random acts of awkward kindness.

Most days, I am okay with myself. By that I mean, I'm okay with being introverted, a little weird, but comfortable with my quiet, reflective personality. I used to stress all the time when people wouldn't talk to me (is there something wrong with me? Why don't they like me?) or worry if I appeared standoffish or snobby. But I learned that there's nothing wrong... it's just who I am. Over the years, I've gotten better at relating to people, just enough that sometimes I can even trick others into thinking I'm friendly and sociable. (Ha!)

But then... well... sometimes Introversion's evil sidekicks Neurotic and Insecure show up, and I am back in high school again...

Today seemed like a good day for Chinese food. I have a writing project to edit, and in the middle of a fairly busy week some time away from the office to recharge was necessary. So I grabbed my notebook and drove down the street to my favorite little quick Chinese place for some chicken and broccoli, just me, a pen and paper, and my iPod. Eating alone isn't so bad when I have a way to occupy my ears and hands.

The bad thing about this place is the small size, though every table is built for, like, six. It's not uncommon to see one or two people at a big cushy booth, and right in the middle, there's a row of tables pushed together to seat eight. Sometimes, there are empty seats everywhere, but nowhere to sit alone.

So, I saw a booth, mentally claimed it, and ordered my food, but a smart-dressed young lady grabbed it before I could finish paying. Shoot. Bewildered, I stood in the middle of the place, considering the virtues of sitting outside in Florida August.

"Do you need a seat?"

Long Table was occupied by two guys and six empty chairs. Every introvert cell in my body pushed my brain to say "no thanks," but the small and well-trained sociable part made my mouth say, "Sure. Thanks."

So I sat, at the end of the table with Friendly Hipster and Scruffy Texter. These are their names, because I never bothered to get the real names. Friendly Hipster even kindly picked up some soy sauce for me on a trip to the counter, but for the most part, I just ate my food and listened to them talk about where Scruffy Texter was going to take his girlfriend for dinner.

A billion things go through my already hyperactive mind in a situation like this. What is the proper "sitting with strangers unexpectedly" ettiquette? Politely accept, then let them have their space and conversation? Politely accept, and introduce myself? Converse, make small talk? Or should I have declined because they didn't really expect some random confused girl to actually sit with them?

And so, as Neurotic and Insecure argued over "eating-with-strangers" etiquette, I scarfed down my chicken and broccoli, fiddled with my iPod, and retreated to my comfortable happy bubble. I didn't write a word either.

Finally, as I scooted my chair back, wondering how to properly say thanks and excuse myself, Friendly Hipster smiled really big and said, "Hey, nice talking with you!"

Sarcasm? Yippee. Fortunately, I am fluent.

"You too! Thanks for the seat. Have a great day."

There's an idealistic part of me that really, truly wants to connect with people. An introverted personality (which is, I believe, a gift and not a problem that needs to be fixed) doesn't mean I don't like people. I don't want to seem standoffish, and I believe with all my heart that gestures like these make a better world. All around us are people who are made in the same image, who are loved and unique and have stories.

I want to know those stories. And I want to make everyone I meet feel loved, honored, human. That's how I feel when I'm invited to a stranger's table, but I don't know how to give it back.

So Friendly Hipster and Scruffy Texter: Thanks. Really. Perhaps someday, I'll do the same for someone else. I'm bad at small talk, but maybe I'll find a way to crack the ice, even learn their names, get a glimpse of the life that's being written. Maybe I'll share a paragraph of my story too.

But then again, you might have to talk to me first.


Have you ever unexpectedly eaten with strangers?

Inspiration & Power: Notes from Mind of the Maker

This week, I finally finished reading The Mind of the Maker by Dorothy Sayers. Now I won't feel totally dumb at Hutchmoot, because I've read at least one thing from the book list. (well, I read The Writing Life too, so maybe I'm not so out of the loop after all.)

Anyway, the remarkable thing about the Sayers book is that once I had a breakthrough and "got" what she was saying -- somewhere around chapter 8 -- I couldn't seem to get through a chapter without having a minor epiphany and rushing for the nearest notebook to scribble things down. I jotted a ton of notes in the actual book, but sometimes, the margins won't do.

So, here's what I wrote during that breakthrough about how art does its work on us. Things got busy and I never posted it, but I didn't want to abandon these ideas.... so I attempted to fill in the blanks and edit my thinking-out-loud into something coherent. If nothing else, it'll be useful if I need to jog my memory later, but I hope somebody out there gets something out of it.

