words and music

[lizibailey]

Honesty

I have encountered quite a few Christians who seem to believe it is not ok to not be ok. This bothers me. I hate fake happiness. I want real and I want honest. Jesus intends us to become FULLY human, not less so, and emotional expression is definitely a very decidedly human experience. I am not talking about being ruled by your feelings here, but honest emotional expression is very biblical and a huge part of how we are made.

In Psalm 102 we see the writer (quite dramatically) expressing how he feels.

For example:

I am like a lonely sparrow on the housetop.

My bones burn like a furnace.

Because of my loud groaning, my bones cling to my flesh.

I eat ashes like bread and mingle my tears with my drink (perhaps this inspired the song “There’s a tear in my beer”?).

This is not faking, or repression, or saying, “Everything happens for a reason”.

This is real, raw, from the gut kind of honesty. Thank God we can be real with what we are feeling! Psalm 62:8 says, “Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us.”

But wait! The writer doesn’t camp out there, in the groaning and the burning bones. He moves forward to remembering who His God is. Verse 12 says, “But you, O Lord, are enthroned forever…”

He starts talking to himself about what God is like and what he has done in the past. He reminds himself of God’s faithfulness.

So we have both raw human pain and honest expression of how that feels AND telling the truth about the BIGGEST reality to our souls.

I love this balance. We live in the tension of already and not yet. Yes, God wins ultimately! Yes, he is making will make all things new! Yes, we fight for joy! Yes, we will see him face to face and He will redeem everything! However, the world we walk around in is still very broken and sad and scary and disappointing at times. And we can tell the truth about that. We can lament our weakness, hurt, loss, loneliness and failure and then turn around and say, “BUT YOU, O LORD are enthroned forever!”

I’m not sure how much time passes between the lamenting and movement toward remembering and worship, it probably varies a lot from person to person and depends on how deep the grief goes.

Anyway, this is a beautiful and messy and very human experience. This is walking in hope and in reality.

I don’t think faking helps anybody, least of all those who are looking for evidence that Jesus is real and actually changes people’s lives for the better. Here’s to more and more truth telling and honesty in all things.

[lizibailey]

It is finished

I know there is something wrong with me. I feel compelled to hide. This has been since the beginning. This feeling of being wrong compels me to look for those who will tell me I am right. Tell me I am ok. Tell me I am good. Accepted. Approved of. I look around to see if I am the only one. I compare myself to others and ask, you too? I am jealous of those who seem not to be plagued by the awareness of this nameless deficiency. I compensate by doing things that make me feel less wrong, like: Making my appearance more appealing to others Performing activities that others approve and affirm me for Doing whatever makes me forget the deficiency But it is always there. Maybe I’m ok, actually. If enough people say a thing, does that make it true? Why do I need others to say I am good? My own assessment of my condition should be enough! I don’t need those people! And yet, my own words feel hollow. Like I am borrowing someone else’s words. I am desperate for the words of another. I need a witness. I need someone with power to pronounce me good, and accepted, I long for approval. There is one who created and pronounced what he had created good. And it was good. It was good because he said it was. And he had authority. He invented the cosmos, after all. Not just anyone can pronounce, you see. You need someone “with authority vested in me” to pronounce you man and wife. You can’t just decide to be a citizen of the United States. The state authority has to pronounce you a citizen. To pronounce is to make something be true. It is a word that is simultaneous with an action. A word that performs an action. A word that is inseparable from an action. All the Creator’s words are thus. Jesus pronounced ‘It is finished.’ Words uttered while performing an action. And it was finished. What was finished? The striving. The hiding. The constantly looking for others to pronounce me good. His words supersede all others. They are final. It is finished meant that even though He pronounced us good in the beginning, we chose not to align our hearts with his design, which set in motion the trying and failing to live successfully in a world made by a loving creator without aligning ourselves with his original design. And so there is something wrong with us. And we feel it in our souls as well as our dying bodies. We are like fish on the freeway. Trying to be what we were never intended to be. We experience the absurdity of such a task. The futility. There is freedom in honoring the design for which we were created. When Jesus pronounced it finished, he was saying, I’ve done what was required to make you right again. You are forgiven. I’ve put the fish back in the ocean and now she can swim. You can come home. You can rest now, and be my child. The same one who said, “Let there be light” and there was light, said, “It is finished.” So, let it be.

[lizibailey]

advent

It is gray outside and I am tired. My shoulders are aching. I had a huge argument about money with Matthew last night and I do not feel like saying good morning. I don’t want to do mom things. What I want is to stay in bed. Marriage is hard. Parenting is hard. Being human is hard. I feel the separation. My brokenness. I am weak. I do not feel joy and it is December! How long, O Lord? When will you restore? When will I see you? When will my children get along? When will they choose not to be selfish? When will I? When will there be rest? Ah, Lord. This is very hard! We misunderstand each other. We are wounded and so we wound. We are frustrated, so we frustrate. We are harassed and helpless. In the fullness of time, you came. In the fullness of time, you will come. We waited, and we wait.

