It’s getting all cluttered in here (my brain, that is) and the words to songs are hiding in all the noise. So I’m going to create some brain space this week.
Lots of it.
I’ll be stepping back. Quieting down. Powering down. And doing some thinking.
And, on return, we’ll startup a community challenge for us for the month of July, and there’ll be a fun giveaway, and all sorts of other warm fuzzinesses.
But you’ll have to wait to find out.
See y’all on the 4th. Have a great week. Thanks for stopping by.
I’ve missed out on a bit of sleep lately. Not because of worry, or fear, or anything. It just happens sometimes.
And this week was one of those times.
And, when everything else is quiet and my mind has nothing but space to fill, I start thinking about kids. Kids who are old enough to know that the adults caring for them are not their parents and might not care for them forever. Kids who wonder who they’re supposed to call mom & dad. Who have feelings and favorite colors.
Or I think about those who will be born into a world they can’t understand. And who won’t be able to process their first few months of life. Who’s hearts are beating quickly and quietly, and might soon face a breaking. Who have fingernails and faces.
Then I think about buckets of Favorite Color paint. And skinned knees. And endless bowls of Kraft Mac&Cheese, and tiny shoe laces, and hugs that say “I am yours and you are mine, no matter what the other kids say.”
And then I try to stop thinking. I try to open my eyes and return to reality and remind myself that there will be months of ups and downs and frustrations and questions before …
before the unexpected happens. And the expected happens. And it all happens.
I’m noticing a pattern. These faith songs usually end up a bit dark and lamenting. This one, though dark, pulls up.
In listening to this demo (of my own voice, which is always an odd experience), I’ve gathered a few notes of things I wanna change. But what I really wanna know is what you think:
1) what does this song say? 2) what lines/concepts could be more clear?
So, if you have a second, listen to the demo–and/or read through the lyrics. And please look past the lack of punctuation, because I don’t use it because I don’t sing commas and periods and that colon that should probably follow the third line.
life leaves no survivors hiding every eye to the more beyond unopened doors no suffocating sadness no graying day of cynics and they will see if we will fight
bring the bread and bring the wine bring the sword and bring the sign for the lost that will be found we’ll march on the killing ground we’ll march on the killing ground
for every hallelujah waiting to be whispered for every soul escaping more we will fight until forgiven with songs of our redemption with shouts of light into the night
raise your eyes to paradise there’s no time to compromise when redemption bells resound we will take the killing ground we will take the killing ground
and all we know is all we’ve lived and this is all we have to give bring it there to bring them home this life through death is all we know
breathe new life in every soul turn the broken into whole tear it up and tear it down wiping clean the killing ground wiping clean the killing ground wiping clean the killing ground
(This is what happens when I actually do my morning writings. It’s random. I am fine. I was just writing.)
Life chews us up and spits us out, leaving us exhausted and dizzy and frustrated. And yet we still lull ourselves to sleep at night, blanketed by a false sense of control.
It’s the insomniacs who, while crazed from sleeplessness, are the wiser–who are haunted by the reality that we cannot predict how the day will begin or end, much less clean up all the mess that is the in-between.
The sleepless remember that we enter the world screaming and will probably exit the same. And in the middle of the night that primal scream echoes in the recesses of their brains and holds them captive to wakefulness.
Because they know that when morning breaks–and it breaks hard and mercilessly–the rest of us are in for a rude awakening.
But some of us are awake. And we are aware. And we know.
Do you remember the first time you held a Cheesecake Factory menu in your hands? I do. I remember the madness of flipping through the eleventy-two deliciously illustrated pages of appetizers and entrees and salads and “Do you know what you want to order” and “No, sorry, not yet” and then the-entire-other-menu of cheesecake varieties. So many options, so little stomach space. No wonder the wait for a table is always at least 30 minutes long. It takes customers an hour just to order. Thank you, Cheesecake Factory, for making us crazy.
I call it Option Overload. Barry Schwarts calls it The Paradox of Choice. It’s everywhere. It’s paralyzing. And it’s making me crazy.
It’s in cable TV clicking. It’s in web-surfing. It’s in iPhone app downloading. It’s in Netflix instant-streaming.
It’s also why, in part, I have such a hard time committing to a creative writing routine, or sticking with a particular GTD system. I can’t get a process going because I keep switching. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something better out there. The grass is greener with that other task-management-app, y’all.
And I don’t know how to control it in my life.
And I don’t think I’m the only one plagued and paralyzed by all these amazingly delicious choices.
What do you do to get to a place of ordering at The Cheesecake Factory? How do you avoid Option Overload, or do you let it sway you from gadget to gadget, app to app, cheesecake flavor to cheesecake flavor?
