Of Children, Death, and Healing

A little boy died in Ontario today.

He had wandered out of his grandparents' apartment in the middle of the night into a twenty-below-Celsius night in a t-shirt and boots. They found him six hours later, still alive but not in good shape. And tonight he died. A little three-year-old boy died. It's heartbreaking to think that twenty-four hours ago, his parents and grandparents thought he had another seventy or eighty years left in his life -- his whole life stretching out before him -- and now it's gone. And he died alone, lost, probably frightened, freezing in the snow in a minus-thirty windchill. No-one to hug him and tell him they loved him and he was safe. And yet he had two loving parents and two loving grandparents. How awful this must be for them. How truly horrible. Twenty-four hours ago they were a normal family with a normal little boy.

Tonight I was at a voice recital at the college and as much as I tried to focus on the singers, my attention kept drifting to the director of my program sitting across the seating area from me, holding his little girl on his lap. He had his arms around her, rocking her in time to the music, dropping kisses on her blond head at regular intervals. She was resting her head on his shoulder and I tried to remember when I was her age and size, sitting on my own dad's lap like that and suddenly I thought, Enjoy it while you can; don't forget this moment, and I almost burst into tears right there. I could not remember specifically ever sitting on my dad's lap. I was never really a sit-on-a-lap kind of kid. I was too busy doing something -- playing a story or dancing. I don't remember being little enough for that and I don't actually remember the feel of my head on my dad's shoulder and his arms around me, rocking me. I'm sure all those things happened. I've seen it with my younger siblings. But I don't remember it for me.

They provide translations for the songs in the program. There was one, some German piece from Brahms, and the translation talked about names fading on old gravestones. The gravestones read 'we were.' So final, so dismal, so full of sadness and regret for things that could not be regained or recaptured or relived. We were, but we are no longer. It is over. It is gone. And then something poetic happened and then the gravestones read 'we were healed' and I could only think of my friend Brittney.

Grieving her death is a funny thing. I miss her. I hate knowing I will never see her or talk to her again before I myself die. But I know her breathing was tortured here -- to what extent I don't know, but I do know it was labourious -- and now for the first time she can breathe easily. She died, but it was death that finally healed her. Yet that healing came at the expense of furthering our collective relationships with her as her friends and family. I'm glad that she is healed, but I miss her so much.

Pride and Fear

The life of a ridiculously imaginative but mediocre performer is a strange place. I so easily imagine myself as the best of the best -- or at least as a dark horse, quietly sitting by for the longest time before actually getting up the courage to stun all in attendance with my awesome hidden talent. So then when I finally do get up and muscle past the apprehension and actually try something, I'm shocked to hear how thin the voice in my throat actually sounds, how heavy my dancing really feels, how stilted and unnatural my acting actually is.

Being imaginative, I tend to play two roles in my mind. I play the part of myself, but I also play the part of the critical crowd -- I watch myself dance as I dance, seeing in my mind's eye the horrendous technique from the audience's perspective. By the time I get off the stage I'm exhausted, but only half of it was from physically dancing. The other half was spent simultaneously creating and fighting the critical voice.

This scenario is almost a continuous narrative through my brain. It plays out over and over again. The pride: "I'm at least as good as them. I'm just going to sit here and look content while they have the spotlight but I know very well I can take it," and the fear: "I can't do this, they're all so much better than me. They'll all see how terrible I really am. How can I have twelve years of dance experience and still be this terrible? How can I call myself a performer?" And is either right? Is it right to depend on the love of the audience for my self-worth? Whether I succeed and feed the pride or fail and feed the fear, I lose either way. I can't get away from both at the same time.

Music Day - Hold Me Jesus

To all of those whose lives have changed irrevocably.

To those who have been shell-shocked by a sudden death.

To those who look at the future and see only fog.

To those who lie awake at night, heart racing.

Title: Hold Me Jesus

Artist: Rich Mullins

Album: A Liturgy, A Legacy, And A Ragamuffin Band

Year: 1993

iTunes here; YouTube here.

Music Day - Rift

This song was recorded in 1993. But in terms of mood (and genre), it could be mistaken for something from Skillet. Screaming, thrashing, rage, sickened disgust.