I feel the unraveling, the single thread that does not seem to be part of a larger masterpiece. The thread is knotted, tangled, or blown around by the wind, aimless. The seed fell to the ground and from appearances, is dead as a doornail, and it feels awful and pointless. We grow weary in doing good. Is this a joke? Are we just thrown down here to suffer, to wander aimlessly? To experience violence and loneliness and ignorance and futility? Or are you aware? Are you whispering to stay in the story, telling us it is not yet finished? Because the view doesn’t look so great from here. In the fullness of time, You came. The author of the book stepped into the story! You felt the stinging wind and the ache of separation. You walked our streets and listened to our songs, danced at our weddings and wept at our funerals. You slept on the hard ground had sore feet and an aching back. You felt the violence of betrayal and the violence of a whip. Your own brothers assumed you were a mentally unstable poser with a god-complex. You sighed. You were frustrated. You experienced loneliness.

The word became flesh and dwelt among us. Us. Absurd as we are. The king got off the throne and sat down at the kids’ table.

Surely he has borne our weakness and carried our sorrow. He is acquainted with grief….He was, in every sense, a human. He showed us how to be human. He does not ask us to deny the difficulties we surely experience. He asks us to believe that He has rescued us from the futility and hopelessness that was formerly our inheritance and to stay in the story til the final chapter where He will finally and completely make all things new. He invites us to hope. All is well and all shall be well.

Each time I embrace even when there is hurt, each time I really SEE someone, see that they are fellow travelers, weak and sometimes weary like me and at the same time sacred and immortal souls made by God, each time I extend the same grace I have received, when I wade into the swamp of broken humanity when everything in me wants to run the other way, when I call forth beauty from chaos, when I use words to give life rather than take it, I am imitating my Savior. I am reversing the curse. I am participating in the making of all things new. I am reflecting my father. I am living like His kingdom has come. On earth as it is in Heaven.

This Advent season, I do not want a forced cheerfulness or warm fuzzy feelings based on silly things. I want to be fully immersed in the wonder of God with Us. God with me. God who understands and comforts and stays with me on this journey to become human. God who wants not my religious duty, but wants to turn everything dead in me to life. Scriptures to think on But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. Galatians 4:4-5 For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with us in our weaknesses, but we have one who was tempted in every way we are, yet was without sin. Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need. Hebrews 4:15-16 For from His fullness we have all received grace upon grace. John 1:16 Behold, I am making all things new –Revelation 21:5

[lizibailey]

on hope

I want mountains and rivers and birds singing and sunshine on my face.

Sometimes I experience those things and I sigh. Yes, this is good. I feel peace. My soul is singing with you, birds! But I live in the suburbs of Houston and I just talked with a friend whose heart is broken because she hasn’t been able to have a baby. Another whose baby is in Heaven. Another who is constantly stressed because she is trying desperately to provide for three kids by herself. Yesterday a friend had an accident at work and knocked out several teeth. The home of a couple in their eighties burned to the ground two days ago. They don’t have teeth at present because they didn’t even have time to grab their dentures on the way out the window when they were escaping the fire. A newly married couple is in shock because marriage is not what Instagram told them it would be. I am tired and my left eye is blurry this morning for some reason. Things are not as they should be.

Can you feel it?

God, do you feel it? We’re such a disaster!

He does, I’m sure. He knows we are in the in between. We are not home yet. Sometimes we get birds and mountains and sometimes we weep and wail for injustice and loss and we’re frustrated that everything is so HARD. It’s hard being human, my friend once said.

Jesus wouldn’t have praised those who ENDURE if it was easy. You don’t endure easy. It’s just He knows that what is coming is so good. Unimaginably good. No eye has seen, no ear has heard. The thing that enables us to stand up under difficult things is hope. An anchor for the soul. So, when our souls feel like they are coming undone and we are drifting wildly, we hope. This is not wishful thinking; this is telling our souls what we know to be true. We remind ourselves that this is not the end of the story. Somehow the good that is to come will be better for the sadness we have endured. Sort of how we have these insanely hot days in Houston that feel endless but they do eventually give way to cool, crisp, DRY January days. And we can hardly believe it! Everybody gets euphoric on those days. Or when you’ve been sick for a while and you get well and the wellness is just indescribably amazing. You forgot what it was like to feel GOOD. I think we need opposites to understand things. Would a cool breeze feel as wonderful if you weren’t hot and sweaty in the first place? Because I have been a selfish jerk and hurt people with my choices and generally blown it in my life, grace is so sweet. It makes me weep that Jesus loves me so much that He endured hell for the sake of my soul because I KNOW I do not deserve it. Because my marriage has been in barren and burned places, the sweet times we have now, when our souls come alive together, are truly breathtaking. It feels like a miracle. This is the start of things made new. And if what Jesus said is true, then these experiences are just a taste of what is coming. It doesn’t mean we fake it, though. It doesn’t mean the hard places are not hard. We still experience unbelievable pain. And we cry and lament and feel the weight of the not yet. We keep running to the Refuge. And hope is there beside us like a faithful companion, whispering truth--this is not meaningless. Nothing is wasted. The Creator is creating again, as He always does, something beautiful, even though the threads feel frayed and tangled and pointless. They ARE NOT.

