The Rain Keeps Falling

My friend Erik told me I HAD to check out this song.

Oh. my. goodness.

I wept and wept. Somehow this songwriter I had never met had put this season of my life into beautiful words. And then composed it into a simple and lovely melody.

Some of my greatest comfort comes in feeling understood. I feel that as I listen to this song.

The full lyrics are below. There are so many that catch my breath.

“I’m stuck in this tomb, and you won’t move the stone.”

“I’m dying to live, but I’m learning to wait.”

The whole last stanza melts me. Yes. yes. “Help me be brave tonight. Jesus, please help me out of this cave tonight.” Yes, Jesus, please.

Grab a chair, put on your headphones, and listen to a kindred soul. I pray your heart is captured too.

The Rain Keeps Falling by Andrew Peterson

I tried to be brave but I hid in the dark
I sat in that cave and I prayed for a spark
To light up all the pain that remained in my heart
And the rain kept falling

Down on the roof of the church where I cried
I could hear all the laughter and love and I tried
To get up and get out but a part of me died
And the rain kept falling down

Well I’m scared if I open myself to be known
I’ll be seen and despised and be left all alone
So I’m stuck in this tomb and you won’t move the stone
And the rain keeps falling

Somewhere the sun is a light in the sky
But I’m dying in North Carolina and I
Can’t believe there’s and end to this season of night
And the rain keeps falling down
Falling down
Falling down

There’s a woman at home and she’s praying for a light
My children are there and they love me in spite
Of the shadow I know that they see in my eyes
And the rain keeps falling

I’m so tired of this game, of these songs, of the rote
I’m already ashamed of the line I just wrote
But it’s true and it feels like I can’t sing a note
And the rain keeps falling down
Falling down
Falling down

Peace, be still
Peace, be still

My daughter and I put the seeds in the dirt
And every day now we’ve been watching the earth
For a sign that this death will give way to a birth
And the rain keeps falling

Down on the soil where the sorrow is laid
And the secret of life is igniting the grave
And I’m dying to live but I’m learning to wait
And the rain is falling

Peace, be still
Peace, be still

(Peace, be still)
I just want to be new again
(Peace, be still)
I just want to be closer to You again
(Peace, be still)
Lord, I can’t find the song
I’m so tired and I’m always so wrong
(Peace, be still)
Help me be brave tonight
Jesus, please help me out of this cave tonight
(Peace, be still)
I’ve been calling and calling
This rain just keeps falling
(Peace, be still)
I’ve been calling and calling
But this rain just keeps falling and falling
(Peace, be still)
Is it You
Is it You
(Peace, be still)
Is it true
Is it You
(Peace, peace)

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Running the Maze

I returned to work two weeks ago, and I’ve lost all rhythm.

My sabbatical afforded me the freedom of no schedule. I put in my day the things I wanted. The things I hoped would help me walk forward in darkness.

Then I jumped on a moving train.

My hope-speaking counselor kindly pointed out today I’ve stepped back into my numbing clothes. Convenient how busy-ness covers my hurt. My anger. My disappointment.

It was a hard truth to hear. The past six weeks have felt like climbing a wet, slippery mountain. It has taken all my energy to keep moving toward the summit. I do not want to slide down. I do not want to have to struggle up again. The work feels too much.

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I feel broken, and I’m not sure it’s in the best way. I feel so inadequate, so ill-prepared to go where I’m pretty sure hope resides. I know that sounds absurd. Tenacious used to describe me almost better than any word. There is so little energy left in me to keep pressing into the deep now.

The hope-speaking counselor suggested I stop running. He likened it to being in a maze, frantically searching for the way out. What would be more helpful would be just to sit down and be where I am. Why do I fear that so very much?

The maze feels as if it’s closing in again. I need space. I need arms to hold me up and a face to witness my tears. My courage is so very thin.

This is the place where I sit. The words that tumble into this space in the cyberworld are where I where I practice just being where I am.

I have less and less an idea of what the summit will be like, but I do believe hope lives there. I wish I had a nice ribbon to wrap around the now to make it easier to walk, and perhaps easier to read, but there is no ribbon right now. There is just mess. You are bearing witness to it all. Thank you. Thank you for sitting with me.

Scary Close

Have you read this book? You have to read it. It is life-changing good.

Scary Close

Several years ago Donald Miller was all the rage. I refused to jump on the bandwagon and didn’t read a word. Not fair, I know. I’m working on it.

Anyway, I read a lot during my sabbatical. This was hands down the best book I picked up. It’s one of the best books I’ve picked up all year. After I read it (in two days), Cody started in. He’s recommended it to everyone he knows too. We’re starting a fan club.

Why did I love it so much? It is gut-level honest. Miller puts into words the fears, the hang-ups, the longings we all know in our deepest places and yet so often choose to hide. Freedom resides in his honesty. I want it.

He speaks of intimacy. Soul-bearing, this-is-who-I-am intimacy. He speaks of health and its satisfaction. It made me want to work hard for the healing of my own wounds.

“Control is about fear. Intimacy is about risk.” pg. 106.

I love control. I hate risk. Ouch.

“Deception in any form kills intimacy.” pg. 103

Even the deception of editing who I really am.

“If our identity gets broken, it affects our ability to connect. And I wonder if we’re not all a lot better for each other than we previously thought. I know we’re not perfect, but I wonder how many people are withholding the love they could provide because they secretly believe they have fatal flaws.” pg. 129

Oh friends, I need you. I need you with all your flaws, just as I need to be needed with mine.

“It’s a hard thing to be human. It’s a very hard thing.” pg. 113.

Amen. And Amen.

“It costs personal fear to be authentic but the reward is integrity, and by that I mean a soul fully integrated, no difference between his act and his actual person.” pg. 65

I need some Scary Close friends. I need people who see me exactly as I am and love me. I need the space to practice being human.

Buy this book. Buy two copies, so you can give one away. I believe God dwells in intimacy. I believe that is where our hearts learn to long for the glory for which we were created. I also believe that is how God chooses to breathe healing. My heart grew a little braver as I read Miller’s journey. I hope the same for you.

Sabbatical Learning

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Depression does not define me, but it will always be intertwined in my story.

Excruciating feelings and places of trauma I thought would kill me have not. I can be resilient, even when I’m convinced otherwise.

I long to know my feelings are of consequence, and yet, I don’t treat them as if they are.

A safe place breathes a freedom that is addicting. The desire for it is unquenchable.

Hope can be carried for another. Hope was held tightly for me, and I am overwhelmed with that gift.

I need people, desperately.

Help well-intended has suffocated. The Holy Spirit in me can be trusted.

Without knowing it and despite feeling otherwise, my voice was silenced. I feel the effort of climbing the mountain to free it again.

My crazy is not beyond the reach of grace.

God does see me. Just because He tarries to speak comfort does not mean He is not deeply moved by my grief.

There are times when tears can feel so, so good.

And sometimes, I have to open my eyes and realize I’m ok.