Life Without Music

Earlier this week I had coffee with a delightful woman whose family does not listen to much music. My understanding is that it's a sound issue where they can't handle the volume level. They went to a concert and had to leave because the sound stimulation was too much.

I tried to envision what my life would be like without music. I almost always have music playing. If it's not on, there's probably a song running through my head. Concerts are my family's bonding activity.

We've gone to the same multi-day Christian music festival for nine years. Our record is six Mark Schultz concerts in one calendar year. We sit around quoting "As Is" by Peder Eide as if "Samson was a long-haired, arrogant womanizer" is a perfectly logical thing to say in conversation.

If it weren't for music, we'd probably have to watch movies or take up karate like normal people.

When I talk about Lifest, I tell the silly stories: the standing ovation earned by a water bottle, the mud so bad our van had to be pushed into the parking lot, using my lawn chair as an umbrella, etc.

But I think about it, I think about worshipping with Phillips, Craig, and Dean as the rain gently fell on my face. I think about kneeling on fist-sized gravel to stretch my arms up to my Abba Father like a child wanting to be held. I remember Peter Furler (when he was in Newsboys) talking about God's perfect timing only to have a nearby train interrupt his sentence.

Can I worship without music?

I love how the Lord gets my attention through songs I've heard a million times. I get a taste of heaven when strangers unite as a family to sing praises to our Father. I didn't perform "My Savior, My God" in ASL in front of a crowded room of Nicaraguan believers; I worshipped my Savior, my God with my hands.

Through music may be one of my favorite ways to worship, but it's certainly not the only way.

To affirm or encourage someone, that's worship. To serve and love on someone, that's worship. To hug someone, to squeeze a shoulder as you pass, to look someone in the eye. Worship. To genuinely ask how someone's doing, to sit down and share life over a cup of coffee, to bring lunch to an under-employed freelance writer. Worship. To dance, to play ping pong, to sign, to make copies, etc. they can all be worship. (My thoughts on this have been heavily influenced by TASTE Worship--check it out).

In Guatemala, there was a day I was "forbidden" to sing and sign. I worshipped that day. I removed flecks of orange paint from a brush and bucket, and it was worshipful.

Can I worship with music?

Last summer, I remember running through the park arguing with God about being twenty minutes late to a forty-minute show. He brought to my attention that I was not approaching the concert with the right heart.

It wasn't the first time.

How often do I attend a concert just to add another artist to my repertoire? How often do I absent-mindedly sing along without realizing what I'm saying?

These questions hurt because I am ashamed of their answers.

Even at Christian concerts, my heart is not always in the right place. I've sung along, I've waved my arms, I've screamed at the top of my lungs, and I hate to confess it has not always been for the Lord.

It happens under a rain-free sky. It happens in a crowded, dark auditorium. It happens in my church on Sunday mornings. It happens to me more often than I care to admit.

I voluntarily took a day this week and turned the music off. I washed dishes in silence. I drove across town in the quiet. I worked without any accompaniment.

It was weird and awkward at first but then it became peaceful.

That's worship.

Weird and awkward at first. Uncomfortable and strange. But then peaceful, wonderful, and necessary.

Whether you're a person who loves to literally feel the beat of the drums or just prefers white noise in the background, take some time this week to worship with the radio off.

Let me know how it works for you.

<>< Katie

A Run in the Park

My family and I used to go to Lifest for the bands.  Hours were spent circling artist names in the program and making a strategic plan of where we needed to be and when.  Unfortunately for me, long gone are the years when I spent five days running from stage to stage, from mosh pit to lawn chair, from merch table to meet and greet line.

This past opening night of Lifest we got caught in the madness where the one-lane road through the park became a parking lot.  The only show I wanted to see all evening was to start in four minutes.  So still in the holding pattern at the park's entrance, I abandoned my family and our minivan.  I began to walk with a purpose towards a party with a purpose.  It took me fifteen minutes to walk from the park entrance to the fairgrounds entrance (in case you ever need to know).

Fifteen minutes is long time to repeatedly glance at your watch and realize you're missing the only show you wanted to see that day.  It's also a long time to question if you're approaching with the right heart.