Let the anchor secure your soul.

You don’t have to deny the hurt you feel, the sorrow of loss, illness, broken teeth or broken relationships, but you don’t have to let it define you, either. What Jesus has done and what Jesus will do is still the biggest reality. Trust Him. Even when your soul feels like it is flayed out on the table of sacrifice. He knows how that feels, too, and He knows the infinite good that can come from a life surrendered to the Redeemer of All Things. So, don’t give up. Keep tugging on His sleeve and asking for illumination. And wait, with hope. He is not finished. Neither are you.

For when God made a promise to Abraham, since he had no one greater by whom to swear, he swore by himself, 14 saying, “Surely I will bless you and multiply you.” 15 And thus Abraham,[b] having patiently waited, obtained the promise. 16 For people swear by something greater than themselves, and in all their disputes an oath is final for confirmation. 17 So when God desired to show more convincingly to the heirs of the promise the unchangeable character of his purpose, he guaranteed it with an oath, 18 so that by two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us. 19 We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, 20 where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever after the order of Melchizedek. –Hebrews 6.13-20 Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.- Hebrews 10.23

“What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, 

nor the heart of man imagined,

what God has prepared for those who love him”—1 Corinthians 2.9 

He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will deliver us again. -2 Corinthians 1.10

[lizibailey]

on hurricanes and empathy

Several years ago, I experienced the most difficult season of my life. I was empty spiritually, my marriage was in shambles and I had generally blown it in various ways. A lot of people knew about my situation, but one friend moved in. Not literally, but almost. This friend called every day. Every day. 

How are you feeling?  I love you.

She didn’t wait to be invited. She and her husband bought my husband and I plane tickets so we could come and visit (she lived out of state) and just rest and process things together. It was not a pushy or awkward thing; just an “I care about you and I am going to walk right beside you through this until you are better.” I can’t really express what that meant. How transformational it was for me. My pain in those days was largely self-induced. But that didn’t matter to my friend. Pain is pain, I think, whether we bring it upon ourselves or it comes to us from outside circumstances. I think it is natural when we know someone who has failed or experienced grief or tragedy to withdraw. We don’t know what to say. We feel uncomfortable. My friend taught me otherwise. She taught me to just do it. Just show up. Just text. Just call. Just send food. Just do something. You don’t have to have the right words. Your presence speaks.

  The last two weeks in Houston have been an absolute nightmare for hundreds of thousands of people. Hurricane Harvey wreaked havoc all over South Texas. I’ve been in the flood-decimated homes of strangers and looked into eyes that are weary and shocked and sad and unsure of what is next. And I’ve seen people move in; they just show up with hammers and wheelbarrows and tools and bleach to help. They open their own homes. They collect laundry from people they don’t know and return it all done. They share what they have with those who have lost everything. They cook and deliver food to people who are working so hard and haven’t rested. It is not enough in these times to say “Let me know if you need something.” People rarely do. Because of what my friend taught me about grief, I can hug strangers and say, “I’m so sorry for all of this. I know it’s hard. I want to help.”

The friend I mentioned before told me once, “Love moves.” Love cannot stay safe and dry when people are flooded and in trouble. Love leaves the safe and rescues and helps and walks beside. We are made for this. To grieve is human. To experience loss is human. But it is much easier to bear if we know we are not alone. The people of Houston (and beyond) have shown me how capable we humans are of beautiful actions. Selfless actions. Actions that don’t care about politics or race or background. It is world-changing. Love always is. Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep. –Romans 12.15

[lizibailey]

