Lyrics

   There's a song for everything.  Have you ever noticed that?  That's because people write songs for all occasions to express all feelings.  That's one reason I love musicals so much.  The characters are relatable, and they sing songs about feelings and situations that we all find ourselves in.  Lots of people can't stand how "unrealistic" it is to sing about your problems, but people have been doing it for quite a long time.  Even Psalms in the Bible are written to be laments and complaints to God.  If it was okay for King David and the sons of Asaph, and, you know, Jesus Himself---("My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?")---that's good enough for me! 

   So what I'm going to do is simply write out lyrics with little to no explanation at all.  These are songs have been like friends to me.  Songs are unique friends.  They are always there for you.  And while your relationship to them changes as you grow, they always remain steadfastly the same.  

   Some songs are good for a season.  Like Taylor Swift songs.  They're written for specific moments (usually sad or unhappy ones!) and as you go on with your life, you grow past that hurt.  You change.  The song may always remind you of that moment, but I have found that if you choose to trust God and keep doing what is right, the sting will eventually go out of old bitter memories.  Other songs, the best songs, you never outgrow.  They're always there for you, to cheer you and give you courage.  I've always felt that those kinds of songs could be sung like spells of protection.  Those have guarded me from temptation and given me strength to do what was right.  

   Here's a sampling of both kinds of songs: 


   "You needed space, well you got it now.
   Are you doing okay?
   I love you and I hate you the same.
   And maybe that's the way it'll stay.
   Can we stop pretending that the world is never-ending?
   Will you try to find a way to believe?
   But I don't think you're gonna change.
   So you be the one who bends, I'll be the one who breaks."  

("Bend or Break," by Allstar Weekend.)   

   
   "And when I think about that prodigal son
   I've gotta smile when I see the old man run
   And I know that You love us the same,
   'Cause the sun came up today.
   Just as if we deserved it!
   Just as if any one of us fools was worth it!
   The truth is I am anything but perfect,
   But you love me just the same.
   Now, isn't it love?
   This rain that falls on the sinners and the saints?
   Isn't it love?
   This well that won't run dry?
   Isn't it love?"  

("Isn't It Love," by Andrew Peterson)  


   "I can see in the strip malls and the phone calls
   The flaming swords of Eden
   In the fast cash and the news flash 
   The horn blast of war
   In the sin-front cities of the dying and the dead
   Like steel-rod graveyards
   Where the wicked never rest
   To the high and lonely mountain
   In the groaning wilderness
   We ache for what is lost
   As we wait for the Holy God.
   Father Abraham
   I was made to go there
   Out of this far country
   To my home
   This is a far country
   It's just a far country
   Not my home." 

("Far Country," by Andrew Peterson)  


   "Where has the starlight gone? 
   Dark is the day
   How can I find my way home?
   Home is an empty dream
   Lost to the night
   Father, I feel so alone.
   You promised you'd be there
   Whenever I needed you
   Whenever I call your name
   You're not anywhere.
   I'm trying to hold on
   Waiting to hear your voice
   One word---just a word will do
   To end this nightmare.
   When will the dawning break?
   Oh, endless night
   Sleepless I dream of the day
   When you were by my side
   Guiding my path
   Father, I can't find the way.
   I know that the night must end
   And that the sun will rise
   I know that the clouds must clear
   And that the sun will shine..." 

("Endless Night," from The Lion King.)


   "He lives in you!
   He lives in me!
   He watches over everything we see!
   Into the water
   Into the truth
   In your reflection
   He lives in you."  

("He Lives In You," from The Lion King.)  


   "I will not resist You when you move Your hand to mold me.
   I will not insist You show me all your plans today.
   I will not despise the tools You're using now to shape me.
   I will not require understanding to obey.
   I refuse to fear when the future is unclear
   Knowing You are here, close beside me.
   And when I haven't got a clue
   What it is that You're up to
   Even then I know that You have not abandoned me.
   Faith is believing in things that are yet unseen
   Faith is believing God will intervene.
   So I will not look only with my eyes
   And I won't believe the lies that say I'm all alone.
   I won't perceive only with my darkened mind
   And I refuse to find a God who's cold like stone.
   So when the heavens seem like brass,
   And Your nearness a thing of the past: 
   I am not alone
   But with the eyes of faith I see
   That You are here with me."  

("I Am Not Alone," by Todd Murray.)  


   "Close your eyes, breathe in the night
   A softer bed I'll make you
   The trial is done, all danger gone
   Now let far dreaming take you
   Away
   Where the ocean is lapping
   At a soft, pearly shore
   And the swaying palms napping
   As their swinging fronds soar
   Now the dark night approaches
   Yet so soft and so mild
   Lullaby, sing lullaby,
   Sleep, my child."  

("Three Nocturnes, no.3 'Lullaby,'" by Daniel Elder.)  


   "There's no way you can see it
   You are too close
   Everything looks backward when you're looking in a mirror.
   The fire you wake up in I can't know
   The rising of a phoenix is all I see from here.
   So if you start to lose yourself walking in the dark
   Let us remind you who you are. 