By the way... this book is apparently hard to find, but you can pick up a copy at The Rabbit Room Store. Plus, you help an awesome website and lovely people. Win win!

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7/29/11

Recently, I mentioned that I was really trying to push through and grasp The Mind of the Maker by Dorothy Sayers. Well, breakthrough has arrived. After chapters of real, conscious struggle over this heady book, chapter viii, "Pentecost," made everything so clear.

Throughout the book, Sayers uses the Christian doctrine of the trinity to explain the creative process. If people are made in the image of God, and if God's primary business is creation, recreation, and redemption, than we, likewise, are sub-creators. This concept of co- and sub-creation seems to be gaining some welcome prominence among Christian creatives in recent times, but in the history of mainstream Protestant evangelicalism, art and the church have seen little peaceful coexistence. Fear named some of the beautiful art of the medieval church idolatry, while some would still prefer we spent our time doing more practical "Kingdom work." Not to mention that art is subversive, dangerous, able to gently pry open minds and shift thinking. If anything, our ongoing suspicion of art has relegated a lot of "Christian art" to a ghetto of sanctified culture.

But Sayers would say that the mind if the maker reflects the Trinity in a surprising way, for in all of us are sub-creators, and just like our Maker, a trinity of creative mind exists. There is the Idea, a creation before time, the book (or song, painting, whatever, but we'll say book here) as a vague concept in the author's mind. There's the Energy, the actual creative process of making the book and the physical manifestation of the Idea. And finally, there's Power, the final result and ongoing effects of the creation, and the influence it holds on those that experience it.

These three concepts correspond to the Father, Son, and Spirit respectively, so it only makes sense that Power be the crafty, elusive one. I can grasp the idea of a pre-written book (God knows I've got a few of those!), and of course understand a real, created book I can read and process. But power?


So, what was it about chapter 8 that gave the breakthrough? Perhaps, all is summed up in this quote:

"When the writer's Idea is revealed or incarnate by his Energy, then, and only then, can his Power work on the world. More briefly and obviously, a book has no influence until somebody can read it.

"Before the Energy was revealed or incarnate it was, as we have seen, already present in Power within the creator's mind, but now the Power is released for communication ot other men, and returns from their minds to his with a new response. It dwells in them and works upon them with creative energy, producing in them fresh manifestations of Power."

Throughout the chapter, she describes how a writer synthesizes many things he has read, felt, and experienced into something completely new, and how those reminscient creations are designed to cause the reader to recall their sources.

"... words and phrases become charged with the Power acquired by passing through the minds of successive writers..." and when we create, we have no way of knowing how it may affect someone, perhaps far in the future. An artist can't possibly predict how others will take his work, what meaning they'll take away, or what emotions and memories will be triggered, but, as Sayers also points out, when the resonance is felt "[the writer] was a true prophet of your emotion, since he did express it, so that you feel the lines to have been written 'for you'."

So this is what power is. Power is the mysterious rapport between the writer and reader, the artist and art student, the singer/songwriter on stage and the listener in the crowd hanging on every word until the lights and smoke whisk the rest of the crowd away.

It's that moment alone in the car when you hear a song for the fiftieth time and recognize yourself in the lyrics.

Power is the way art does its work on us, unraveling the edge of the curtain between this world and the next. And sometimes, it transfers to another artist, awakening a new idea, begetting fresh energy.

Power does not -- cannot -- stop. Right now, I am typing a blog post because in 1941, a book was published that was born from the energy of a British mystery writer. And her book was an idea before then, no doubt stirred by something she read.

So, there it is. The same thing that happens when a songwriter takes an idea from a book or a melody from a favorite band and runs with it. And when I write a poem that was planted by a song, a scrap of a line from Buechner or Lewis, a beautifully composed photograph. What came first: the idea or the inspiration? Did the poem always exist, but just needed another to wake it? Or did that first Idea spring from the inspiration?

The most beautiful part of it all is that this inspiration and power stem from a Creator that first loved an Idea enough to bring it about. And when it goes wrong, when we desire to make our own way and destroy the beauty first made, he creates, yet again, redeeming, making all things new.

It was a moment of epiphany, as we used to say in literature classes. The word become alive. I am awakened. So what will I do with this power?

(deeper.3) The Songs That I Sing: My Life through Anberlin

For the third installment of Deeper, please welcome my first ever guest blogger, Lindsay! Lindsay is one of my dearest friends; we've shared many a good conversation over Tijuana Flats and made memories at many great concerts. Anberlin was the band that brought us together (her first show at Cornerstone was my first, though we didn't know each other then!) and her passion for music inspires me in so many ways. It's my pleasure to introduce her writing to you this week!