the thief

Last night I fell asleep at 9:30 with makeup still on and teeth unbrushed. This is significant because I always wash my face before bed and brush my teeth several times per day. But last night I did not care. I wanted to go to sleep because sleep is an escape from my mind, which has been tormenting me for a week. My family and I went to Colorado for vacation. We explored and hiked and saw beautiful things. All my favorites. On the last day before returning home, we did one of the most glorious hikes we’ve ever done. Hanging Lake. It’s a steep climb (not too steep that our kids couldn’t manage, but tough) of over a mile each way. Near the top there is a pristine, turquoise lake with lots of small waterfalls pouring in and out. It is spectacularly beautiful. Many hikers stop there, but if you choose, you can go a little further up, and there is another lovely spot called Spouting Rock, with a larger waterfall. That’s the very top. We decided to go to the top. Matthew and everyone but Sunny and me made it up first. As we were excitedly joining them, Silas, my 13 year old, came running toward me. His face was ashen. He said something I couldn’t understand and took off down the way we’d just come. I became concerned. We entered the area. Matthew and another man were kneeling over someone, and Ezra, my oldest son, had his arms around our other two girls standing near the waterfall. They were sobbing. Right before we walked up, my family and a woman and her son had been playing around the falls. The boy was jubilant, yelling “best day ever!” and congratulating his mom on making it all the way up. He was walking across the large rocks near the falls and slipped. He hit his head and was now unconscious. Matthew took off his own shirt and they put it over a bloody area on the boy’s face, then he ran down to try to find someone who had cell signal and could call 911. The other man began trying to do CPR. I told Ezra to take our girls away and I stayed with the mother, who was losing her mind, understandably. I’ve never felt such panic. Or such helplessness. The boy was completely limp and unresponsive. There was a lot of blood. There was a gaping wound on the top of his head. I prayed, crying out, begging God to do something, to save this baby, to wake him up. I rubbed his mother’s back, a stranger, but I could feel her agony, her shock and disbelief. She kept looking at me and the man who was trying so desperately to help her son, with the most confused expression, as if to say, “Is this real?” It felt like a sick joke. We wailed. The boy’s body convulsed and he vomited blood several times. She called his name. Can you hear me? Please come back. The man continued to attempt CPR. She asked me to go find more people who could help with CPR, so I ran down, yelling for help. Several hikers hurried up, one was a nurse. I went to my girls and Ezra, crying and hugging. “Is he ok?” they asked. “I don’t know.” I didn’t want to leave my kids, so we started going down the mountain. We met Matthew and then Silas about half way down. Silas fell apart as soon as he saw us. He was so tired after running all the way down and back up to find us. Medics started climbing then, with their equipment. I thought about how long they had had to wait because of the inaccessibility of the area. It was too long. And it didn’t matter anyway. Blunt force trauma. Nothing anyone did made a difference. The boy died. His name is Noah. He was 8 years old. Noah is never far from my thoughts, nor is his mother. I keep seeing his small hand flopping to ground, lifelessly. I keep seeing the blood on the rocks. I keep hearing his mom’s anguished cries. It feels like too much. I know accidents happen every day. But to come face to face with death in that way, I still can’t really take it in. Death is a thief. It snatches, with no warning. And we reel. And wail. There is no way to make sense of something like this. No way to tidily explain it. No parent should have to watch their child die seconds after they watched him playing in a waterfall. My mind feels like a vortex of chaos and questions. I remember that God knows how that mother feels. He watched his own son suffer violence and brutality. He watched the life go out. He knew the chaos we were stuck in. He knew the risks involved with living in this messed up place. He knew well our helplessness. That’s why he stepped in and offered his own son willingly, as a sacrifice for us. Because justice must be satisfied. And the resurrection proved He has beaten death. And because of that sacrifice, Aaron and Lisa can have assurance that they will see their son again; that he is well now, alive and whole. It is right to rail against death. I hate it with every fiber of my being. We were not made for it. But it will not terrorize forever. It will not win in the end. There is one who is stronger, and He knows how to make things new. All things. I cling to this hope. And so, I got out of bed this morning, even though I felt like sleeping all day. I will choose to walk out this hope. With my kids, with my community, with whoever I meet. I pray for Aaron and Lisa and their family. Life is short, and very fragile. We are not guaranteed a single moment. Each one is a gift. I want to live it well, for however many days I am given.

[lizibailey]

on identity

I am, doubtless, afflicted with the disease of overthinking. Nothing is ever outside the realm of mental scrutiny, and it gets extremely tiresome. However, I am striving to embrace this situation and let it be whatever it should in the best case scenario for me. Case in point: This morning, a sentence I read (ONE sentence) on some form of social media sent my mind down a trail of riotous and mutinous thoughts, which in turn grabbed my emotions and started to drag them along for the ride, which in turn caused my face to respond with an unpleasant expression and the tone of my voice began to reflect my riotous emotions as I spoke to my children. Now, what in the hell just happened?!, I ask myself. Here are some of the flying thoughts: (Insert name) has more value than me because we have similar talent levels, but she is way more successful and way more people appreciate and enjoy her talent. If I could do (insert activity), I would feel better. I am a failure at music because only (insert number) people appear to appreciate my music. I am a fraud who has been fooling myself into thinking I could be successful at music. I am average. I am not useful, therefore I am worthless. I am not extraordinary enough. I want to do something extraordinary not because I enjoy the thing itself, but because then everyone would know I am awesome and important and I would, in turn, feel happy and fulfilled. It becomes a hurricane of poo in my mind now, and I am questioning everything and worrying about getting old and not being able to pay the bills because I do not make enough money because I am not talented enough and no one cares about me anymore because I am not extraordinary. Thank God my husband is a professional counselor and can do that when he is old (assuming we both make it that long because we might die young) and hopefully he can pay for my life at that point, because as far as I know there are no elderly worship leaders. Also, add into the equation now the fact that I am witnessing the thought/emotion/action hurricane and despairing about the brokenness in myself and I am supposed to be someone who has some stuff together. I am now upset that I am upset. I escape to a quiet place and write because when my thoughts go nuts I cannot make any sense unless I am physically writing. I ask why. Why do I want people to think I am awesome? Because then I could easily feel gratified and important. Why do I want so desperately to matter? It seems everyone does. What if I fail? I very well might. When will it be enough success, enough admiration, enough praise? Never. I lay all the crazed and unchecked thoughts out on the paper and begin to breathe. Help me. I cannot even get through breakfast without losing it. I remember what is true. Yes, indeed, I am broken. Sick. Diseased, even. Helpless. Confused. Envious. Covetous. Definitely not right. That is the bad news. But there is good news. Such good news. There is a healer. There is a remedy. And he loves me so deeply. He knew how nuts I would be, how selfish, how weak, how desperate. How mixed up. And he still pulled the trigger. He still made this universe with all us messed up creatures, knowing what securing our freedom would cost him. He decided it was worth it, because he wanted us. He loves me. He likes me, even. There is great mystery in this. And He made me with such care. Eyes, ears, hands, feet, heart, lungs. I can breathe. Thank you for life. Thank you for grace. Thank you for loving me. On to my daughter’s 5th grade graduation. Also, no social media before breakfast.