   The strength of a survivor
   You surprised yourself
   Always underestimated what you had to give.
   You squared up like a fighter
   To walk through hell
   Showing us that giving up is not a way to live.
   Now everyone who's broken down is drawn to who you are
   And knows they can trust you with their heart.  

   There's a club that no one wants to be in
   'Cause tears are what you have to pay
   But you accept the terms and keep on keeping your head up
   And you do it all with grace.
   You're not afraid to hold the pain
   That seems too much to bear.
   Your strength is shining through you
   Like a purple heart you wear

   You are the brave one.
   The unafraid one.
   You look suffering in the eye and does not run.
   Our true names arise when the time comes
   And you are the brave one."  

("The Brave One," by Andy Gullahorn.)  


   "A lone woman stands in the turning December
   She's got ice on her lashes
   White on her winter coat
   The trees stand like soldiers around her
   Dutiful wooden guards
   And the heart she feared frozen still beating
   Still marches on.
   Oh, Annie
   I still think of you each time I see the sun
   Didn't want a life without you
   But here I am
   Living one."  

("Ice On Her Lashes," by Brooke Fraser.)  


   "Mother said be good
   Father said be nice
   That was always their advice
   So be nice, Cinderella!
   Good, Cinderella! 
   Nice, good, good, nice! 
   What's the good of being good
   When everyone is blind
   And you're always left behind?  
   Never mind, Cinderella! 
   Kind, Cinderella!
   Nice, good, kind, good, nice, NICE!!"  

("Prologue," from "Into the Woods.")


   "I want to stay like this forever
   If only I could promise forever
   Then we could just be we
   Forever you and me
   Forever and ever."  

   "I used to believe in forever
   But forever's too good to be true
   I've hung a wish on every star
   It hasn't done much good so far
   I don't know what else to do
   Except to try to dream of you."  

("Forever and Ever," and "Wherever You Are," from "Pooh's Grand Adventure.") 


   "No more memories, no more silent tears
   No more gazing across the wasted years
   Help me say goodbye."  

("Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again," from "Phantom of the Opera.") 


   "A new life
   What I wouldn't give to have a new life.
   One thing I have learned as I go through life:
   Nothing is for free along the way.  
   A new start
   That's the thing I need to give me new heart.
   Half a chance in life to find a new part,
   Just a simple role that I can play.
   A new hope
   Something to convince me to renew hope.
   A new day
   Bright enough to help me find my way
   A new chance---
   One that maybe has a touch of romance. 
   Where can it be?
   A chance for me?
   
   A new dream
   I have one I know that very few dream.
   I would like to see that overdue dream
   Even though it never may come true.  

   A new love
   Though I know there's no such thing as true love
   Even so, although I never knew love
   Still I feel that one dream is my due.

   A new world!
   This one thing I want to ask of you, world;
   Once, before it's time to say adieu, world---
   One sweet chance to prove the cynics wrong!  

   A new life
   More and more I'm sure as I go through life
   Just to play the game and to pursue life!
   Just to share its pleasures and belong---
   That's what I've been here for all along!  

   Each day's a brand new life!"  

("A New Life," from "Jekyll and Hyde.")
   
   
   "Picture a land that you never have seen
   Where life is eternal and ever green 
   A future of happiness all in your hands
   Here in this place of your dreams 
   Here inside Neverland...
   Shooting stars, new shapes and sizes
   Wakenings and new surprises
   Opening my eyes to something happening
   (Neverland)
   Universe in constant spinning 
   Every end a new beginning
   I begin to feel that something's happening
   To me...
   And by closing my eyes I'll be finding Neverland." 

 ("Neverland" reprise, from "Finding Neverland.")  


   "I'm a silhouette, asking every now and then
   Is it over yet? 
   Will I ever love again?  
   I'm a silhouette, chasing rainbows on my own
   But the more I try to move on
   The more I feel alone.
   So I watch the summer stars to lead me home." 

("Silhouette," by Owl City)  


   "We mustn't be afraid of letting go." 

("Letting Go," from "Jekyll and Hyde.")


   "Sometimes letting go feels like dying
   With no one there to roll away the stone
   But before you know it
   You are flying
   Resurrected to a life you've never known."  

("Let It Go," by Andy Gullahorn.)     


    Here's hope for a good new year.  Here's a toast and a salute to whatever is in store for me.  Here's to more growth and change and trusting in Whoever is driving this flying umbrella.  Here's to more painful growth.  

   You never know what's around the corner.  You often don't see tragedy or heartbreak coming.  You can predict long stretches of routine and lousy weeks where you wake up and just wonder what you're even alive for.  But then again, the greatest things that brought the most joy to me were things I never saw coming.  You never know if you're on the brink of happiness either.  So I choose to be grateful, and to be wise no matter what. 

   "Sometimes all this pain and sadness
   Can be more than a heart can handle.
   Well, I'm tired of cursing at the darkness.
   I'm gonna light a candle."  

