How I (still) Need...

Tuesday night, my eyes damp and my heart heavy, I read John 11. A certain verse, the shortest verse in the whole Bible, in fact, stuck out to me: “Jesus wept.” Out of context, that’s a nice enough verse. It shows Jesus’ soft side and all of that. But Tuesday night I noticed why he was weeping. He was joining in Mary and Martha’s sorrow over the death of their brother Lazarus. The amazing thing about this scene, though, is that Jesus ends up raising Lazarus from the dead. From the get-go, he knows that it’s all going to turn out okay, but yet he cries anyway, compelled by the tears of these women.

This story was particularly potent for me the other night as, just before opening that book, the tears had been falling. (Yeah, those days of me not being able to cry anymore are long gone.) Cindy Morgan just released a new album, and I was listening to the new tunes in my bedroom, windows open to the spring air, my spirit grieving yet hopeful.

I’m not quite sure why, but I’ve been a bit of an emotional wreck since Beth and I returned from Minnesota on Monday. I don't really get it. It was a really great trip. It was fun staying with Angie and meeting her new boyfriend, Mike. I got to see a great show at the Guthrie Theatre, which is the most amazing theatre I’ve ever stepped foot in. I got to see Christina, and Tauna, and met Tauna’s new boyfriend, Erik. Natalee had a fun going away party on Saturday night that involved bingo at Mystic Lake, Twister, and some Seinfeld. And on Sunday I got to spend the day with the Lindemeiers. Man, I love Angie’s family. It’s like home there. French toast, Scrabble, a hot tub, and a little bit of Lindemeier lovin' make for a great day, even if the Cleveland Cavaliers did lose the final game in the NBA playoffs.

But for all of the goodness of the little mini-vacation, it somehow left my heart sad. I don’t know why, really. Maybe it’s because Beth and I listened to part of Blue Like Jazz on the ride home, and Donald Miller always gets my head spinning, my heart aching, and my feet a bit antsy. I don’t know. Whatever the reasons, it’s been an emotional couple of days.

Cindy Morgan and I go way back. One of the very first cassette tapes I ever bought, back in about 1995, was her album Under the Waterfall. She immediately became my favorite singer, and hasn't really strayed from that position in all these 13 years since. Her album Listen is and always will be my favorite CD. By anyone. Ever. It's good, good stuff. I think the reason I connect with Cindy Morgan's music so deeply is because of her melancholy spirit. Even though she has a fair number of spirited, happy songs to her credit, the majority of her songs have dark, sorrowful undertones. Even amidst all of the hope of the Christian life, she rarely strays far from the deep, sad longing that never really quite goes away, even with Jesus.

Many of her songs are full of insecurity. She's sensitive to all the ways that the world can break girls up before we even have a chance to fight back. I've always connected with that, felt empowered by her ballads about how deeply God loves me, even if I don't fit in. That's part of why I was crying on Tuesday night. Some of the same insecurities I cried about when I was 12 while listening to that first cassette still remain now, at 25, as I listen to this new batch of songs. On the one hand, that's scary. 13 years, and the struggles remain. Will they ever go away? On the other hand, it's comforting. Jesus cried with me then, when I was a sad, broken, goofy little middle schooler, and He still cries with me now, as a sad, broken, goofy little twentysomething. He hasn't let me go yet, and He's not going to, either.

So that verse about Jesus weeping really moved me. I don't understand this faith thing. In fact, I'm going through my annual 'crisis of faith' these days. I don't plan this, but it seems to happen every summer that I re-evaluate what I believe and why. It's painful wrestling with this stuff, but I know it's refining. So even though I am far from having it all figured out, I couldn't shake this thing even if I wanted to.

The video at the start of this blog is an old Cindy Morgan song from 1993. I just found it online yesterday, and I'm so happy to be able to share it with you. It is what I always picture eternity to look like.

God bless us, everyone!

I know May is an odd time for me to be reflecting on my "Christmas Carol" years, but I am. Spring is presenting itself in full splendor out the kitchen window, yet here I sit reminiscing about three Christmas spirits and a little boy named Tiny Tim.