[lizibailey]

Lizi Bailey - Falling Down (Acoustic - Live)

Live acoustic performance of ‘Falling Down' twitter: https://twitter.com/lizibailey facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LiziBaileyMusic more info at: http://l...

[lizibailey]

on failure

Humans do not like to fail. We like for people to think we’re awesome. WE like to think we’re awesome. But the reality is, we all blow it at some point. It can look a myriad of different ways. We make terrible decisions. We hurt people. We hurt ourselves. When we are confronted with the truth of what we’ve done, we can respond several different ways. Denial. Excuses. Blaming. Escape. Or we can fall. We can say, YES, I was wrong and here is how. But falling is scary as hell. It can feel like death. But, remember, with our maker, He MAKES and death never has to be the end. After all, we cannot heal until we know we’re sick. Years ago one of my favorite artists, Imogen Heap, wrote a song called “Beauty in the Breakdown”. I’m crazy about that title. There is beauty there. There is always beauty in telling the truth and the truth makes us free. So, I wrote a song called “falling down” from a place of realization and brokenness. I had made some really stupid decisions. I hurt people. I hurt myself. And I knew I needed to fall. I had this visual image of myself trying to hold a glass that was shattered. I couldn’t. I had to drop it. And I did and there was pain and it felt like death. But… Death led to life and resurrection and our God makes all things new. It is a deep and unexplainable mystery how He does this, but He did and He does. But we must give voice to the pain and the death and the struggle to surrender. To let go. That is why the song. I am posting the lyrics here: Much love to you all! Falling Down Look around at this house that burned down here I sit on this ground in the ashes And the light hits my eyes and I finally realize I just got everything wrong and it hurts When the nails pierce the skin and this death settles into my soul And I cry out for a pain and for all of this gain that was Only a shadow I am breaking down Could it be that you’re making me real That this knife cuts to heal deep inside And the crazy thing is I won’t live til I die And I never will see til I know I am blind Are you here? Are you good are you kind cause you’re searing my eyes with the truth I’m an expert at wanting the wrong things And grasping with these sticky hands But it pushes me down and it steals all my soul with the getting I am breaking down I am falling down I would be free but it means letting go and I’m so terrified of losing my hold And how can I know that I know that I know that you’ll catch me Now I see that I’m broken and torn and I need to be born once again Cause I’m jealous and nervous and tied up in knots and I’m clinging to nothing that tells me I’m not just a no one And I’m tired of holding me up I’m so tired of holding me up If I fall will you catch me? And if I break, if I break Will you put me back again

[lizibailey]

on learning to be human

I was born less than fully human.

Inherited blindness and a will to rebel kept me from seeing things as they are. Like Pinocchio, a puppet, influenced by the will of another. Reality was veiled. 

I wanted  freedom, wanted to be fully human, fully alive, but I kept coming up empty, trying to satisfy my soul-hunger to be truly known and truly loved. 

I knew things were broken and not as they should be. My own heart and everything I saw gave evidence to that. 

One day, I gave up. I realized I could not free myself, could not fix myself. I asked the One who made me to do it. I believed He was the only one who could. And He did and He is. 

Like all living things, I look to the Light and grow. I behold and become. 

I was made for freedom.

I was made to be fully known and completely loved. And I am. 

And I am learning to love.

And to forgive, because I know how much I have been forgiven.

I am tasting grace. 

I am learning that every soul is immortal and precious and dearly loved.

I look to the One who is love and believe and act like what He says is true, and I become human, as I was intended to be. 

Like Pinocchio, the truth makes me real. 

[lizibailey]

on covenant

I was just reading up on ancient covenant rituals.

In ancient times, covenants were a big deal. There was blood involved. People would literally slice their palms and intermingle their blood to symbolize the gravity of words they were uttering and the binding and permanent nature of their covenant. They would sacrifice animals. There were public vows. Agreements made between two people that they would do what they were agreeing to do or DIE.

Our modern world has lost some of the depth and gravity of the covenant making ceremony. We still make vows, but it just doesn't have the same sacred and somber sort of richness anymore. At least in my experience.