("Light A Candle," by Andy Gullahorn.)

   
   "My golden leaves will fade and fall 
   Through branching years
   Though sweet the song
   Yet sweeter still shall be the tears.
   The night must come
   The shadows grow
   The dark descends
   And all we love and all we know
   Must reach an end---
   Lothlorien! 
   Though worlds will die
   And worlds will grow---
   
   Out of death, life!
   Out of night, day!
   Glory from sorrow!
   Out of grief, joy!  
   Out of storm, come
   Strength for tomorrow! 
   Out of dust, gold!
   Out of fire, air!  
   Comfort forsaking!
   Out of rage, calm!
   Out of loss, find 
   Glory awaking..." 

("Wonder," from The Lord of the Rings musical.)  


   "Wandering the empty road in twilight's silver shade
   Following the hidden paths
   Alone and unafraid
   Let the sunlight free the heart forever bound to roam
   And let the waking morning find
   The weary traveler returning home."  

("The Song of Hope," from The Lord of the Rings musical.)  



~Cadenza

When I Run

   The beauty of the natural world awakens yearning within me.  It ever compels me further up and further in.  One more bend in the trail.  Up one more ledge.  One more mile.  One more grove.  Just one more minute to sit listening to the chatter of the water.

   It calls me to linger, to fill my soul with its loveliness.  No matter how long I rest in it, it urges me to go on.  However long I stay, I want to stay longer.

   When I see an open space, say a field or a plain, it draws me to it as if with a strong, magnetic pull.  Everything inside me immediately wants to run, run, run into it.

   I love to run.  I always have.  For as long as I can remember, open spaces have been calling me.  I think most people feel this kind of draw from the Sea.  Or perhaps for Space, when they look out at the night sky.  But for me, nothing compares to running across the earth.  

   There's that moment right after I make up my mind to run but before I take the first step.  I'm going to obey the Summons.  I'm going to throw off the restraints.  

   A few steps, a spring, and then my feet are pounding.  Faster--faster--still faster!  The speed, the strain of my every muscle, my hair flying out around me or across my face.  I'm not sure what I'm hunting, but it's *there*, somewhere, just beyond my eyesight, just beyond that ridge, or that hill behind it, or in those trees, or maybe even farther.  But it wants me.  And I want it.  For a moment, just for a moment, I'm going to tear after it, hoping beyond hope that this time I catch a glimpse of it--whatever it is.  For a few glorious moments, my body and my desire are one, and submitting feels so wonderful.  Oh, if only it could be like this always!  If I could run forever and never get tired.  If only I could find what it is that I want, what wants *me* and compels me to chase it!  

   But I can't.  No one can.  

   I have to slow to a stop, gasping for air, massaging a stitch in my ribs, and then the pleasurable flush that rushes over my face.  It's never far enough, but it's just a bit closer.  And that feels like a tiny victory.

   I'm a sprinter, but I don't race.  I don't run to win something.  When I race with someone they always beat me.  But when I run unexpectedly, people find it hard to keep up with me.  

   I run to become part of the world around me.  It makes me feel that I am part of the beauty all around me.  I can't say that running feels like home, because it's not.  Running is not home.  It feels like going home.  

   I run to be alone, to find privacy, to sort out my thoughts when they become confused.  

   I run when I just can't stand things any longer and fighting isn't an option.

   I run because when I run, I can't feel the heartache as much.  

   When I truly run, no one can find me.  Oh, I have to return to my duties and commitments.  I must.  No one can live without facing his responsibilities.  So I do.  

   What I mean is that no one can find *me*, my soul, when it decides to hide.  Everyone can engage me on a social level.  I genuinely care for the people around me.  I love them, and I am involved in their lives, and they in mine.  Yet there are sheer, craggy mountains in my soul that few will venture to explore.  There are shimmering lakes within me whose depths no one has seen.  There are forests of thoughts, rivers of themes, knee-deep meadows of stories, mossy downs of dreams, walled gardens and orchards of secret joys.  I can hide in these, and no one will find me.

   No one can spoil this verdant wonderland.  No greedy hands will pluck all the blossoms and leave them to wither and die.  No one will gorge themselves on its fruits, and leave when the branches are stripped.  No one will muddy the rivers, fell the trees, or steal the hidden treasures.  

   Yet I tend them in the hope that someday I can offer them to a man who will cultivate them with me.  It will be his to enjoy and to explore forever, if he prove himself worthy.  I guard them jealously in the hope that one day they may give rest to a weary soldier.  

   These strangers I see around me every day.  They don't know me.  They care nothing for me.  They wouldn't even miss me if I was gone.  Not talking about my friends or my family.  I mean the folks I encounter everywhere else.  They don't know how to relate to me.  They don't even know how to talk to me.  