Title: Rift

Artist: Mortal

Album: Fathom

Year: 1993

Label: Frontline Records

Before I get to the links, PLEASE NOTE: (they say this at the beginning of the concept video, but I'm going to say it again here) The official music/concept video is pretty intense and a bit graphic. It deals with the subject of child abuse (in its many different manifestations). It's tactful about it and overall the video is quite well done, but it is rather intense and could also be a trigger for some people. (It's six minutes long and within the first minute there's a suicide by gun.) Please be aware of this before you watch the video.
The song itself does not make any actual mention of abuse. It is more concerned with the anger and forgiveness process in the victim, but does not get specific about how exactly the hurt has been inflicted.

iTunes here; YouTube (song only, no video) here. Official music video here (viewer discretion strongly advised).

All that said, the music video is very well done. It's quite a tour de force, skilfully weaving multiple angles of multiple stories, different perspectives, multiple concepts into one cohesive whole. I've read bestselling novels that had choppier plots than this music video. From an artistic standpoint, this is phenomenal. The scenes with the adults playing like children and the scenes with the adults 'frozen' -- they've never grown up -- and the children walking around them are chilling. I can't quite put it into words, but that's exactly what it is -- the adults frozen, caught in their ruts, and the children simply walking around, just waiting... waiting... waiting for something to change.

Ordinarily I would be appalled at the violence and dark undertones in the video, but in this case it absolutely serves the point they were making. It's meant to be a wake-up call, to force us to confront the issue and quit pretending it doesn't exist. The 'Christian community' would likely watch this video (if they even made it past the gun part) and whine, 'Why do you have to be so graphic? Why did you make it so sickening?'

Answer: Because you won't step in. You won't be a friend to the adults (and children) who need a loving, caring person in their lives. And this -- these horrific scenes -- are the consequences of your inaction.

You said you'd lift me up

You said you'd cover me

You said you'd nurse my cuts

You stare and watch me bleed...


***

All of the above was written about two years ago.

Yesterday, after having pretty much forgotten this song existed, I suddenly remembered and subsequently revisited it. Twice. And a different phrase arrested my attention this time.

Sometimes our broken hearts are healed
The moment we believe again...

And it was apparently important enough that they repeated it. I wondered when I first heard it why they repeated it. It seemed odd to me, especially coming after so much anger. But now I think they repeat it so that the words could properly sink in.

Sometimes our broken hearts are healed
The moment we believe again...

In the past six months, people very close to me -- people I love dearly -- have been involved in separation/divorce, developed serious cancer, been emotionally hurt, and some have lied to me. Two of the deepest, hardest-hitting incidents were within two days of each other. And I gave up. I had been praying for months about these things, and finally, when those two particular incidents came up back-to-back, I threw my hands in the air and said, "Why am I still praying to a God who doesn't care?" The fact that I was thinking this terrified me, but there it was. And I've been in a weird in-between state since. I want to believe God cares, but on the other hand I think, 'yeah, well, if He did care, He would at least show me He could fix this.'

In a nutshell, I have become jaded and bitter, and I can almost feel my heart hardening inside me. It is terrifying. And throughout the past couple of days there has been the question of trust -- you're bitter at this person for not trusting you. Are you really any better than them? You're mad at this person for having a heart of stone. Is yours really any softer? But still I fight -- "but You don't care that my family is falling apart and You won't let me help the ones here who are hurting!"

And then this song came, those lyrics. Did they fix everything? Heck no. But it offered a challenge, a burr on the slope of polished slate that I'm sliding down... will you believe again? Will you trust Me one more time with your heart so I can fix it? It made me stop and think. That's one thing that I like in music -- a lyric profound enough to stop me in my tracks. And it was perfectly hidden in a loud, raging industrial song that I was only listening to because it sounded angry and I needed to listen to something angry to match how I felt. If it had been in a Silverwind song I would not have heard it yesterday when I needed it. I was so upset over the whole state of affairs that slow, happy music was making me even angrier. Props to Mortal for tucking that observation in an angry song where it's probably needed most.

Music Day - Backyard Changes

This is how I like my pop songs -- fun musically, but not insipid lyrically.

Musically: well, come on, it's Crumbächer. What do you expect besides keyboard? And I, for one, wouldn't have it any other way. The sax is a bit overdone at the end, but aside from that it's Crumbächer pop goodness as you've always known it.

Lyrically: This is easily as hard-hitting as anything with Steve Taylor's name on it. But while Taylor tends to look at societal ills, here Crumbächer takes a slightly more introspective view.

It starts out as your general older-teenage-angst song, sympathising with the frustrations of every sixteen or seventeen year old:

Nothing ever changes

In your own backyard

So you wanna get out when you can

You say your folks don't understand

You wanna make a difference...