 I was lying on the ground in Idaho some years ago, thinking about vows, and thinking in particular about how I had broken mine. I had in fact done the opposite of loving, honoring, and cherishing my husband. I wanted out of the covenant. He did too. We were big fat failures.

But there were choices to make and by God's grace we were able to say NO to our tyrannical and riotous emotions, and YES to the black and white words of a God we couldn't see but believed could somehow sort out the mess we'd made. We knew choosing Him meant choosing each other. We had to ask impossible questions and go into deep places in our souls and figure out what the hell it was supposed to look like to love each other when we’d just burned the house down.

As I lay on the ground in Idaho, surrounded by stunningly beautiful mountains and rivers and blue sky and made that choice all over again, I wanted to DO something to symbolize the vow I was making, a promise that was coming from a place of much deeper understanding than when I first uttered the words as an 18 year old bride. When we got married, we didn't write our own vows. We used the ones that had worked for multitudes before us and those are certainly sufficient to get the job done. There is a timeless beauty in those words. But that day, I wanted to make my own. I would've sliced my palm and mingled blood had a knife been readily available.

I didn’t end up cutting myself, but I did write a song. It was my way of making the vow again. I am thankful to be able to tell you that we are having a good time keeping the vows; and plan to, by God’s grace, until death. By some miracle, I was given a man who knows me fully and still loves me.

I think we make love complicated in our minds sometimes. Boiled down, it’s just living out you before me. Your needs before mine. It is unselfish, which, of course, is the hardest part.

I watched my grandfather love my grandmother in the last years of her life, when, after suffering from Parkinson’s disease to such an extent, she no longer knew him. He would help her dress, and made sure she wore the right earrings and necklaces, because she was a woman who always took care to look nice. He would prepare her plate before his own at family dinners. He would sit beside her and hold her hand and explain what was going on when she became confused. He stayed when she gave him nothing. I am crying thinking about it, remembering that mighty love. Loving that way makes us more fully human than anything else, I think. I am learning, always.

Here are the lyrics to the song that is a vow and you can hear it, if you like, on a live video at www.facebook.com/LiziBaileyMusic

 Let these grasses come and cover me, cover me

Let the sun burn up my memory

Let me sink into the ocean blue

If I ever leave you

 May the wind forget it knew my name, knew my name

May this river flow upon my face

May I never hear the voice of the moon

If I ever leave you

 May the sky cause me to disappear, disappear

May there never be a sound I hear

May these mountains fall upon me too

If I ever leave you

 Let me fall until the end of time, end of time

Let there be no peace for me to find

Let this heart forget its rhythm too

If I ever leave you

[lizibailey]

on fear

Ever heard of Balaam’s ass? I remember being a kid and giggling about the older church folks referring to a story in the Bible that way. Anyhoo, it’s an amazing story from the book of Numbers and it goes like this:

There was a local prophet named Balaam who was solicited by King Balak to pronounce a curse on those weird people who followed One God, the Israelites. It is a fascinating account, and at one point in the story, Balaam is about to act out of fear and say what the king wants him to say, even though God told him not to even entertain the notion (kings are powerful and they don’t like it when you do the opposite of what they order), so Balaam’s DONKEY, who could see what Balaam could not, refused to keep walking down a path that was leading toward a bad end, so Balaam beats the donkey, and God allows the donkey to SPEAK (I always hear him say it in Eddie Murphey’s voice) and ask, “WHY ARE HITTING ME I’M SAVING YOUR LIFE?!”

It’s a great story.

In the end, Balaam’s eyes are opened and he sees the bigger reality and realizes there is no way he can say anything but what the true God wants him to say (or he would very literally die), and that is to BLESS the Israelites, instead of cursing them. There is a sentence that recounts what Balaam actually said that I keep thinking about and it is this:

“the oracle of him who hears the words of God, who sees the vision of the Almighty, falling down with his eyes uncovered” –Numbers 24:4

That phrase “eyes uncovered” is so good. He saw through. He was given the crazy gift of seeing past the immediate, physical world into a much greater reality, and he very quickly changed his mind and acted according to THAT reality, instead of the seemingly safer, smarter move he was about to make. The spell was broken. His eyes were uncovered.

I was thinking about covered eyes, and that spell. It’s still over the whole world and each of us. If I had to put a word on it, I’d say the name of the spell is Fear. It’s a way of thinking that says… “what I see, hear, feel, taste, etc, that is the biggest reality”. The ultimate fear is death itself. Therefore, I will be cautious. Watch my back. Avoid discomfort. Put a lot of importance on what people around me think and say. Play it safe. Don’t think about death. Make myself happy.It’s the natural way to think, really. The world around us is loud and demanding and it presses in on us. The spell is strong. 

I mean, it’s kind of nuts to walk around like it’s the Matrix and there’s this whole other reality and most people’s eyes are still covered up and they can’t see but I KNOW there is something else and I believe it’s the greater and MORE REAL reality and so I’m going to act differently than most people. And maybe look foolish sometimes, depending on how you see things. I’m going to find out what the One Who Is In Charge of Everything, who invented me and everything else, says and get in line with that.

