Songwriting

A while back I was asked to share about my songwriting process. To be honest, it’s taken me some time to figure out what to say about it. 

And honestly, we have to dig a little deeper in order to have this conversation. I’m not going to sit here and give you 10 tips on how to be a better songwriter. Sure, I can give you some ideas, and share my thoughts on what I do. But it’s bigger than that. 

We need to talk about identity. 

Here’s the truth: I’m not a “songwriter.” That’s not a title I carry around or identify myself by. For a long time growing up I was trying to figure out that “title.” How many songs did I need to write in order to consider myself a “songwriter?” How many stories, or poems to call myself a “writer” and not be considered a total fraud? 

I think we really like titles. It makes things easy and we can fit everything into a certain box that makes sense to us. But I could never find a title that fit. Truly. In my head I tried on a dozen different titles and none of them seemed to embody my identity. Like a puzzle piece that’s almost right, but still not quite, nothing fit. 

About 2 months ago, I had this revelation about my identity. I realized I’m a storyteller. And I know lots of people like to claim that title, but there’s nothing cliche about it for me. Because let me tell you, I can look back over my whole life and see how being a storyteller is entwined throughout every moment. All the way back to childhood. It’s in everything I do. It’s how I view the world; how I view people.

This was a very important epiphany for me. It changed the way I view what I do. 

So first of all: 

You need to know who you are. 

If you don’t know who you are, you’ll forever write from an imposter’s point of view. You’ll waste countless years writing from a perspective that isn’t yours and doesn’t fit. It won’t ever communicate what you want it to, because it’s not YOU. You’ll be standing outside the window, looking in at what you want to say but never being able to get to it. 

So first things first, you need to discover who you are. 

• I would suggest a lot of conversations with the Lord, and a lot of time in the Word. But that’s just a quick side note. 

Once you understand that, the rest gets a lot easier. 

For me, songwriting is equal parts process and discipline. 

Sometimes I just have to sit down and work and work at a song, and try a million different things until you find the thing that works. It involves throwing out a lot of ideas, even ones you really wanted to work. It's not giving up quickly when the idea isn't there. The discipline of spending time and effort on an idea is so valuable because sometimes that discipline really does lead you to the result you wanted. Believe me, I've sat at keyboard and played the same chord progression dozens and dozens of times over trying to shape an idea. It's worth it. 

But other times I have found there’s a significant process to (song)writing. I have songs that have sat on the proverbial shelf for years until one day an idea hits me for it. I have songs that I wrote 10-15+ years ago that had a verse or chorus I didn’t like so I didn’t finish the song because I couldn’t “find” the right part. But then I take it out one day, play through it and find the exact phrase that was missing. I’ve learned I have to be ok with that process. Some songs take time to finish. I think songs have seasons. It’s possible I couldn’t finish the song because that song isn’t “in season” yet. Might sound weird, but it’s definitely been true in my experience. 

It was important for me to realize I can’t force something to happen. I’ve yet to see that produce anything. If I try to force something to fit just because I want be done with a song, it’s rarely (if ever) what I want it to be. 

I’ve also found that sometimes I don’t know what I want a song to be, but I definitely know what I don’t want it to be. And I've had to learn to be ok with that tension until I find what I'm looking for. 

Writing is spiritual to me. I can’t just sit down and write something for the sake of writing. There has to be purpose in it. And for me, the purpose always leans toward the eternal. 

I tend to find creativity for it’s own sake is pointless, irrelevant, even. I’m not a good enough writer to sit down and throw something on a page for no reason and have it turn into something worth reading. The truth is, I don’t enjoy reading things that have no purpose. Because for me, it’s about storytelling. Storytelling for no purpose is not really storytelling. 

People need to be inspired. 

People need hope. 

Those are huge priorities to me in writing. It’s fine to write about hard things, but I think you have to give people a light on the horizon somewhere. 

That’s a window into my process, if you want to talk tips or how to write that’s a whole other thing. 

But if you have questions, don’t be shy. I love questions. 

