Sountracks

If you were to put together a soundtrack of your life, what songs would you include? That opportunity has presented itself to me and it’s been an interesting adventure. 

Songs I loved as a child cause me to cringe and look to see if anyone’s listening. Yes, I liked the Carpenters, and Puff, The Magic Dragon still beckens me to the land called Honahlee. In time, I wandered down some colorful paths listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd and The Allman Brothers, but it was the sad music of James Taylor, Neil Young, and Jackson Browne that carved a deeper place in my soul. 

Mine is an eclectic soundtrack, one that includes popular songs that are obvious, sappy ones which make my cool friends roll their eyes, as well as “druggy tunes,” as my wife describes them, that bring me back to circle of friends in a dorm room I’ll never forget. There’s even church music and Broadway musicals which provide their own theologies.

As we return to the festive months of summer, music cascades over all we do, and I would invite you to consider your life’s soundtrack. What was your first “favorite song”? What was the song you always played whenever you hooked up a stereo? What did you listen to when you were hurt? What did you listen to when no one else was listening? What song did you play in your first car? What music makes you get speeding tickets? What did you dance to at your wedding? What song moves you to tears? What would you want played at your funeral?

More than reminiscing, soundtracks can teach about the various chapters of our lives. The most important people and moments of our lives are usually intertwined with the melodies and words of particular songs. Friends in school used to ask what 5 albums I’d take with me on a desert island (Which must have had electricity and a stereo)? Now I pose a similar question to you. What songs would you select if you were to make a soundtrack of your life?

Extra Credit: Make the soundtrack and play it for someone, offering commentary where appropriate.

Feed the Birds

I was given a bird feeder by some dear friends and have tried to honor their generosity by keeping it filled. It hangs outside my studio, and I delight in the birds, chip monks, and squirrels that feast daily.

Recently, I was away for a week and the birdfeeder was empty when I returned. I quickly replenished it and sat on the to see how long it would take for the birds to return. Soon, a bird landed on a nearby tree and looked over at the feeder. Then he or she hopped to a branch closer before taking the leap to the feeder itself, checking out the new supply, and flying off again. Within ten minutes the cocktail party I’d grown to love returned and I marveled at how quickly the word had spread drawing others back to the sumptuous feast I had prepared.

I don’t consider myself an evangelical, although I am enthusiastic about my faith. As imperfect as it is, I possess a longing for God that runs deep within me.  As flawed as I am, I can’t help but return each morning and try again.  I suppose, like the birds before me, I’m hungry and search for food every morning. On those mornings when I find something to eat, I’m profoundly grateful. Sometimes I find it in a sunrise, or the sound of the wind causing the trees to sway. Often, I find it it in one the meditation books I read while sipping my cherished coffee. When I find it, though, I always want to run and tell others. I guess that’s why I began writing these Brushstrokes, and trying to write a novel.

I guess I’m just like the birds in front of me this morning. St. Francis would be proud!

Couldn’t resist: (Message seems particularly appropriate these days) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XHrRxQVUFN4

I bought the CD

            The clouds parted as if on cue. After morning torrential rains, we were able to leave our beach rental and head to a local outdoor brewery where there was also food and music. As someone who could only participate in two of the three, I sat eating my lunch waiting for the band to begin. There were only four musicians, but their talent was impressive and the music filled my soul. Feeling my enthusiasm from the stage, they played an Allman Brothers tune just for me! No wonder when it came time to leave, I left a tip and bought their CD. I wanted to be able to return to the perfect afternoon but, unfortunately, when I listened to it when I got home it was nothing like the music I’d heard.

            I was reminded of a story about a famous wine connoisseur who was asked to name the greatest bottle of wine he’d ever had. Given the fact that he’d tasted some of the finest, most expensive, wines on the planet, everyone was shocked when he said it was a very ordinary bottle of wine, the kind you can buy in a grocery store and open with a twist of your wrist. “It’s true,” he said to the bewildered crowd. “I was in a row boat with the woman who would eventually become my wife, he explained. “A misty rain was falling, and to this day I cannot recall a wine more spectacular. I’ve bought it many times since, but it has never been the same.”

            There’s something about a moment. No stereo can recreate it, no amount of money can reproduce it. Despite lifting a cell phone throughout a concert, the footage is never the same as seeing the show live. Despite the fact that all the same people are gathered around the table as before, the evening lacks the spark from the last time you were together. (And don’t even get me started on movie sequels, or remade song!)

The problem is, moments are like sand in our hand. No matter how hard we try, the grains will slip through our fingers, leaving only memories of the sand’s softness and warmth. Moments are given, then they’re gone. Trying to hold on to a moment, or recreate it, never works and sometimes it’s lost through the very act of trying to hold onto it. 

            Summers are often filled with wonderful moments. Perhaps this summer we can open our clenched fists and enjoy the moments as they happen. It may mean taking less photographs, buying less CD’s. But it also may mean that by letting go we receive more than we’ve ever had before.