I think this is what faith looks like.

Living under the spell of fear is really no way to live. There’s worry. There’s a lot of checking to make sure we’re doing stuff right. It’s less. It’s sort of a crouching down, as opposed to standing up. It is less than we were made for. It’s a kind of “settling for”. I don’t want to settle. I want to live without fear. We were made for freedom.

There was a guy named Saul whose eyes were covered up and he was just going about his business, doing some terrible things to people, and one day his eyes were opened and he saw, and heard the truth. The spell was broken when he believed it. And his name changed and his life changed and he went on to live an epic and fearless life. And he knew we would need help seeing. And he prayed for us, that “The eyes of their hearts would opened to see how wide and deep and high and long is the LOVE of Jesus.” (EPh. 3) People whose eyes have been opened are not even afraid of death. They know it is just the way into the greater reality. 

But, we have to figure out WHY we can stand up and be fearless. It isn’t just yoga speak (I love yoga, by the way). You know, “I’m great, I’m beautiful, I can do anything”. There is some truth to that but I always want to yell, “WHY?!”

We become fearless when we believe the truth. When we believe the words of the True One.

Our Maker said, we were made on purpose, with beauty and dignity.

He delighted in creating us.

He knew us and wants us to know him.

He wants us to participate in His amazing rescue mission to redeem the whole world and show love and grace and peace to every human.

Our lives have meaning and value and nothing we do can make Him love us less or more.

He loved us so much that even though we were wicked and selfish and had thrown his instructions in his face, he made a way for us to be redeemed and reborn and forgiven. And that way was by giving his own life as a sacrifice to satisfy justice, demanded by a Holy God, while at the same showing incredible mercy to us, the fallen ones.

The more I believe and live the bigger reality, the more alive I become, the more real. Eyes are uncovered. The spell breaks. Donkeys talk. Fear falls off.

Let it be.

[lizibailey]

on being wanted

I would like to write some words that are important and meaningful to you. But it’s tough, really. I took one of those internet quizzes that reveals what your job should actually be (it’s never what it already is), and it turns out, I should’ve been a WRITER, so I’m testing it out. Actually, when I was a kid, I would try to write stories, but it’s HARD to come up with an interesting plot. So, I would just immediately kill off the parents (less characters to deal with) and inevitably end up with a forlorn orphan who was under the care of a tyrant and then realize I was ripping off the precise plot of “A Little Princess” and then give up the whole thing in despair. I did this more than once. But that is neither here nor there.

Here are some amazing words I read in Mark today:

“In those days came Jesus of Nazareth in Galilee and he was baptized by John in the Jordan and when He came up he saw the Heavens torn open and the Spirit descend on him like a dove.” -Mark 1

In those days….

So ordinary. No fanfare. People were just being people, doing stuff, looking at facebook, watching the news, yapping about politics, being broken, needy, wounded, confused people annnnnd in comes Jesus, from Nazareth.  

He TORE OPEN THE HEAVENS, stepped down into the world He made that had, on the whole, soundly rejected everything that would mean real life for them, and started turning everything upside down in ways we are still trying to understand fully.

I just want to say that this is a screaming, profound truth that blows my mind and I just want to stop there for a minute.

He CAME.

He did not keep away from us seriously screwed up people. He came. He loved. He forgave. He healed. He restored. He looked into eyes and spoke transformational truth into broken lives. He brought Heaven down to earth. The inventor of justice (who invented it knowing what it would cost) took it upon himself to cover our wrongs, when we weren’t even interested.

Because He wanted to.

That is all for now.

Hallelujah.

[lizibailey]

on marketing

I dislike marketing. I mean, I know it works. But it makes me feel distrustful. I hate being sold to. It’s so insulting when someone instigates a conversation with you and you just think they like you or want to be your friend and you’re feeling like there is hope for humanity after all and THEN, the pitch. And suddenly you are no longer a human, but a means to an end. And all your suspicions about the intrinsic evil of mankind are confirmed. Maybe that’s just me.

 I’ll go ahead and tell you that I am marketing right now, and I hate it.

 My friend and music partner (for lack of a better term) and I had a discussion about this yesterday and I was expressing my loathing for the apparent necessity of selling myself in order to sell the record we’ve been working on for almost two years. It will be released in a couple of months. He understood my complaint and was very patient with my existential crisis. But then reminded me of the reality that there may be loads of people out there who would enjoy our music and perhaps even find it compelling and/or inspiring, but they don’t know I exist, and thus, marketing. Blogs. Social media posts. The appeal for help getting the word out. He also gave me permission to express my hatred for this part of the deal, which I really appreciated. I wish I could just throw my music out into the atmosphere and whoever likes it likes it and done.

 These songs we’ve made I truly believe in. That’s why I can stomach this ordeal. The theme of this record is “Learning to Be Human”. It’s a message I believe we need in these days of rampant de-humanization of one another. I think we constantly are making these choices, to either become more or less human. As we embrace truth, as we admit our need, our brokenness, as we extend grace to one another, as we look to our maker and believe and act upon his words more than we are slaves to our moods, we become more human. And I’m talking about the humans we were intended to be, created to be.