Less of Me

He must become greater; I must become less. 

John 3:30

We’ve heard it before. We’ve said it. Made little jokes here and there. We’ve said it sincerely.

“More of him; less of me.”

I know I’ve said it. But I have to be honest, in my life recently, I’m seeing the reality of that phrase a lot more than I’d like. 

Most often we say that phrase in reference to His presence. We want more of his presence. And in our heads, we think it ends there. 

But here’s what I’m seeing:

Less of me means literally LESS of ME. It’s not that I somehow just evaporate in the presence of the Lord and I’m some weird ethereal being that floats around in a holy, unbothered state.

Less of me means when someone is hurtful to me, I don’t run around proving how I’m right and they’re wrong.

Less of me means loving people who hurt me. Over and over and over again (you think it’s for nothing that Jesus essentially told Peter to forgive endlessly*?). 

Less of me means being patient and kind when someone is rude, short and hateful to me. 

Less of me means waiting with open arms for the people who’ve turned their backs on me. 

Less of me means shutting down my fleshly response when everything in me doesn’t want to. 

Less of me means responding the way Jesus wants me to, even when it pains me to do it. 

Less of me means shutting my mouth. 

Less of me means less of ME. 

It’s not some pious, holier-than-thou phrase we use to sound superior to other people. This is real. It’s high demand. More of him; less of me will not come at an easy time, it will not come without a demand, it will not come without an assault on my flesh. And it’s painful. We think that’s bad somehow or that following Jesus should never cause us pain. Our instinct is to run from anything that hurts us. But that’s silly, immature, and honestly, just bad theology. Take a look at Matthew 21:44 if you don’t believe me. 

But I digress. 

Here’s what I’m learning: less of me is the only way to live. This is where humility is. This is where freedom is. This is where obedience is. This is where LIFE is.  This is where I want to be. Under His authority, submitted to Him in every area of my life. Letting go of all the ways I “know best.” I don’t know best, for the record. In all of my thoughts (and if you know me, you know how much I love to think), I can never know best, or have all the answers figured out. 

I’m thankful for this journey. I’m thankful that in every painful moment that I have to let go of me, He is there to stand with me. To calm my worried heart, and quiet every anxious thought. To heal every hurt and help me turn around and love those who hurt me. 

ONLY Jesus can do that. And I’m so thankful he does. 

*Matthew 18:22

Refuge

We have to chose our refuge. 

Psalm 16:1

Keep me safe, my God, 

for in you I take refuge. 

Sometimes the refuge we long for is the one that will satisfy our flesh. The place that gives room to the emotion and hurt in which we feel justified. The place that acknowledges and pacifies how we’ve been so wronged. The place that allows us to speak carelessly and without self-control to give air to our grievance. We have to be aware, because this refuge will present itself as safety, and comfort; good, even. It won't present itself as a poor choice. 

This place seems harmless and acceptable because we’re “just venting." But this place will bear fruit in our lives and the only fruit it can bear is bitter.  

The bitter place is attractive. It feels safe. It feels good. It satisfies our frustration. And it doesn’t seem bad. But bitter fruit is destructive. We just won’t always see it immediately. It could be weeks, months or years before we see the effects. 

This is not about denying our hurt. It’s not about pretending we’re not frustrated. Both of those things are inevitable. However, we have to choose our refuge. 

The only place that will truly satisfy us, is in Him. He will take the mess we’re in, whether we created it or not, and bring peace. He will be our strength in our weakness, our comfort in our hurt, our source in our lack, our healing in our brokenness. Whatever we need, He is. 

We have to choose Him. We have to choose to die to ourselves. It’s less satisfying in the moment. Because instead of getting to go complain and wallow in my frustration and bitterness, it denies all of that. 

But we’re living for eternity here, not tomorrow. We can manage the ‘light and momentary troubles’* set before us in light of eternity. 

I’m not saying it’s easy. But bitter is not better, and it never will be. 