Oh, I know. I've been there. I've felt trapped in my own home. I've raged against the four walls of my bedroom, feeling like my parents didn't care that I wanted a break from the pressure of being the perfect oldest.

But while Stephen Crumbacher offers sympathy, he also brings up a good point:

You wanna make a difference

But you'd better start

Closer to the heart

With some backyard changes...

That is, if you can't (or won't) make a difference in your own neighbourhood/school/workplace, what makes you think you'll make a difference anywhere else? If you leave your backyard, you'll still be the same person, just in a different place.

Title: Backyard Changes

Artist: Crumbächer

Album: Thunder Beach

Year: 1987

Label: Frontline Records

iTunes here; YouTube here (live version here).

Music Day - Glory Battle

We've had this album since it came out, but it was only over July that I really listened to this song (or the whole album, really). This song in particular appeals to my classical ballet mind. It's the dance of a fight between good and evil, between angels and demons, both clawing for the same soul.

Last March, while recovering from strep throat, I read Frank Peretti's This Present Darkness, and that book has stuck in my head, both as a reader and as a writer. As a reader, I enjoyed the story -- the soft-spoken unrelenting faith of the pastor, the confusion and determination of the newspaper manager, the spunk and pluck of the reporter, the self-righteousness of the church deacons, the rebellious attitude of the daughter, the strategising between the demons and the angels... it was one of the most engaging things I've ever read. I literally read the entire thing cover to cover in one night. As a writer, I appreciated the colourful detail in every scene -- rich without being overdone -- as well as the subtle humour employed throughout. Even in very serious scenes, one careful turn of phrase, one character's well-timed glance could send me into a fit of laughter. Peretti has a gift -- I've never seen anything like that anywhere else, and I used to read quite a bit of this genre (back when I had time to read for pleasure).

Shortly after I read that book, I began thinking: what it would be like to stage that story, as a dance? You would need music for that, of course, but provided I could find a composer... could I do it? Could I portray the characters without speech and wearing ballet slippers? I haven't answered that question yet, but now that the germ of the idea is in my head, I sometimes find a little something that might fit in the dance version of the story... this song is one of those.

(Trivia: This same artist has actually written an instrumental song based on This Present Darkness (source: album liner notes) in 1988. The song, Ashton, is on the album i 2 (EYE). Music Day post here.)

Title: Glory Battle
Artist: Michael W. Smith
Album: Glory
Year: 2011
Label: Provident
iTunes here; YouTube here.

Besides the music of David Meece (and Pachelbel's Canon In D), this is probably the closest I get to classical music. It's not that I don't like it, it's just that it always seems so stuffy and elitist (kind of like some of us 'Jesus Music' fans, come to think of it...), and I can never keep track of all the composers and the names and variations of their works. But this piece is amazing. It's sweeping, majestic, strong, rushing -- it sounds exactly like a battle. There's the start, and then the initial battle, and then someone retreats and the music turns mournful... then clear and a little hopeful. The sides regroup, and suddenly there's a thunderous second assault. It's enough to make me want to get into more classical music. (Feel free to make suggestions in the comments!)

I love the string parts in this song. They contribute so much tension to the piece.

Music Day - You Are Loved

Cheesy? Perhaps. Passionate? Absolutely. The Altar Boys have been especially noted for their passion. There's a sincerity in their voices that you don't hear in a lot of other music. And it has a tremendous effect with lyrics like these that so many need to hear...

Title: You Are Loved
Artist: Altar Boys
Album: Gut Level Music
Year: 1986
Label: Frontline Records
iTunes here; YouTube here.

I often find myself setting this as my alarm in the morning. To wake up to words like this actually does put a brighter spin on my day. Never underestimate the power of passion and a sincere lyric (and punk rock). The harmony in the chorus is rather pretty too.

To all the hearts that have been broken
To all the dreamers with abandoned dreams
To everybody in need of a friend now
You are loved
You are loved
To all the rebels wounded in battle
To all the rockers that have lost that beat
To all the users all used up now
You are loved
You are loved...

The Glory And The Flame

Originally written 27 December 2014. See this post for a fuller explanation of my apprehension.


This has never happened before. I have never had a performance actually bring me to call into question my ability and calling. Even this spring when I danced entirely the wrong section in the middle of the Waltz of the Snowflakes in Nutcracker, I did not doubt my calling or ability (my memory, maybe...). But tonight, on the eve of my second-ever solo performance I am actually ready to quit. To just drop everything related to dance -- performing, choreography, everything. I can't do this. What made me think that I could? What insanity made me think that dance was my calling? Was it just me playing God? Because, when I think about it, how do I actually know God called me?

