I can recall a simple comment an older gentleman had shared with me after hearing Lucrezio’s “Storybook” album. Well to be honest, I can’t remember his words exactly, but to paraphrase: “The music sounds like it’s coming from someone who has been through a lot.” Grateful that he was willing to identify the depth of raw emotion that pours through our music, I took this singular statement as a compliment. Though it also left me intrigued, for in reality, haven’t we all been through our own share of heartache? Haven’t we all “been through a lot”?
It seems my husband and I are yet again at another crossroads, and amidst the excitement, there is hurt. Granted, therein lies a spark of genuine emotion willing to fill the words of a new song or the gracious ear of my husband. Words are depth to me, and I do wonder if by only listening to lyrics I have written or blogs I have scribbled down, that you would take me as intensely serious, or my life to be fiercely overwhelming. In many ways I am, and if I were to tell you every story, you might be equally wearied. I write for the sake of depth, and I smile for the sake of relationship. So though you might find my interaction with others greeted by a beam and conversation accompanied by a laugh, I find that words at their deepest go beyond the smirks and into the souls. When writing, there is no one with whom I am laughing, so I cut straight to the heart, and often times where the heart is considered, there is a burden. A burden surrounded by joys, perhaps, and in some seasons the journey is more prominently lush forest than dry desert, but an ache nonetheless. An ache in circumstances; an ache challenging character; though if nothing else, may there always be an ache for someone outside of self; whether friend or foe.
We, at the core of our human nature, are so desperate to find comfort, to love life, that we suppress the very humanness that makes us truly come alive. Have you seen what relationships look like that are so close in proximity and yet so far in understanding? Allow me to paint a picture for you. Words flow out of people’s mouths, but heartbeats are stagnant. Mirrors are prominent with “selfie-reflections”, while windows are closed off to outward impressions. There rings clearly a craving for love from every corner, and yet because everyone wants, no one will give. Instead mouths are filled with obvious tensions, while silence depletes the needs gone unmentioned. With laughter only ignorance abounds, leaving in its shadow the cheer that erupts from a heart deeply known. The more I witness this, the more I wonder, do they really not know that hurt grows only deeper when ignored, and mocked when covered over by casual conversation, with a cigarette and a bottle of beer to complete the ensemble of desperation?
One would think it takes courage to stare down needs and rise above them, or even courage to face the aches with the intent to unravel them. Courage does have its place, but not for the profit of strength. Rather, courage comes for the benefit of humility; to recognize that you are just as broken as even your enemy and your needs cannot be satisfied until you are willing to submit to the needs of others. Listen. It’s a beautiful place to start. Simply ask and listen to those around you, to those you’ve ignored, to those with whom you’ve complained or gossiped, to those you have hurt and to those who have hurt you. True, I did just share with you how I love to write, and that is often a one-sided conversation in which I hear my own voice. Though I think about the comment of that one gentleman, and I think about the immense amount of joy that has encompassed my journey, wondering why then the words would seem to come out so sad. Certainly I have deep heartache of my own, though perhaps, while joys are incredibly strong, aches too are richly deep upon hearing the needs of others even without being told. In writing I share my own burdens, but in listening I can write the words that others haven’t yet even known to speak. The words they are choosing to forego for the sake of self-comfort, and devastatingly at the loss of humility’s perseverance. That realization alone is a grievance, and to interact with the broken when they won’t even honor their brokenness is like watching a young bird try to fly with a thread attached to the tip of his wing. Oh but once that string is cut, and the plummeting feathers tumble to the earth, how sweet the ascension to cleaner air and heights otherwise unseen had it not been for a humble plunge into unsung depths.