Let's quiet our flesh today. Let's close our mouths, and instead, seek Him. 
Let us choose Him as our refuge, and there we are safe. 

*2 Corinthians 4:17

Year Eight

We get to celebrate 8 years of marriage today.

8 years. I remember when we first got married, and I couldn’t wait until we’d been married 2 years, or 5 years or 8 years. Time goes by faster than we ever realize. I can’t possibly remember all the moments we’ve enjoyed over the last 8 years. There are far too many to count. 

And as much as I love memories, I’m more of a present and future focused person. I love being in the moment now, and not being distracted by what was. Because now is so sweet.

It’s all the little moments. The constancy. The every day moments, the chats, all the little secrets we share.

It’s enjoying the deep. 

2018 has simultaneously been the most amazing year of our lives, and one of the absolute worst. I don’t really understand how that’s possible, and I never will.

We have been blessed beyond our wildest imaginations by becoming parents.

Our Lennox is an absolute gift. He’s our Anchor to the Lord’s promises; our Miracle baby, or baby of Miracles if you will. 

And it’s not an exaggeration. I know in this social media world we’re in, we think everyone is fake. Let me tell you, we don’t have to fake it. We adore each other. We adore our son, and are so thankful for him. He’s our treasure. Even when it’s late at night and he wakes up for seemingly no reason and fusses. We are blessed people.

We have said goodbye and laid to rest some pretty significant things this year. Still can’t go into detail about all of it. But it has altered our course, and reset us back to the beginning in a lot of ways. We’re still navigating all the questions. The “what’s next”, and “where do we go from here” questions. The “who are we now” questions. Not quite sure about any of it, honestly. But I think we are through the pain of it and now just carefully looking for each and every next step as the Lord leads us. I can't help but think as good as it is, it's still getting better. There is still much greater ahead than behind us. 

As we enter year 9 I am as thrilled as ever to walk out this faith together. Babe, cheers to another year under our belts. Cheers to more fun, more laughter, more sweetness, more unexpected. It doesn't matter where we go, as long as I'm with you. 

Joy and pain, fire and rain,

We’ll be together

You and I.

Ever after, ever always

we’ll be together

You and I

Trust and Obey

Let's say there's a builder, let's call him Chet.

And let's say Chet gets to choose what house he gets to build. Let's say he gets to choose the material to build the house out of.
There's a strong material, that won't deteriorate over time or bad weather, it won't be destroyed by rain or wind, it won't be eaten away by animals or insects. However, it takes time to build this house. It's hard work because every detail of the construction must be precise. It's time consuming, and difficult and rather hard to see any immediate benefit to this construction.

Or he could choose a different material. It's easier to work with and faster to build. It seems to hold up well enough, and overall, it looks better than the stronger material.
So our builder picks the latter material. It cuts cost and saves time. "It's easier", he reasons, "it makes sense."

What Chet doesn't know is that this material rots. Slowly, over time, every slight change in the weather damages this material. It starts in a tiny space you never see and slowly eats away until the whole the structure has been permeated.

And then what? This house collapses.

This is how it is when we build our lives.
We can build with OBEDIENCE, or we can build with DISOBEDIENCE.

Let me tell you, there will always be a reason to choose disobedience. And it will sound quite noble. Logical. "It makes sense", you might reason.

Obedience might not always make sense.
Obedience will ask you to put down your pride (and oh, please, just do it), and all the reasons that you know best.
Obedience is often tethered to something in our future that we can't even imagine yet. If you can obey now, you can obey then. Even when we don't have the slightest idea about 'then' yet. Because remember- our God is the one who wrote every day of our lives before even one of them came to be*. Do you really think he can't write a story you can't fathom? Do you really think he doesn't know better than you?
Obedience is tethered to trust. Almost everything in our lives can be broken down to ONE very simple question: Do you TRUST him?
Our immediate, knee-jerk response is "Yes, of course I trust him!" But do you really? Do you trust him when you don't understand, can't and never will? Do you trust that the valley is exactly where his path led you, because he's waiting for you there? Do you trust that he's there in the brokenness? Do you trust that he's big enough to pick up every piece and make something even more beautiful than what you had put together? Do you trust him when everything is taken from you? Do you trust him enough to let go of every detail your fists are clenched around because you're the only one who can protect them? Do you trust him through every tear? Every gut-wrenching, heart-breaking pain? Do you trust him?