And the stupid part is, I can't even articulate why this one impending performance has me in such a state. It's a five-minute solo piece in front of an audience that, by and large, doesn't know the first thing about dance. Like at all. Most of them probably don't even know the stereotypes. Anything I do, whether technically correct or not, will be a novelty to them. They will honestly have no clue whether my dancing is good or bad other than from their own aesthetic perspective which I can't help anyway.

It's a solo. I can (theoretically) improvise if I forget or screw up, and nobody will have a clue. I don't even care about that. All the articles say that as long as you perform with confidence, you could make a thousand mistakes and people won't notice. And if there's one thing I've learnt at college, it's that. I would never have survived my voice finals (or my theatrical audition) if it wasn't for that. You just put on the mask. You lie. You smile and pretend it's all right.

So I guess tomorrow I'm going to church to lie.

I want instant gratification. I want to know in advance that I won't fall over in the balance in attitude devant. I want to know, right now, that I won't blank at the easiest part of the choreography. I want to know in advance I will actually have the physical strength to get through this. I want to know, now, that I won't bore the crap out of my audience with some kind of self-centered, self-serving, made-up crap for five irretrievable minutes of their lives. I want to respect my audience. And that means giving them something good to watch -- something well-prepared and well-executed and pregnant with meaning.

But on the other hand, we who claim to serve God also have to toss in that whole 'Soli Deo gloria' thing. Am I doing only for the glory of God? Or for the glory of God and the pleasure of man? And if it's the latter, does that not cheapen the glory of God? But then where does respecting the audience -- His creation -- come in?

Music Day - O Come O Come Immanuel

My Christmas gift to you: this song, and the re-instation of Music Day, beginning the first Friday in January.

Merry Christmas.

Title: O Come O Come Immanuel

Artist: Gene Eugene, Riki Michele, and Ojo

Album: The Broken Christmas

Year: 1988

Label: Frontline Records

iTunes here; listen on SoundCloud here.

One of the more beautiful, soothing, peaceful, lovely and yearning versions of this song that I've heard.

Stage Fright

I perform (dance) again in less than a week. It's my own choreography. Theoretically I should be excited and I am, but I'm sick with worry over the performer -- namely, me.

I've always considered myself rather an average performer, as that seems to be the general attitude towards my performing. I'm all right with that. I'm much better at and more excited about composing choreography anyway. The problem is that I have all this great choreography that I want to see on a stage, if only for purposes of critique, and I have no performers except myself. And, as noted, I'm not exactly Anna Pavlova.

The line between performing and composing is not even thought about in Canada, never mind among my typical audience of Baptists and farmers. Therefore, if the performer is terrible, the entire dance is criticised -- even though the choreography itself may have been stellar. Therefore, if I am the only performer of my choreography, and I as a performer am only a sub-par vehicle for what may very well be excellent choreography, I will not get good, clear, honest feedback about either the choreography or the execution of it. By extension, folks will be reluctant to see any more of my choreography -- even if I'm not performing it -- because a sub-par performance will have sullied its merits.

The nature of my audience magnifies the pressure. Baptist churches are not exactly known for their kind-heartedness, grace, or mercy. They know me, yes, but that means they expect me to be utterly perfect -- by their idiosyncratic definition of perfect. I'm already toeing the line by dancing in the first place. If I screw this up, if it turns out this choreography is poorly represented by the relatively out-of-practice performer, there is a very real chance of living the rest of my life as a punch line: "Remember that time Kate tried to dance back in '14? I thought Hell had broken its banks."

There is only one chance in the Baptist church. Do it flawlessly (their definition) the first time or stop being a Christian. There is no room for trailblazing, for learning, for refinement and development of a craft. Add to this that I'm not entirely happy with the choreography itself, and I'm seriously wondering if I should pull out rather than risk submitting five minutes of random potentially-self-serving crap to an audience that never asked for it. Most of them wouldn't know the difference between bad dance and good dance, which makes me want even more badly to show them a shining example of good dance lest they see one example of the bad and subsequently write off all dance everywhere. At the moment, I can't guarantee that I can show them an example of good dance.

But then, if not now, when? I've been chomping at the bit to get my choreography staged, and now it's finally starting to happen a bit. Logic says I should just take the chance and run. But am I really ready? Is this just normal pre-show nerves? I wouldn't know, I've never really had issues with stage fright.