My life in the arts essentially begins with little Tim. It was 1991. My mom read something in the Amana Bulletin about auditions for the childrens' roles in an upcoming production of A Christmas Carol and decided to take me over to the Amana Visitor's Center to try out. I knew nothing of this book/play. I figured it was about people singing Christmas songs a lot with a midget named Tim. I was nine. None of us knew that this one audition would have such a huge impact on our family for the next decade and beyond.

The show was put on by the Old Creamery Theatre, a professional theater company formerly based out of Garrison, Iowa, that moved to the Amanas in the early 90's (I think). In 1991, as a 4th grader, I got cast as Tiny Tim. I had short hair. The following year, Natalie, as a 2nd grader, played the role. The year after that, Nancy, at only 4 years old, graced the stage in all of the "street scenes". We were in that show every year until 1999, and it was magical. We would do probably up to 20-30 shows per season. It was the center of our Christmas season. We even got to miss school on occassion to do matinee performances for area elementary schools. I felt like a star.

There are countless tales in our family about various cast members, backstage antics, and Christmas parties at the Cedar Rapids Sheraton. They are without a doubt among the fondest memories of my life. They created an interest in theater that has obviously stuck around- for all three of us!

I get goosebumps thinking about how it felt backstage each night, dressed in the garb of 19th Century London, waiting for our first cues as we heard the opening line: "Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. Marley was as dead as a doornail. Mind, I don't know what is particularly dead about a doornail. Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and Marley were partners for I don't know how many years..." I could go on and on. After nine years of an average of 20 performances a year, I have the entire play pretty much memorized.

The last year for the show was 1999, my senior year of high school. Natalie and I were double cast that year because of school commitments, so I watched her perform in the very last performance. Those infamous words were uttered from Tiny Tim's lips, and "Joy to the World" began amidst all of the applause, and I was heartbroken, in a sense. I know this is cheesy, but it's true: It was the end of an era.

The reason I bring all this up now is that this week, the former Producing Director of the Creamery, Tom Johnson, came to Omaha to serve on my grant review panels at the Arts Council. I felt like I had truly come full circle. Tom essentially is the guy who got me started in the arts all those years ago, so it was really fun having him at my office for a few days, seeing me at work in the early years of my arts administration career.

We went to dinner both Tuesday and Thursday nights and had some really delightful conversations. We reminisced about all those Christmas Carol years, talked about the grant review panels at hand, and also looked to the future. He told me all about the new theater company he's starting with his wife, Meg (who was on stage with us for every single show all those nine years), and he challenged me in terms of my future, too. He asked me where I see myself in five years, and I honestly couldn't say. Up to this point, as far as my career is concerned, I haven't predicted a single move. This whole Arts Council thing pretty much fell in my lap (three separate times, actually), and I couldn't be more grateful. So I find it hard to even try to predict what the next five years will hold. But he really got me thinking... this twentysomething business has been so angst-ridden so far. It's terrifying and exciting all at the same time.

Maybe I'll get a visit from the Ghost of Christmas Future one of these days and I'll get some answers. In the meantime, I'll just have to see where the good Lord leads...

Maifest is Your Fest!

This weekend I introduced Charlotte and Jenn to the wonderful world of Maifest. It was an exhausting weekend, and I'm still recovering, so in lieu of too much commentary, I present to you a photo narrative of our adventures in Amana:

It was sooooo cold Saturday morning at the parade!

Staci Mae came down from Cedar Rapids to join the fun.

Charlotte and Becky with the present they got Jenn at the Millstream Brewery for her birthday.

The weather warmed up...

...so we went to Schatzi's, now owned by Uncle Bruce, for some ice cream! For more about Schatzi's Opening Day, check out his blog.

"H B-Day, J!" That's all the birthday greeting my dad had chocolate chips for!

Me and Kristie at the old-fashioned baseball game yesterday. The teams were those from Middle Amana against everyone else. The Mittlers beat the Auslanders. Sad.

Und das ist alles.