(photo credit: Jered Scott)

What can I say about Anberlin? They kick-started one of the greatest loves of my life. Their music lead me down specific paths. They were the soundtrack to some of the most confusing, painful, and memorable days of my life. They will provide my daughter with a song that is all hers. As I left my teen years, I got their music permanently engraved into my skin. There’s just so much to say.

Anberlin entered my life in 2003/2004. I don’t know exactly when I first heard them, but I know it was on Z88.3’s online rock radio station, The Rock. "Readyfuels" was the first song I ever heard. I didn’t know the song was about young, passionate love making, but I knew that I hadn’t heard such a catchy chorus in quite a while.

From that point on, there was no stopping me. The first time I ever saw them was at Cornerstone Florida, and then two weeks later at the Social, which would become the setting for a lot of pivotal moments in my life. I remember they played “Dance, Dance Christa Päffgen” as the encore that night. As I left the Social, their music still ringing in my ears, and walked outside into the heart of downtown Orlando, I could feel an awakening in my soul.

You know that feeling you get when everything you love is within arm’s reach? The feeling of such an unconditional and immeasurable love. That’s the first time I ever felt such an emotion.

Anberlin stirs up emotions in me not many other bands are capable of doing. I can listen to a song and be immediately transported to a place in my life that I haven’t seen in quite some time. I can feel an emotion that’s otherwise been suppressed. A lot of their songs and albums have been soundtracks to very defining moments in my life. Some of them I would like to forget; others I will cherish forever. I can’t shake them if I want to. But at the time, they made ordinary interactions feel like I was in a movie. They’re simply magical.

Take a listen to “Godspeed” and tell me what it does to you. Or better yet, listen to “Debut” and how it leads in to “Godspeed.” I’m convinced these men have an equation in which they input incredible guitar riffs, witty and emotion-driven lyrics, catchy bridges, and a cohesiveness that I wish more bands possessed and more people appreciated. The result? The five albums they’ve put out over their band’s life.




As I’ve gotten older, their songs have taken on whole new meanings for me. Songs I previously heard as a naive teenager are suddenly now a lot more complex and a lot more real. “Never Take Friendship Personal,” for example, helped me define a friendship that abruptly ended after 8 years of emotional investment. The title alone says it all. “Paperthin Hymn” I know will be my source of comfort and solace when I deal with a loved one’s death. The song was written about Stephen (frontman) losing his grandmother, and as I still fortunately have both sets of grandparents, I know the days I lose them will be some of the hardest days of my life. This song will no longer simply be what used to be their guaranteed closer: the “single.” I just want one more chance to put my arms in fragile hands. Hearing that song live to this day brings tears to my eyes.

However, the most recent example would be their latest album, Dark is the Way, Light is a Place. When I first heard the tracks, I felt completely at a loss for words. Not just because it is a fantastic and beautiful album as a whole, but because what I was presently dealing with in life seemed to be entirely encompassed in these lyrics and in these melodies. It was confusing and there was a lot of heartache, but hearing Stephen sing allowed me to feel less alone. Take what you want from me, it means nothing now...

While I love listening to them at home on my record player and in my car during my many drives around Orlando, I absolutely love seeing them live. Most of the time I enjoy sitting in the back away from the mosh pits and angsty teens, and I take in every chord they play. I watch their chemistry and their individual quirks -- my favorite being seeing Deon scream out the lyrics as he is shredding his bass. Their chemistry is unmistakeable and they just are simply fun. They don’t take themselves too seriously. They are humble. They are the sweetest and so appreciative. And you can tell they love every single person that is in the audience.

But one of my favorite things about them, and about being a fan of theirs for so long, is how evident their evolution has been over all these years. Each and every album exudes growth and maturity, and I think that is a beautiful thing to be able to witness. I feel very fortunate to have known them for so long and for being able to see them as much as I have. I’m proud that they’re Floridians and, more specifically, Orlandoans. As a music snob, I’m very possessive of them and always very nervous when they get more and more exposure. But they handle it so well and they have yet to lose their identity in this disaster that people call the music industry. They truly are an exception. From their individual personalities, to themselves as a band, and everything in between.

So what can I say about Anberlin? Certainly a lot. But I feel like I haven’t even scratched the surface. They have been a fantastic companion to me in my early life, and I expect they will be for as long as I’m able to listen. They have been my beacon of hope, they have been a counselor, they have been my narrator and storyteller. And I love and appreciate them for every role they’ve ever played for me.