Even if I miss my show, will tonight still be worth it?  Am I willing to hear from the Lord through a speaker I've never heard of, a band whose CD I have never purchased?  Am I here for an artist, a speaker, or am I here for the Lord?

Valid questions to take my mind off of the ticking minutes.

A fifteen minute jog through the park, thirteen minutes in line to exchange my ticket for a wristband, and I finally made it to the Grandstand as Peder Eide was wrapping up "Yes, Lord" and beginning a new song, "We are Not Orphans."  A new, new song.  So new the CD it's on won't be released until July 15th.  Peder has personally told me about this song twice, but I've been waiting a year to hear it.

A year.  No embellishing.

I thought I was late.  Twenty-three minutes late, to be exact.  Twenty-three minutes late to a forty minute show.

I wasn't.  I was right on time.  Sure, I missed the first twenty-three minutes that I would have thoroughly enjoyed, but I was right on time to hear the song I had been anxiously awaiting.

It was a beautiful moment.

"I haven't forgotten.  Welcome to Lifest.  We've been waiting for you," the Lord whispered to me.

It might have taken twenty-three minutes of anxiety, but once again I could honestly proclaim, "God, I'm all in.  I'm here for You.  Not the artists, not the speakers, not the expo center, not the camaraderie.  I'm here for YOU!" 

What a wonderful feeling that is!

When's the last time you spent fifteen minutes running through a (figurative) park adjusting the focus of your heart?  When's the last time you let your Abba Father sing over you and remind you of His goodness?  He's waiting.

"For the Lord your God is living among you.
He is a mighty savior.
He will take delight in you with gladness.
With his love, he will calm all your fears.
He will rejoice over you with joyful songs."
Zephaniah 3:17 NLT

Skype Date

At Lifest on Saturday two lives where forever changed in one slightly uncomfortable moment.

Peder Eide, the host of the grandstand, held the packet of a Compassion child above his head and said, "Lifest, I've never done this before.  But this is Maria from Honduras and we need a sponsor for her right now.  Who wants to sponsor Maria?"

There we all were, listening for the pull of the Holy Spirit, wondering who was going to step up.  A woman from the sea of lawn chairs answered the call.

Peder invited her on stage and asked her why she chose to sponsor that child.  A brand new Compassion sponsor, you could tell she was a little overwhelmed.

"How would you like to meet Maria?" Peder asked.

She didn't know what to say.

He invited her out to a computer that was set up to Skype Maria.

Their conversation was short yet powerful. 

I cried watching Lifest Skype Honduras.

It made me homesick... for Central America.  For Spanish.  For kissing people on the cheek.  For trying to understand the difference between mango and manga.  For worshipping our God, our same God, in another country, another language, and another way and realizing He understands and is comfortable with all of it.

I can't buy a plane ticket to Nicaragua.  I can't Skype my family in Costa Rica.  I can't play with my kids in Guatemala.

But I can write a letter to Maria, my family's Compassion child in Columbia.  I can facebook my brothers and sisters in Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Guatemala.  I can pray for believers in Central America and around the world.  I can look forward to and prepare for my upcoming trip to China with an unquenchable excitement.

What are you going to do?

Do you sponsor a Compassion child?  If so, send your child a letter.  If not, why not? 

Sure, most people don't get to Skype their sponsored child.  My roommate Jennifer got to meet her sponsored child in the Philippines, but that's not a reality for most of us.  Yet through letters and photos, your sponsored child becomes part of your family.  You get to share the hope of Christ and one day you will meet your sponsored child... just not on this earth.

Think about it.  Pray about it.  Try it.

Excuse me now, my sister Maria is overdue for a letter.

Dios les bendiga, amigos,
<>< Katie

Perfect Timing

A few years ago at an outdoor music festival, I heard Peter Fuller (then the lead-singer of Newsboys) talk about God's perfect timing. In the middle of his statement about how perfect God's timing is, a train horn sounded in near proximity.  The entire audience errupted in laughter. In his heavy Australian accent he looked at us and said, "A train interrupts my concert and you laugh?"

Well, God's perfect timing struck again and there was only nervous laughter.

I'd just gotten out of class at 10pm and was driving back to my apartment from the library. As I approached the stoplight I noticed a car cross the intersection and instinctively slowed down to stop at the white line. It was only then that I glanced up and noticed I had the green light. Maybe there was a malfunction? No, the other car definitely had a red light.