Fully alive.

Free.

Fully known and loved and knowing and loving fellow humans. Isn’t that the goal?

 I value your humanity, reader. I wish we could visit and talk and discuss the mysteries of life together. The blog format is so one-sided. Here are my thoughts, world! Conversations are better, I think. The danger of social media is that the person, the substance of who they really are, is reduced to the words you see on a screen, which may have been written without much forethought. They become less human. Opinions are formed. We need to see faces and hear voices. Grace comes easier then.

Not that we were talking about social media.

I am saying to myself now, GET TO THE POINT! I’m failing writing 101! So, I’ll stop. I hope you have a fantastic day, whether you end up buying my music or not.

[lizibailey]

on existence

I had an experience yesterday while I was out walking, one which I used to have more often, when I was younger. I suppose I would call it a feeling of exhilaration, maybe; a rush of wonder and it felt pure, because it wasn’t a reaction to any particular event in my experience (in fact, my mind was rather distracted and not very peaceful when I left my house), but rather a kind of flood of something like gratitude just for the fact that I exist. I could feel the breeze. I could see the clouds moving. My heart was pumping blood through my body. I was alive!

 When I was around 13, my family rented a house for a period of time and it was very rural, with many acres of fields and woods. There were some cows and a pond too; paradise, to my 13 years old and completely-out-of-touch-with-reality self. I was not a particularly athletic child, but sometimes, when I was out wondering alone, I would run. For sheer joy, not because I was trying to lose weight or improve my health, but because I could. Reason had nothing to do with it. This was not a means to any end. I was simply enjoying the awareness that I WAS. I had to somehow physically respond to this awareness, and so, I ran. Forrest Gump comes to mind. I was caught up in wonder and it felt real and sacred. I’m not sure if this is a common experience, maybe all children do that. Maybe some dance, or sing, or jump. They usually know what’s up.

 Sadly, this doesn’t happen so much anymore. I am often distracted. But occasionally, I stop and look around and think about how nuts it is that I am here, on this spinning ball, hurtling through space. None of us asked to exist, but I do not believe our being here, now, is accidental. Some of us have experienced things that made us wish we were never set down here in the first place. But, surely, it is better than the alternative. To not be. To never have been. To never have felt or seen or heard or learned or loved. I was just reading about how the eye works. If you are blessed with the gift of sight, there are 6 different muscles working together to enable vision in each eye, without you even being conscious of what is happening. And that’s just for the eye to see, never mind what the brain is doing to interpret WHAT it is seeing.

 Whatever else life is, it is certainly a gift. A miracle, even. I think we do well when we stop and enjoy it.

[lizibailey]

A Prayer

I am tired. Confusion; misunderstanding dogs my steps and weighs me down. I don't get it. I'm slow. I trudge. I stumble. My head is a hurricane. I want relief. I'm desperate for it. Fix it. Change it. Change me. Change the scene, the actors, the set. Please. Something. I grasp. I reach. I want an answer. I want to be ok. I want lightness. I want free.   I wail. I wait. I feel the fracture. The Separation. My not enough. My frail. Have I forgotten again?  I often do. There are always questions. There is always something to be healed, it seems. I think. Remember. O yes. What I'm missing is you. Not your favors or your bandages. Not a different set of faces or a different set design. Or a different history or future. You. Your presence. Your spirit. Your existence.   The reality of you. Here. Now. Not my god-concept-idea. Yourself. The consuming fire. The creator. The life-giver. The understander. The wise. The shepherd. The calm. The I AM. The answer. The way. The truth. The life. You. One thing is needed. ONE. There is nothing without you.

[lizibailey]

In My Arms

Adoption.

What is more beautiful? Chosen love. Sacrifice. Paperwork. The forging of a new family.

I had the pleasure of helping make some music for a documentary following the adoption story of my friends Wes and Kasey Mathew and this song came from it. I've known many who've made the decision to adopt, and every time it moves me like nothing else. I love seeing families made of a variety of colors and faces. It looks to me like Heaven. Love that transcends the 'usual' way. Miraculous, supernatural love. Love that God started when He adopted us into his family. John Piper calls it the 'visible gospel'. We were outsiders, and He brought us in, gave us a new name, made us BELONG for all eternity. Not because we were especially attractive or desirable, but because he WANTED to. Because that's the kind of love He is. It's too much, almost, to believe. That the Being who lives eternally outside of time and space, from whose mind came the CONCEPT of time and space, would want little us to be HIS?! I can't take it in. It's too good!

God invented adoption and I think it thrills him when we follow suit. I want to dedicate this song to Wes and Kasey (and I hope you'll watch their story; it's fantastic) and all those who've taken a similar journey and chosen love in this way. You are beautiful and inspiring!! Thank you for bringing heaven to earth.

Love, Lizi

Listen to "In My Arms" here:

Watch the Mathew's adoption story here: