Hello all! It’s Tuesday again! Today the Where Homes Converge series will be featuring another amazing writer and good friend of mine. Her name is Abby (aka Lady Bluebird), and she is awesome! She writes fiction, blogs, and loves storytelling in all kinds of mediums. If after reading this post you want more of Abby’s awesome writing (Which you will!), you can check out her blog here.
Music is a Gift
Ah! Music! What a topic. I have no idea how I will cover it in this short guest post.
In fact, as I sit here and stare at this vast expanse of Word Doc Emptiness, I’m realizing I can’t do it justice. So I’ll just focus on one main point:
Music is an experience that is best shared.
Alright. With that in mind, let’s dive in….
I love listening to music – I love sitting with my headphones on, eyes closed, just absorbing it. This is kind of a new thing for me. Six or seven years ago, I could have cared less. I mean, I didn’t dislike music at all, I just never really sat down with the sole purpose of listening to an album.
Totally different story these days. Maybe it’s just a result of growing up or something– but I love sitting and listening to music. Letting my mind wander, letting the chords and melodies and harmonies take me on a journey to who-knows-where. Often, it’s different from one time to the next. It depends on the day, I suppose.
I love listening to music on my own. But I think there’s more to music than solitary enjoyment.
Even when I ache from head to toe from the beauty of the song, even when I shiver with delight – the experience isn’t complete until I’ve shared the music with somebody.
For example, the first time I listened to Stressed Out by 21 Pilots, it essentially sent shivers down my spine. Every new note and lyric a surprise – the clear melody and the catchy tune – I couldn’t get enough of it.
If you know me, this might be a surprise. Like, 21 Pilots? Don’t you like Indie Acoustic and a bunch of not-very-famous-artists? Yeah. Yeah I do. But I also have an appreciation for good songs. And, well, it’s a good song, okay?
Anyway, I listened to it a couple times by myself, with my headphones on, and then when I saw my sister on the couch I called her over.
“Hey, I have a song I want you to hear,” I said. She obligingly put on the headphones and I watched the shifting expressions on her face. As she listened the first time, I relived the first time I heard it, hearing it once more through fresh ears.
Music is one of those things that is so powerful to me personally. But even though I love listening to music on my own – there’s something so much more powerful about it when it’s shared.
If you think about it, music inherently is an act of sharing, from musician to listener.
What is music without someone to hear it? Do sounds even exist if there’s nobody there to hear them? Mysteries of the universe. My point is, music needs to be shared to fully fulfill its purpose.
It’s a gift, from musician to listener.
I don’t know if there’s anything quite as amazing as experiencing live music, especially in an intimate setting. If you’ve ever been to a house concert or had worship around the campfire or just sang a song with a friend, you know what I’m talking about.
Last September, I had the opportunity to go to an Arcadian Wild house concert. I’m pretty sure I was the only person in the audience who even knew who they were. Sitting in the front, getting to not only listen to the songs I knew so well, but to see the faces and postures and expressions of the singers – it brought their songs to a whole new level. I don’t think I ever appreciated Civil War so much as watching Isaac Horn play that guitar solo live – *shivers of delight* – it was just the coolest. SO much better than just clicking ‘play’ on Spotify.
Last week, I went to a Christian wilderness camp. I loved a lot of things about it – but the best part for me was the last night, around 1 am, around the campfire.
My guitar hung idly from my body. I rested my hands on the strings, poised, but not playing. It didn’t feel right to play just then. The moment was too perfect to ruin by worrying about chords. I sang, but then I opened my eyes and just listened. Something beautiful was happening and I didn’t want to miss it.
Darkness hung in the air like the campfire smoke. Everyone’s faces were blazing orange from the firelight. Eyes closed. Mouths open. Hands raised. Another guitar strummed out the chords to keep everyone on track as they sang,
“Hear your people sing, holy
to the King of kings, holy
you will always be holy
holy forever.”
I joined on the last refrain – “You will always be, holy, holy forever.”
In that moment, I felt it. That sehnsucht.
That beautiful, painful joy – the joy that delights in the here and now yet aches for something just beyond.
Our music ripped a hole in the night sky and heaven reached through, touching fingers with earth.
Oh, what a gift! We were the musicians, and Jesus was the listener, and I’m sure he smiled as he accepted our gift that night.
One home was converging with another, the forever with the finite, the two colliding violently in my heart, until all I could do was raise my hands and sing all the louder.
Isn’t this the culmination of what music was made for?
Isn’t music a gift?
“The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing.” Zephaniah 3.17
Oh my goodness Abby! This is amazing! I totally get what you mean about Indie artists! While our family does listen to some pop, my mother will take pity on my brother and we’ll listen to his scant list of songs he can bear. Coincedently, one of those is Stressed Out!
-Lizzie
Coolio! Thanks for reading, Lizzie!