   I see it everywhere, that puzzled, incredulous expression.  I see it in the cashier's face when I look into her eyes and ask her how her day is going.  I see it in the scrawny male teenager's surprised smile when I smile and nod in passing.  I see it in my coworkers' faces every day.  The males stare at me blankly.  The women have this strain in their smiles, this fear in their eyes as they look at me.  I guess they're surprised because I can be happy for no seeming reason.  I can be pleasant in the morning without having coffee first.  Or maybe it's my baby face, or the way I dress.  They see innocence, and they don't know how to react to it.  They censure themselves every day when I'm in earshot.  That I don't mind.  What I do mind is their assumption that I need to be handled with kid gloves.  They're nervous around me.  When I engage them in conversations, their replies are stiff or formal.  They're either afraid they'll hurt me, or they just feel uncomfortable, as if I'm a small child who says silly things. I'm actually not naive anymore.  I used to be; who wasn't once?  I know a few things about life by now.  But I can't communicate this to them.  

   Some older women fawn over me like I'm a baby.  Or they try to adopt me, like they'd adopt a stray.  Most are genuine enough in their manner, but it gets annoying.  I can't be friends with them.  They're too busy telling me about their life. 

   Some older ladies take a different tack.  They look at me dourly and won't meet my eyes.  They say nothing, but I can practically hear their thoughts: "Oh, she's got a lot to learn about life.  Everything's a bed of roses for her now, one day real life's gonna hit her, then what's she going to do?" 

   Older men are different.  They smile at my enthusiasm.  Some make me feel like a queen when they speak to me.  Others will light up when I speak to them, as if they felt dead inside before, but suddenly they feel glad.  Quite a few of the elderly gentlemen I've danced with on Friday nights have told me that I "make them feel young again."  Which I want to appreciate, but sometimes I wonder...

   When I meet young men, they smile a lot, but they don't have any words.  Which is fine, I know what it's like to be tongue-tied at awkward moments; still happens to me just when I don't want it to.  But they don't know how to interact with me, either.  I speak with ease, I'm charming, I'm kind, I laugh when they try to be funny, all that.  They aren't at ease.  They don't know what to do with me.  

   No one knows what to do with me.  Sometimes I get tired of it.  

   I get tired of this whole world's masquerade.  I get tired of all the facades people build up.  The one-upping, the petty squabbles, the complaining, the empty pleasures people lavish upon themselves to distract from the consuming loneliness inside them.  

   I get tired of people assuming that I'm stupid because I'm happy.  Mistaking my kindness for weakness.  Of their sour or uneasy expressions when I speak to them.  

   I understand them more than they know.  Some of them, perhaps, better than they understand themselves.  I see their selfishness, their bitterness, their pettiness.  I see the world's complacency, its sadness, and its loneliness.  It grieves me.  I see how no one wants to fix their own flaws, but they want to fix everyone else.  I see the world decaying in its moral filth.  I see humans all around me who are little more than slaves to their own desires.  I see women crying out for romance, yet throwing themselves at men who string them along with crumbs of attention.  I see broken, spineless, clueless men who blunder about every day just trying to be like everyone else.  They stand for nothing, so they allow themselves to be herded about by domineering minds. 

   No one knows how to love someone for their soul anymore.  No one is even willing to invest in friendship anymore.  Does the modern man have any inkling of the fairyland that is a woman's heart?  Does he have any idea how marvelous she is, how wild, how lovely, how nurturing, how life-giving she is?  

   All men understand the power of a woman in pain.  To them, she is a hurricane of destruction.  They want her for her pleasures, for the fruit in her garden, for her rivers to satisfy their thirst.  They want her for her shade, her security, and her exquisite passion.  But they don't want to climb the slopes of her mountains.  They don't wish to explore the forests.  For some reason, they can't comprehend why they can't sneak their way into the garden, plunder its beauty, give nothing in return, and then leave without awakening her wrath.

   All these overgrown boys in their late twenties and early thirties have only invested in their own lives and careers.  Even if they sense that a Woman is what is missing in their lives, they don't even know where to start in pursuing her.  If they find a good woman, she keeps them guessing.  She invites them to pursue and yet does not make it easy.  Her passions are powerful, her mind is lithe, and she scares them.  She scares them out of their wits.  They cannot control her or harness her or even make any sense of her.  She does not fit into their little sphere of control and cool-minded lucidity.  

   So they run.  They run to their games which they understand and can win.  They run to their businesses, their careers, or wherever they feel in control.  

   They won't lead their own hearts and stand up for what is right.  That is all it takes to lead a woman.  If a man can shepherd his own heart, and if he has the spine and the guts to stand up for what's right, he is a man who can lead not only a woman, but other men, other women, children, churches, nations.  A man who cannot enjoy fighting for his convictions cannot truly understand the adventure of pursuing a woman in all her mysteries.   

   This world is a horrible, depressing place.  Everyone is so turned inward that we only grab, grab, grab, take, take, take---glut ourselves with everything we can!  No one fights on anyone else's behalf. 

   I'm a woman, and it is my job to take care of myself.  Yet sometimes I'd like it if a man were to take care of me.  And I could take care of him.  And so we would live.  

