Singing Your Song

I recently went on a Backroads bike trip in Ireland which has stayed with me ever since. The trip, like all Backroads adventures, combined physical activity, beautiful scenery, and cultural exposure. We were taught about Irish history and given the chance to experience the beer (not me) and music that plays such a part in its culture today. During a musical performance in a pub, the leader described how Ireland navigated through its many struggles. At one point, when things were particularly bleak, Ireland stopped using its language and singing its music.

I celebrated the country making it through such a dark period as the group sang a quintessential Irish ballad, but, as they played, I thought about the meaning of their struggle in my own life. I thought about the dark times when I stopped using my language and singing my own music. I don’t think I’m unique, but in the days since I’ve thought about the importance of speaking and singing what is uniquely ours.

I believe in my soul that each of us was uniquely and wonderfully created. I once thought we were born for a specific purpose, but now think our only purpose is to be who we were created to be – to speak and sing our unique language and song. Where we speak or sing will vary, and the opportunities will be countless, but the sacred opportunity to bring our voice into our daily lives is singular.

I’m embarrassed by the times I’ve spoken the language of those around me and sang songs that were not mine. to sing. I sometimes still do, I’m sad to admit, but the Irish story helped awaken me to the chance I have today to find my song again and sing it wherever I go.

How about you?

Giving and Receiving

I’m a gift-giver. That doesn’t mean I’m special or particularly noble. It’s just who I am and what I do. If you’ve read Gary Chapman’s, The Five Love Languages, you know that gift-giving is one of the five and it’s been a part of me for as long as I can remember. Yes, sometimes I’ve gone too far or have used it for wrong reasons, but mostly it’s how I respond when my heart needs to sing.

Recently, I attended a wedding of a couple I adore. The service was held in a magnificent setting and I knew, even before the service began, that I wanted to try and paint the scene. When I returned home and went to my studio, I began right away. I didn’t want to forget how it looked or how it made me feel. When the painting was finished, my wife and I had it framed and gave it to the couple.

A voice within wanted to point out it was no masterpiece, but I didn’t listen and sent it anyway. I’m glad I did because the couple adored it and their reaction made such an impression on me that I needed to make it a brushstroke.

The connection I felt to the couple when they responded to the painting felt nothing short of divine. Someone gave a gift and it was received with profound gratitude. I’m not sure there’s a better reason to be alive. To offer a piece of ourselves, in whatever way we may, and have that be received with joy is what I think we’re here for. Whether as the giver or the receiver, the encounter is sacred. It’s true between one another, and it’s true with God.

And yet, as givers  . . .

We often listen to the voices that say what we have to offer is not good enough, we let the fear of rejection win the day, we measure a relationship to decide if it warrants such generosity, or we let our fear of not having enough cause our fists to clench around whatever we have to give.

As recipients . . .

We take others’ generosity for granted, we expect gifts, we open a gift but never really receive it because we’re too busy moving through life at warp speed, or we let our hopes and/or expectations measure what’s given.

My recent experience with this young couple has reminded me that giving something of our selves is what life is all about, and that receiving whatever is given is a way to complete the sacred dance that beckons.

The choice is ours.

Lifting our Sails

Two friends stood beside each other looking out at the open sea. It was a bright, clear day and the wind was blowing gently from the north. One of them looked over and realized the other had disappeared. It was only moments later that he looked at the dock below and saw his friend lifting the sail and heading out toward the sea.

This simple tale reminded me of the sacred dance waiting for each of us. The world and our lives lie clear and bright before us and it’s sometimes tempting to stand and gaze, imagining what could be. But the wind and the sea are waiting. They were given to us not only to admire and appreciate but to join.

The wind invites us to lift our sails, and, as they fill, our lives move in mysterious ways. Slowly we head into the seas and discover things we can’t see from the shore. Lifting one’s sails and heading out into the sea (in whatever way you conceive that) is harder than remaining on the shore, but it is only when we do our part that we experience what it means to “dance” with God.