The Future is Island Chains

Lately, I've been on a music kick. I've been finding a lot of new music and rediscovering a lot of old music that I hadn't listened to for some time but still really love. It's always amazing to me the ways that certain songs will really just grab my attention, force me to listen, make me think about what's going on in the lyrics or just really feel the way the music sounds.

There are some songs that I come back to again and again, and there are other songs that I never listen too, not because I don't like them anymore or because I've grown tired of them but because there's something in them that's just too personal or too sad. An example. I can't listen to Elliott Smith for just that reason. There's just something too sad in his voice, something too melancholy.

And, I guess this has me thinking that there are reasons why certain songs affect us in certain ways. Isn't it that there's something in the song that speaks to something in us? It isn't just those abstract ideas of love or loss that we find appealing or moving; it's that we feel or have felt those things. It's that there is something inside of us that resonates with the song because, in some way, we know those feelings.

It's just kind of a reminder that, even in something that may seem solitary (like listening to music alone), I'm sort of not alone. I kind of like this idea.

I guess I like this idea because I've never been someone who easily relates to people. I know that sounds just awful. It's really not so bad; I just mean that I often try to go it alone. I don't want help. But, if there's anything that I've learned over the last few years, it's that going it alone just isn't an option. I need, we all need, people around us to help us grow, to share our lives with, to love and be loved by.

I think nothing has taught me this more than growing in faith. I look back on my spiritual journey to this point, and I see so much of it as a path I walked alone. I see myself sitting alone on a pew at a church where I knew nobody, taking in the sermon and enjoying this singing but being sort of an island with nothing and nobody touching me. But, in the words of Jon Bon Jovi, "No man is an island." It applies to women too, and it especially applies to spirituality. Now I just see so much the difficulty of growing in a faith alone. It seems that, as much as I love the idea of running off and being a contemplative living a cloistered existence, there's just no way to grow that way. There's just no way to understand how faith looks lived in the lives of other believers and how their experiences can inform my own spiritual growth.

So, perhaps I'll always be a bit of an island; only children are a bit that way. But, I'm moving toward the idea of the island chain. It seems the island chain really must be the future if all of us individuals are to amount to anything together as one unified Body.

[Note: If you can name the movie I stole from in this post, I'll buy you a cup of coffee. I promise I only stole a small bit, just because that one line makes me smile.]

[Note Part Two: I've got a ton of good music recommendations, if anyone is interested. First off, I have to say that Horse Feathers is a great band, and "Curs in the Weeds" is one of my new favorite songs.]

Love,

Sara

Prayer

The other day I was praying, thinking about the season and all that it means. For some reason, I started thinking about Mary. Perhaps it's because I've been listening to a mix of Christmas songs that I made, and one of the songs is "Breath of Heaven," a beautifully moving song that's sung from Mary's point of view.

It's one of my favorite songs, and I love it precisely because it makes me think of how difficult it must have been to be Mary, to feel worthy of all that she was called to, to understand how to carry and mother the baby who was God incarnate. And, when I listen to that song, I think of how I often feel as she must have felt because, in some ways, we're all called to carry Christ. I'm called to do that, unworthy as I often feel.

And yet, the other day as I was praying, I thought beyond those feelings of unworthiness to focus on how indescribable it must have felt for Mary to know who she was giving birth to. Obviously, I've never given birth, but I tried to think about what that must have been like to know how close she was to God.

I sort of marveled at it for a moment. I tried to picture it. Tried to grasp the enormity of that moment. And then I realized that, along with those feelings of doubt and uncertainty, there is also a great feeling of peace, of love and joy, that comes with a closeness to God. And, though I cannot know the feeling of the exact kind of relationship that Mary had to Christ, there is something so beautiful, so truly wonderful about the connection to Christ through prayer.

Love,

Sara