   I'd like it if a man would stand up for me every once in a while.  To stand between me and the selfishness of others.  Sometimes I'd like it if someone knew me well enough to know when I've had as much as I can take, and who would let me rest in their strength.  Someone who wouldn't be afraid of my tears or my wounds.  Someone who made it their job to protect me and to value me and fight for me when this world gets tough.  

   I've said it before, and I'll say it again.  Where are the warriors?  Can't you see this world needs you?  Can't you see we need you?  Why won't you fight for us?  We know you'll fail sometimes.  Everyone fails sometimes!  Someone has to do something, and I'm already out here fighting as best I know how.  

   Where are you?  

   Can't you see me?  

   Can't you hear me?  

   I'm so tired.  

   
   Sometimes I have to run.  I have to run away from all of this.  Sometimes I get tired of fighting, or frustrated because I can't win.  So I run into my soul.  

   Because when I run into my soul, no one will seek me there.  


~Cadenza     

Frou-Frou---No Thank You!

I feel bad for today's generation.  It used to be that if you had special news, you shared it with the people in your life, who then told everybody else. 

You didn't have to pay for a photo shoot with signs, props, and cute matchy outfits.  You didn't have to post status updates or selfies.  You didn't have to stand around for minutes on end staging events to look spontaneous.

I feel bad for new moms who feel the need to keep the whole world updated about every new week of growth of her unborn child.  As if they don't have enough to deal with in their bodies, homes, or jobs. 

I feel bad for the moms of young children who may secretly resent all the fuss about having to document every milestone in their child's life to put on social media.  From videos of their child's first steps, to getting their first laughs recorded, to birthday pictures, back-to-school pictures, every social event, play date, field trip, donut day, and everything else you can imagine.

Of course I appreciate social media, and yeah, it's kind of neat that everyone can see these milestones in their friends' lives.  When I was growing up, my mother always had a nice camera that she used to document milestones in her kids' lives.  (She was a photographer mom before it was cool!)  She liked to capture spontaneous moments and candid shots.  She would go have the film *developed* at the store, (gasp!) and then she would take the time to crop them and place them in an actual, tangible scrapbook.  She was pretty darn good at it, too!

My dad had a camcorder that he used to film our Christmas mornings, birthday lunches, and every so often, our Saturday morning antics and spontaneous shenanigans.  It's heartwarming (most of the time) to look back on those old films now.  They're worth their weight in gold. 

Both of those things contain stories of my family, and re-watchable memories of our childhood days.  They're priceless.  Documenting your family's life is very important.  I just wonder if social media today is a little, well, out of hand.

You know who else I feel bad for?  The young men.  These days, a high school boy needs a whole huge plan to ask a girl to the prom!  It has to be original, it has to be big, it has to be romantic.  And in these days when everybody can see what other people have documented (bragged) about their own plans asking a girl to the prom, girls expect more and guys feel twice the pressure.

I could understand if the boy and girl are already dating and he wants to show her off with a whole special *thing*.  But---the poor kid!  He's what, seventeen?  He kind of likes this girl, and he's already nervous about asking her.  Why does he have to plan some huge romantic event or stage something dramatic?  It's not a proposal!  Heck, he may not even be asking her to be his girlfriend!  Why does it have to be that way?  Won't this just send a lot of wrong signals?  Doesn't this just vamp up all the drama in High School, like, 100%?  Heaven knows we don't need that! 

And proposals---oh my word, proposals are way out of hand.  Anything goes.  Flash mobs, hidden cameras, proposing in front of crowds or on billboards.  Just so long as it's showy and loud and huge.  Just so long as it's recorded and posted on social media where everyone can see it later.   

Here's a revolutionary question: Why does everything have to be on social media?  Why does everyone have to be able to see other people's raw reactions?  Why is it anyone's business in the first place?  It's almost as if the pressure you feel to post is for everyone else's sake, not your own.

I've always felt that special moments ought to be private.  I'm all for capturing things in pictures or even on film if you wish it, but it doesn't need to be Public Domain. 

I was never asked to prom in high school.  But if I had been, I wouldn't have wanted a huge fuss made over it.  It would have been exciting enough if that cute dork in my chemistry class had just walked up one day and asked me to be his prom date.  No signs, no decorations, no camera.  Just a question with a smile.  It would have meant a lot to me that somebody cared to ask me at all.

That's a hypothetical situation that never came close to happening, but I've seen this pattern throughout my life.  As much as I love to perform in front of others, it always makes me nervous if there's a camera involved.  If anyone walked up and shoved a camera in my face to catch my reaction, I would automatically tense up and become guarded and dignified.

For holidays I knew I had to behave properly.  Anything I said in an unguarded moment was recorded for posterity, which could and would be used against me---mercilessly---for the rest of my life.  How grateful I am that every time our parents told us that we were going to have a new brother or sister it was in the privacy of our homes, and usually around the table.  We had time to be shocked and to ask questions and process the information.  They didn't record it and zoom up on our faces to catch our bewilderment.  Social media was practically non-existent back then; but if it had been, I could guarantee that I'd have been mortified if my parents had filmed us and then posted it where everyone we knew could see it.