I made a quick glance around for:
Police officers. None. What are the odds?
Other cars. None. Thank goodness.
A green light. Go ahead.

At first, I didn't really think much of it. We all accidently run red lights from time to time. Not a big deal. Besides, it was late, and he probably got sick of waiting for the light to change. I was the only other car around. It wasn't until I was back in the safety of my apartment that I truly realized what had just happened.

Rewind. When I pulled out of my parking space, there was an exit to the left (the direction I needed to go) not far from where I was parked. Instead, I drove an extra thirty seconds, out of my way, to the right exit. Why? I don't know. I guess I just wasn't paying attention. It was 10pm! I'd just gotten out of my last class. Twelve hours earlier, I'd been dismissed from my first class of the day. Yes, one of those days.

It wasn't just because I was tired. It was because if I'd been to the stop light thirty second earlier... well, crash boom bash. We know this story. Been there done that. Unlike last time, this car wasn't starting from a stopped position. He was going and going fast. That could have been a really bad end to a long day.

I cannot take credit for avoiding that collision. I didn't do anything except absent-mindedly leave the parking lot. It was God who perfectly positioned and timed our cars for this to be only a "thanks, God" rather than a "help, God!"

Had any close calls lately? Whether you're aware of them or not, they've happened. Take a minute to thank Him for His perfect timing and arms of protection.

<>< Katie

Who am I?

Sometimes I fluctuate like a pendulum between "God is awesome and everyone needs to know!" and "who am I to expect people to listen when I proclaim His name?"  Sometimes I hit both in a matter of minutes.  What's great is that He can use both ends of the spectrum.

I was having a "Who am I" moment the other day.  Who am I to share the Gospel?  Why should people listen to me?  What story has God given me?  The only times I've gone to bed hungry where the days when I didn't like what was served for dinner. I've never lost my job.  I've never been ripped from the jaws of death.  I've never overcome a serious addiction.  I've never...

Then like He always does, God smacked me in the face as He began to remind me of all of the things He has done in my life.  I've had a seven year old Guatemalan boy fall in love with me.  I've been in a car-totalling accident and walked away without a scratch.  I've been able to make a difference in the lives of teens at home and at school.  I've personally handed a bag of food to someone who will live off of it for the next month.  I've (been told I) energized someone who didn't know if he could muster up the energy to do the job correctly himself.

You think I did any of that on my own?

Maybe I don't remember a specific day when I accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior.  Maybe I didn't overcome a life-changing obstacle to obtain the faith I now proclaim.  That doesn't mean I don't have a testimony.  Testimony is God's people speaking out about what He has done.  He has given me a story to tell.  Who am I not to tell it?

Being used and telling my story,
<>< Katie

Blessed Be Your Name

I spent all weekend helping lead a youth retreat weekend.  On Saturday afternoon we did a service project and gardened for a few elderly church members.  Upon returning to the church, we each took some quiet time to reflect and pray.  As that kind of wrapped up, people seemed to be gathering in the grass on the hill and it became a spontaneous worship song session.  One of the songs we sang was "Blessed Be Your Name."  As we went through the familiar verses and chorus, I pondered how many times I'd sung that song.  On campus, in church, in my car, in Spanish in Guatemala, in ASL, with 35,000 teens, by myself, with a small group around a campfire... the list goes on and on.  Every summer for almost the last ten years my family has gone to an outdoor Christian music festival.  In the last few years, it seems every artist sings "Blessed Be Your Name."  I've sung with the hot July sun beating down on me.  I've sung it as refreshing night rain pelts my face.  I've sung it a lot.  You'd think I'd know the verses in the right order...

On May 21, 2008, singer/songwriter Steven Curtis Chapman's youngest daughter died tragically at age 5 after being accidently hit by a car in the family's driveway.  On July 11 of the same year SCC returned to the stage for the first time since the accident and earned a standing ovation prior to playing a note.  He softly explained after such a tragedy there was one song that kept running through his head and he began to sing "Blessed Be Your Name."  I highly doubt there was a dry eye in the entire audience.  With heavy hearts and sore feet we extended our arms to the heavens and worshipped our precious Holy Father while He painted us a beautiful sunset in the Midwestern sky.  The lyrics took on a whole new meaning as we proclaimed, "Blessed be Your name when the sun's shining down on me.  When the world's all as it should be, blessed be Your name, on the road marked with suffering, though there's pain in the offering, blessed be Your name."  If a hurting father could say it, so can we.  If the responsible brother could say it, so can we.  If the sunburned, mud-laden audience can say it, so can we.  Right?