The truth is, your house won't stand when it's built on disobedience. It may hold for a long time. It may look like the real thing. But someday, something will hit that house, and in the blink of an eye, it will be dust. Everything you built will be gone. I could argue that it probably was never very stable, but often it's too hard for us to admit that when we're living in it.

Take a moment and read Deuteronomy 28, particularly verses 15-68. You might notice the heading titled "Curses for Disobedience." Now there might be a part of you that's starting to get mad, or a little indignant. Who do I think I am coming to you and talking about curses?
But for one: that's the Bible- not me. And if it helps you, you can look at it in today's vernacular. You can call it "Consequences of Disobedience." Either way you look at it, I've found you can't escape it. These are the results of willful disobedience.

Obedience is harder, no doubt about it. Not overall, but in the moment, it's harder. But the results, the consequences of obedience are everything. It will give life to all you do. You don't have to believe me, but I've lived it.

The choice is totally up to you. And just so you know (cause there's a little voice that will lie to you), it's never too late to rebuild your house.
Choose wisely today the house you will build.


*Psalm 139:16

The Fixer

I'm a problem solver. Always have been. I love it. And I've discovered I'm good at it. I'm objective and therefore look to find the solution that's best for all.
I think it's a strength for me. But I've learned it's also a weakness. It's not meant to be ungoverned or without self-control. It's gotten me in trouble over the years because I want to jump in and solve problems and fix things that other people don't want fixed.

Sometimes my wanting to fix things takes away the process that someone else needs. Who am I to circumvent their process? It's hard to understand because if I can make it better, why can't I make it better? Doesn't it make sense to make things better? Doesn't it make sense to fix things? Aren't I not doing my job by not fixing all the things?

But today, as I stood in my bathroom doing my hair, the Holy Spirit dropped a little bit of a truth bomb on me:
You're not in the tough situation to fix it. You're in the tough situation to be sanctified by it.

Just. Wow. I can't tell you how many circumstances I can look back on that this was true. I ran around making myself crazy trying to fix it, when the Lord was letting it sit because I needed the sanctification that situation would bring.

How often do we do this? We make ourselves miserable trying to immediately fix everything, pleading with the Lord, our boss, our leaders, anyone who will listen to try and get us out of it, when this is the exact right process to sanctify us.

It's hard to understand. It doesn't make sense to us. It seems unfair. But the Lord is really working everything out for our good, if we'll just believe him.

We need to stop trying to immediately fix everything. We need to stop sparing ourselves the frustration. We need to stop avoiding the pain. The frustration will be there, regardless of our response. I believe we prolong the difficult season by trying to prematurely fix things that are meant to teach us.
We're often very busy trying to deal with the other person who is the "real problem" instead of looking ourselves and asking the Holy Spirit to teach US.

Let's take a moment and consider what this sanctification could actually look like in action.
It could mean keeping your mouth shut. When you want to complain, and talk, and be bitter, your choice will be to keep your mouth shut instead.
It could mean patience. Endless patience.
It could mean being still.
It could mean listening.
It could mean learning.
It could mean you don't know everything. Actually, it definitely means that.

But most of all, it's keeping your mouth shut. You'll want to run around and complain. You'll want to go to your friends and complain. You'll want to go to your boss and complain. You'll want to go to anyone who will listen and complain and hope that they'll fix it for you. But the truth is, it's you. You need to be silent. To be still. You'll have to stop blaming other people for the situation. Sure, it might be their fault. They might be causing the problems. But if the Lord hasn't removed them, it's for a reason. Do you truly believe that the Lord is in control? How far does that belief go? It'll be tested in these seasons.
I've found that most often it's because the Lord is teaching me. And how much will I miss when I'm constantly looking for a way out, or looking at someone else and blaming them when He is trying to address me?