Moments of that sort ought to be meaningful and ought to happen in private settings.

As I get older, simplicity holds more and more appeal to me.  With elegance, of course!  With class, sure.  But simple. 

I once read a blog post where the author described the way her husband asked her to marry him.  They were walking alone in a moonlit field one night when all at once he took her hand and whispered, "Marry me?" in her ear.  I love that.  Simple, sweet, meaningful.

Not saying I want to be proposed to just like that, you know.  I like the idea of having one photographer hidden to catch candid shots surreptitiously.  I like it when the man takes the lady to someplace special to both of them.  Especially if it's somewhere woodsy or a field at twilight or under the stars.  Heck, I love fairy lights and rose petals.  I'm the sappiest romantic you'll ever find.  It's not like I'll be hard to please.  But I would be upset if someone were to propose to me in front of a crowd or in the presence of strangers or even family or friends.  A moment like that ought to be private and intensely personal.  If I'm going to cry or laugh or react, I'd want to feel secure enough to do so without worrying about who may be watching or listening at the door.

I've noticed that while all forms of social media are booming today, the loneliness of people's daily lives is increasing at a frightening rate.  Perhaps we spend our time on social media because it allows us to live vicariously through others.  Because we're so lonely, not looking at a notification gives us the fear that we are missing out on something that's happening.

It used to be that people knew each other and lived their lives with other families.  It used to be that people relied on other people for friendships, fun, and events.  Today we just flit from work to activity to activity, never really knowing the people we see, and never letting our guard down.  Social media exacerbates this problem.  Every time you see someone's selfie of a night out with two or three friends, you think that they are having tons of fun and you feel left out.  Since when did we ever need to advertise when we were having a good time?  It's essentially bragging.  "Oh, everybody look at me!  Out on the town!  I'm having fun!  I have meaningful relationships!"  "Everybody pay attention to me!  I look cute!  You all should look at me!  And compliment me."  "Oh, look!  I'm at such-and-such location!  I'm out exploring and doing important things!  Because I'm adventurous!"  "Ooh, look at my meal/drink!  Doesn't that make you wish you were here with me?" "Oh, ladies, check out my hot man!  Doesn't this make you jealous that this guy chose me and not you?"  

If I'm out with my friends, I never want to interrupt the flow of conversation to make everybody pose for a photo.  And I was raised not to tell people who weren't there about the fun I had the other night with the ones who were.  It's just rude.  It's essentially telling people, "I was having fun without you!"  So, no.  I don't do that kind of thing on social media.  It feels weird.  If I'm having a fun time, why do I need others to know about it?  I don't have to prove it.  I made real memories with real people.  I got to know somebody better.  I don't need people to tell me what a wonderful person I am or that I look good.  I'm not keeping up with anybody or competing with anybody.  I don't care if people think I'm adventurous or boring.  If you want to be friends with me, cool!  I'll be friends with you.  We can do something fun together.  If you don't like me, whatever.  I'm not close with everyone I know.

I've found that if I'm feeling lonely, chances are I need to plan an event of my own.  I need to invite folks to do something with them, not wait around and mope because I'm left out of "everything."  It usually only seems that way because people on social media only document their good moments.  I've learned that most everyone is lonely these days.  Most of my friends and acquaintances are delighted at the idea of spending time with me.

I believe in Friendship.  Friendship is the antidote for the chronic loneliness in our culture.  Dating and even marriage won't solve your loneliness if you don't know how to invest in other people.  Everyone needs more than one person in their life, anyway.  That's why we have families.  That's why we have acquaintances that can become friends.  Friendship requires a lot of work to start and maintain.  That's why people don't have real friends these days.  Social media provides the illusion of friends without the work.  It provides a way to build up a facade that fools people into thinking that we are cooler than we actually are.

This troubles me because young people don't know anything different.  They feel the constant pressure to keep up a facade.  Every new notification stresses them a little because they feel they are missing out or being left out.  They're isolated because they don't know how to let someone in for fear that they will see that they don't actually have it all together.  (But wait, who does, anyway?  No one, that's who.)  They've come to rely on compliments from social media to fuel any amount of confidence they have in themselves.  Thus their deepest fears are being exploited by social media.  And people wonder why young people are so depressed these days.  They're lonely, and they don't know a better way to live.

Honesty and kindness are what we need now.  Authenticity is better than all the frou-frou that we build up to mask the loneliness we feel inside.

~Cadenza

The Fourth of July

   There's a place my family goes to watch a fireworks show every Fourth of July. I'm not going to idealize it because it isn't ideal. That's how it ought to be. We can look back on our childhood experiences of watching fireworks on the Fourth of July and remember it as this picture-perfect paradise of summer nostalgia, but that's not what really happened. The 'skeeters still ate you up.

    Last night was one of the best ones that I remember. Not because everything was perfect, but because I was able to drink in the experience and appreciate it for what it was.

