth and the eternal life she’s now living in Heaven.

                                                                        {my grandparents on a beach trip with my dad}

Before the funeral, my parents asked me if I’d like to write anything for the service.  I knew I couldn’t read it aloud without blubbering, but I decided to write something, which my brother delivered beautifully…

How do you summarize a life when it touched the lives of so many others?

A daughter.  A wife.  A mother.  A Grandmomma.  She gave herself to her family.  A teacher.  A friend.  A faithful believer.  She was dedicated.

She was the maker of chess pies and the keeper of molasses.  She was the kind of baker that used her finger to taste the batter but would let you lick the spoon.

She had an infectious, loud laugh.  And she laughed often.  She loved Sunday hats, flowers and a good story.

She had an opinion about most things, and she usually shared it whether you asked for it or not.

And she was proud.  Proud of her history.  Proud of her only son.  Proud of her grandkids.

How do you summarize a life when it was so very full?

She was a world traveler, and she had pictures and worn-out suitcases to prove it.

She was a piano player and a hymn singer.  She knew all the words to dozens of her favorite songs.  (And if she forgot a few, she would just keep humming the tune.)

She liked to play and tease, with a spot-on Minnie Pearl impersonation.

She was a flirt and a talker, with countless afternoons spent in a kitchen chair, wearing an apron and chatting on the phone.

She was intelligent and informed.  A newspaper reader and a debater.  She rarely backed down from a challenge.

So when the stroke came… She kept fighting.  And she fought for quite some time.

How do you summarize a life when it takes such an unexpected turn?

The light in her eye dimmed just a little, and the laugh got a little quieter.  The brilliant color that filled her life faded to a different hue.  And we watched as her body struggled to keep up with her spirit.

Inside a cracked shell, she was still the beautiful and incredibly special daughter, wife, mother and Grandmomma.  And we got to keep her with us for a little while longer.

But God only lets daughters like that stay on earth for so long.

Now she’s free of the worn out body that betrayed her.  And you better believe that she’s got a lot of catching up to do.

How do you summarize a life… when it’s still being lived?

I love you, Grandmomma.

                                                              {one of my first piano lessons}