I get it. It can seem unfair. But who ever said this faith walk would be fair? Answer: no one. It's not fair. The Lord will ask things of you that it may seem like he's not asking of anyone else. So what? That's not your business. We're all in a process, whether it looks like it from the outside or not.

And don’t worry, there is a time and a place to be the fixer, the problem-solver. But we need to first ask the Holy Spirit to show us when and where.

All I know is that I'm going to learn to stop rushing to fix everything. I'm going to learn to stop. To be still. To ask the Holy Spirit what I need to learn. It takes submission. It takes humility. Those are two uncommon things now. But they're the doorway to sanctification. Don't be confused by the packaging; this is the thing you've longed for. It's time to step in.

Choices

I’ve taken to quiet drives recently. When it’s just me and Lennox in the car, I often just enjoy the silence (as long as he hasn’t decided to lose his mind) and take time to pray, or just consider things. 

The Lord reminded me of something last night on my drive home. I’ve been thinking a lot about brokenness recently, you see. Not just because of our own lives, but because I’ve seen so many close friends walk through brokenness in the last year and a half. 

I felt like the Lord showed me that brokenness does one of two things. It drives us in, or it drives us away. 

The reality is that either way, it’s our choice. We make the choice to draw close, or run away. 

Often, running away seems like the better choice. And we can make a compelling argument for why that is. We’re very good justifiers, I’ve found. 

I think there’s a very simple reason we want to run away. We want to run away because we’re afraid to be vulnerable before the Lord. Not because we are naive enough to think He doesn’t know how we feel, but because we feel like we’ve been disappointed or let down, and if we draw close, it’ll happen again. That might be too real, but there it is. I can say it, because I’ve had to face that reality in my own mind. I want to be a little mad. I want to ask the Lord a lot of questions. And ultimately, the really ugly, fleshy part of me doesn’t want to draw close, because I’m afraid of more disappointment. 

And then the Holy Spirit reminded me of this: the enemy wants to use my brokenness for isolation; the Lord wants to use it for intimacy. 

Isolation is quick to show it's face. It seems like the place of safety and comfort we need. But isolation is far-reaching. It will never stay in the box you put it in. It creeps into every area of your life. It will lead you to a place where you don't run to the Lord, and then it will convince you that you don't need other people, that they can't understand and won't try. Let's just make it plain: that is a LIE.
We aren't meant to do life alone. Isolation will kill your perspective about other people; it will tell you things are true that are not, and you won't be able to see the difference because the lie will sound a lot like the truth.

I can give into the isolation. Or I can choose intimacy. I can draw close, even though I feel disappointed. Even though I feel like I’m waiting for God to show up in a big way, and it doesn’t seem like He does. I can still choose to be close. 

Psalm 34:18 says that the Lord is close to the brokenhearted. He knows our brokenness. And He is waiting for us to draw close. He rescues those whose spirits are crushed. Don’t get me wrong, He might not change a thing about your circumstance. But He’ll change you. He’ll change me. Intimacy changes everything. It sustains. It refreshes. It comforts. It somehow reaches into every hurt place and heals. We need the intimacy because when the broken season is over, we’ll be different people because of it. 

Isolation only distorts. It can’t heal, it can’t help, it only hurts. It’s a lie we can’t afford to believe because we’re meant to be close. We’re meant to be close to Him and close to each other. 

And close means vulnerable. I know, it’s scary. It’s hard to really let go of all the parts of yourself you’re trying to protect. But you can’t protect them. Not really. Another lie we’re too quick to believe. 

One final thought: vulnerability isn’t weakness. It’s strength. 

So here’s the bottom line: don’t give in. Don’t run toward isolation. Run towards intimacy. 

Run towards vulnerability. Run towards humility. Run to Him. 

Proverbs 18:10 

The name of the Lord is a strong tower;

the righteous run to it and are safe.