It doesn't mean your pain is gone.  It doesn't mean you need to be happy-go-lucky.  It means God is still God.  It means you'll praise Him in the hard times in addition to the easy times.  In the United States, in foreign countries.  In the sun and in the rain.  From the top of the mountain and the bottom of the valley.  As yourself honestly, no matter what you're going through today, are you willing to say, "Blessed be Your name"?

Blessed be,

<>< Katie

Worship in Alternative Forms

On Wednesday, I didn’t really want to be at Lifest. There were a plethora of reasons; namely: very few of my favorite artists were going to be there, after seven years it had become mundane, and my “I’m bored; let’s go get lost in the mosh pit” mother was leaving me with the responsibility of chaperoning my sisters.

I thought about our past six years worth of Lifests, and the plethora of funny memories flooded my head. The time Michael W. Smith finally played “Never Been Unloved” live after years of begging. Having our minivan pushed into the muddy parking lot. Steven Curtis Chapman’s first return to the stage following Maria’s death. How Mark Schultz’s water bottle earned a standing ovation. Watching TobyMac in a downpour and using a lawn chair as an umbrella. Don’t get me wrong, those stories are hilarious, but they aren’t what Lifest is about.

When asked to summarize this past Friday in one sentence, I said, “Worship in alternative form.” That’s exactly what Lifest is all about. I feel like after seven years, I finally got it. Lifest isn’t about sticking plywood in your elbows for four hours to be in the front of the mosh pit that night. It isn’t about finally having the opportunity to meet your favorite band. It isn’t the perfect time to destroy your eating habits. It isn’t even a great excuse to stay up until one am every day. Rather, Lifest is an opportunity to see God in a new way. Worship in alternative form(s).

Sure, it’s pretty basic. If someone else had said it over the past six years, I definitely would have agreed. I have great God moments from previous Lifests. Kneeling on fist-sized rocks with my arms stretched towards the beautiful blue sky crying out to my Abba Father. Listening to Peter Fuller of Newsboys talk about how God’s timing is perfect only for his sentence to be interrupted by a nearby train (“and you laugh”). Something about this year was different. Agreeing that “church has left the building” and applying the concept are two different things.

Of course, I’ve got silly stories from this year, too. Matthew West writing a spontaneous song about brats. Skillet’s opinion on illegal music downloads and still loving the audience for free. Officially becoming part of BarlowGirl. Hitting Aaron Shust in the head with my cowboy hat. Getting chastised by Mark Schultz for singing along to one of his songs that hasn’t been released yet. Dancing, jumping, singing, and worshipping with my arms around complete strangers. Singing two commercials with several hundred of my new “family members.” Following Peder Eide around as he moved from stage to stage. Except I had to look through my journal to remember all of those silly things.

The things I remember off of the top of my head are memories about closing my eyes singing and signing praises to God as raindrops fell softly onto my face and Phillips, Craig, and Dean led us in worship. Singing “Open the Eyes of My Heart” and having Peder Eide cut off the audience telling us only to sing if we really believed it and were aware of what we were singing. Watching Bob Lenz on the jumbotron saying, “God is bigger than your pains” as the beautiful sun set behind him. Singing hymns on Mountain Dew and confessing "Yes, I believe." Finally understanding how worship is truly "tasting and seeing that the Lord is good."

To anyone else, my Lifest may look like a let-down. I only went to 3 events not at the Grandstand. I waited in line for 2 Meet and Greets. Yet to me, it was worth every $2.50 bottle of water to sit outside in a sea of lawn chairs and read 1 Samuel in a new light. I will repeat “We’re family, and I love you,” to more strangers if it also means I can also shout “God is good. All the time.” A misconception that’s been stuck in my head for the last six years has finally disappeared, and praying for no rain for five days will never be the same.

How easily do we lose focus on what Lifest is all about? On what life itself is all about?