    Most of my siblings had gone to other parties or were out of town. It was just my brother and me and my parents. My dad loaded the folding chairs into the back of the van, and Mother started it while I doused myself in bug spray. Usually I spritz a bit here and there, spread it out delicately with one hand and hope for the best.

    Not tonight.

    Tonight I was adopting the “devil-may-care,” attitude. The 'skeeters are going to feast themselves on my blood because that is what happens if I stir out of doors in the summer. Usually it's nice to sort of dress all patriotic and cute to go watch fireworks, but I realized about an hour before it was time to leave that this year I didn't want to chafe in jeans on a hot, sticky July night in the middle of a field somewhere.  Besides, I didn't fancy my jeans smelling like bug spray for the next week. So shorts, t-shirt, and tennis shoes (because bug bites on the feet keep me up at night). Hey, they were red and blue. The shoes are purple and electric lime, but nobody was going to care. I was aware that I might look about fifteen when I'm certainly not. But oh, well. The devil may care.

   So I was lavishly applying bug spray, suppressing my dislike the sticky, dirty layer it leaves on my skin. I applied it as carefully as I apply sunscreen; including my forehead, nose, ears, neck. Blocking out how long it was going to take me to smell clean again.

   I took it as a good sign when my dad gagged when I approached the van. Mother laughed and suggested I could've waited until we got there. Everyone had to endure my reeking of the summery smell of bug spray for the whole car ride there.

    We picked my brother up, and we drove out of town. The CD player didn't work, so we turned on the classical station to hear “Fireworks” by Jerry Goldsmith playing. It had the open-aired, yet fantastical sound that I associate with Aaron Copeland's music.

    For a bit, I got to be a kid again, having time to stare out the window as my parents drove. I watched fireworks springing above tree-lines in every direction. It was a hazy night, but one star shone out just above us.

    I know this road better than I knew it last year. It has become my stomping-grounds.

    I didn't feel the squirmy ecstasy that I used to feel when I was little. But this year I didn't feel jaded and cold, either. Nor did I feel sad. I felt excited because I knew it was going to be fun, but under no delusions that it was going to change my life or anything.

    We pulled into the nearby parking lot and shouldered our chairs. So many people come to this area for the show that it's better to park a long ways away and just hike until you find a nice spot. The restaurants were doing roaring business tonight.

    I looked around the parking lot and grinned to myself. This used to be a Kroger. One year my dad had taken us all inside, and upon finding his favorite brand of pickles that our local store had stopped selling, he loaded each member of his family down with as many pickle jars as we could carry and had us waddle behind him to the check-out. I remembered how afraid I had been that one of the jars under my arm would slip and smash sweet pickles and glass shards all over the floor. I can still see the bewildered, shocked expression on the cashier's face when she looked us up and down; I remembered exactly how my dad had laughed when she called us “the pickle family.”

    And just over there on that side of the parking lot our family had once hung around after the show to let the traffic clear out. It was three or maybe four years ago. We kids did what we always did when instructed to hang about waiting for the adults—we looked for something to entertain ourselves. My brother climbed into a nearby grocery cart and stood proudly within its basket to read aloud from his pocket-sized copy of the Constitution.

    That's my family. We're kind of weird, but that's who we are. I reflected how fortunate I was to be part of it.

    We met up with some of my brother's friends and a bunch of extended family that we hadn't been expecting to see. We had to hike quite a ways to find each other, which would look funny in the full light of day, but nobody really minded. There's a surprisingly large bit of land next to the shopping center, and that's where they shoot off the fireworks. There were cars and lots of trucks parked in lines along the grass, which some good soul had bothered to mow a good portion of. You could see families sitting on tailgates, kids playing with glow-in-the-dark toys, even a few perched on the roofs of their parents' cars. There were lawn chairs in little bunches, and country music rang out from a few directions.

    'Merica. All that was missing were a few flags and some red, white, and blue popsicles.

    Evidently, there is a lake that the fireworks are shot beside. I think I've heard that there was a lake, but I'm not sure I'd ever seen it before. Last night we set up camp (as it were) right beside it. It was the best seating you could hope for. There was no one in front of us, and the explosions went off directly above our heads.

    We had to wait so long for the show to start that I was beginning to worry that we'd already missed it, or that we were facing the wrong direction. But when a powerful *thuph*--*thuph* sounded, I knew my fears were unfounded.

    Fireworks are some of my favorite things in the world. There's something magical about them. Maybe it's the colored light. Maybe it's the sparkles. They're for celebration, they're for jubilation.

    Maybe it's the noise; the shrieking, the bangs, the fizzing. The white ones that dazzle your eyes and give a crack so loud that it makes your heart stand still. Or perhaps it's in the boom of the huge circles of color that make you feel as though they're inside you, somehow. There are the ones my mother likes that start off as big circles, but the little lights divide and chase each other about like fireflies before they fade away. Then there are the ones that divide into little formations of red, white, and blue. Twice last night I saw a few red designs that looked a bit like hearts.

    At one point, there was a thuph sound, and a gold comet shot out straight over the lake. Everyone laughed. It looked like an accident; maybe the launcher had started to fall over as it was lit. It went out suddenly, no doubt where it hit the lake. I was just opening my mouth to comment that it was a shame for it to be wasted when with a screech, twenty or thirty gold squiggles sprang up from the surface and danced about! The laughter turned to “oohs” and then to applause. I joined in enthusiastically, hoping the team over there could hear the response that they obviously had planned for.

    “Fireworks, Gandalf!” I heard my brother quote. “Gandalf's fireworks!!”

    We're a bunch of nerds too, the lot of us. I wouldn't have it any other way.

    My favorite fireworks are the shimmery gold ones that leaving glittering trails that hang in the sky for a few seconds before they fade. They look like a magic flower, or a golden willow tree.

    Each year when I watch the fireworks, I always feel alone. Like it's just me and the fireworks. I don't hear the racket around me, only the sound of the rockets and the reflections of my heart. Every year I wish someone was sitting beside me, holding my hand. I wish someone felt fireworks inside them when they looked at me. I confess every year I tell my heart, “Maybe next year...”

    Except last year. Last year I just said no. My mother always told me not to wish my life away. Life is not full of fireworks. They come on special occasions, and not always when you expect them to. Sometimes they fire off in a heart-stopping finale right on cue. Other times they blaze up right in the middle of everyday life. And sometimes they won't come for a long time. Life is not the fireworks.

    Life is comprised in the ordinary surroundings. I let my senses stray a bit to take in the whole picture. Right now I was surrounded by family, even a few friends. It was a warm night with a bit of a breeze, not too sticky. No itching welts—yet--thanks to that coating of bug spray still strong in my nose. Lawn chairs, a water bottle, clouds of cigarette smoke drifting over us that I was having to breathe in. The sound of a young girl's laughing voice saying, “That's all, folks!”

    This was my life. This was pretty special. Why would I want to wish it away?

    I couldn't help wondering to myself how many more years would this be allowed? When would people begin trying to take away the pride and individuality of this country even here in the heart of the South? I keep hearing more and more hatred and loathing toward the United States. Children are being taught to hate this country. It troubles me. No, we're not perfect, yes, we need change, but no nation's record is without black marks.

    I thought of my grandfather sitting behind me, and tried to imagine the things he saw when fighting for this country. He doesn't talk about it much, but he was there. He lived it. He fought for my freedom, for every person present to have the freedom to sit at our ease and celebrate our country's responsibility to rule herself. How long would it be before the shrieks from rockets be replaced by real bombs? The bangs of the fireworks be replaced by gunfire?

    I could almost see it. The divisiveness in America has come from our lost resolve to rule ourselves, both politically and privately. Rampant irresponsibility has fanned the flames of our desires. Discontent has come from refusing to work for what we want. All this has come when our nation turned away from God and sought answers in our own self-satisfaction. We've stopped following God's laws, stopped honoring Him, and told Him to shove off; that we could run our lives without Him.

    I don't define myself by political views. I know that man is corrupt and selfish on the inside. I know that God formed every tiny fetus that has ever been begotten in His image, and that we owe Him our love and worship. I also know that He loves us and bore His sentence against us in His own beloved Son, so that a way of repentance and forgiveness was offered us. I know that He yearns for His children of every nation, and that He grieves at our stubborn hearts and yearns for us to be reconciled to Himself.

    I know that Jesus is the Son of God, and without turning to Him in repentance and worship, there is no hope for mankind. There is no enlightenment, no hidden knowledge, no cure, no drug, no other spirit, force, or secret that can restore what was lost, broken, or corrupted in us.

    Politics will not save us, nor will politicians. Even morals, and fairness, as good as they are, can only take us so far. They cannot restore, and we cannot heal what is wrong with our souls by ourselves. There is no other teacher, or enlightened one, or love, or deed that can save this country.

    Jesus is coming back soon. I don't know what will happen before He comes, but will He find me faithful at my post? Will He find me twiddling my thumbs or hiding in my room numbing my emptiness or wishing my life away? If I'm called upon to fight or protect someone else, I hope He gives me the courage to go down with honor. Or, worse, if I'm called upon to lose the ones closest to me, will I be willing to live every day with courage? Or if I'm hunted down and forced to lose my job or freedoms or rights because I offended the wrong people, will I bear the Name of Christ well?

    I hope to God that I do. 

   "America, America

   God mend thine every flaw!

   Confirm thy soul in self control,

   Thy liberty in law!"  

   Now all I have to do is put up with all the firework videos that everyone will plaster all over Facebook.  Ugh.  Can't you just live your experiences, people?  

   That and all the whining about how fireworks scare doggies and keep children awake at night.  

   Well, I'm terribly sorry that a nation-wide tradition celebrating our country's birth moderately inconveniences you for one night!  Geez....!  

   But on the plus side, I haven't found *one* mosquito bite on me yet!  Not one!  I feel like that ought to be noted for posterity.  Bug spray will work if you put enough on!

   Till next time!

~Cadenza