Baby Confessions

"BABY, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the gray"

So what do these wonderfully compelling lyrics of the hit Seal song have to do with my blog?!

Here is my Confession: I have a new appreciation for the use of "baby" in song lyrics. That's right... I think I like it when artists sing Baby!

But hear me out!

I admit, yes, it may often be used as a flippant pet name for whatever nameless attraction a singer has recently feasted their eyes upon... Let's not avoid the obvious!

But my most recent composition left me embarrassingly dependent on its use!

There is a longing in a lyricist to write in a manner that both expresses the emotions and unique quality of the story's situation, while yet maintaining imagery broad enough that its listener may fully relate to it. Such specificities as names, or gender even, are hindrances to a piece's universality.  They limit the degree to which listeners may lose themselves in the thoughts and emotions of the work. Specifics, by nature, exclude.

And even though I have never addressed the person represented in my latest song as "baby," I found this to be the only acceptable manner of addressing them. So, while their name is all but rolling off my tongue, I leash it in for the sake of the audience, and for the sake of that person.

For songs are often a writer's diary.  And although it is nearly impossible to write a touching piece without addressing the intimate interactions between humanity, my own vulnerability should not be an invitation to read a page of someone else's diary.  Even if I may be longing to cry out their name, I cannot permit myself to unlock their personal life like some tabloid nightmare.

Thus even the most intimate relation may be belittled to "baby" in song.

And as we sit sneering in mockery, the singer may in fact be weeping to say a name at that very moment.

So sing on, backstreet boys. Sing on, Olivia Newton John!

And thank you for your baby songs!

Title: "Kiss from a Rose", Seal

Works of my Hands

Psalm 90 sums up my past couple of days.

The Lord has been my dwelling place all my life-
I cannot deny it.
And He has been a dwelling place long before my life.

Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever before He had formed the earth,
From everlasting to everlasting, He is God.

Man returns to lifeless dust.
And 1000 years is but little time to God.

We are brought to an end by His anger.
By His wrath we are dismayed.

My secret sins are set before Him, fully exposed in the light of His presence.

We bring our years to an end like a sigh.

Our years are numbered at 70, or 80 if we are so blessed,
Yet their span is but toil and trouble.

They are soon gone, and we fly away.

Does anyone consider the power of His anger, or fear Him at all?

God, TEACH us to number our days, thus granting us hearts of wisdom.

Oh God, Return.
How long?
How long until You return?

Have pity on Your servants;

Satisfy us every morning with Your permanent love,
That we may at last rejoice and be thankful for all our days.

Make us glad for as many days as You have afflicted us,
And make us glad for as many years as we have seen evil.

Oh God, let Your work be shown to Your servants,
Let our children see Your glorious power!

Allow Your favor, Your beauty Oh Lord, to be upon us,
And establish the work of our hands.

Yes! Establish the work of our hands!

Lord, You know it to be true, that I cannot live without knowing Your love every morning.
Just the same, I cannot live unless You anoint the work of my hands.
And if You will not anoint my doings here, 
then what are You waiting for?... 
Take me now and let me walk with You in glory.
Yet You have spared my physical life too many times for me to rightly conclude that You have no use for me here on earth.

Oh God, let Your favor and beauty be upon me, and establish the work of my hands.

For Your glory. I have no purpose here if I am not to be an avenue for Your works!

You are my reason for existence, now be the reason for my living.

Anoint those who love You, I beg of You.

I love You so much.

My Hosea

Where is my Hosea.

I was not created for the desert. Where is my Hosea God? You are who I long for. You know I love the moments when You speak tenderly to me and when You allure me sweetly towards righteousness and patience. But right now I need my earlier Hosea. The Hosea that gets me to the desert in the first place.  I need my God whose strength is great enough for me. My broad-shouldered God whose mighty chest is firm enough for me to pound on in my frustration, and yet stands firm knowing at heart that I love Him. I love You, my Lamb, but I am pining after You, my Lion. Where is my God whose roar is louder than my own? Where is He who understands my confusion and hurts with a fire hot enough to turn tables fiercely on their sides?

Where is my Love whose eyes burn with fire? Where is Your mighty horse and Your army of angels? Where is my Commander?

If you find Him, tell Him I need Him. Tell Him I am lovesick over Him.

I was not made for the desert.

Your jealousy has unnerved me, my Husband. I have not acknowledged You, and now I tumble in in the wake of your turmoil. All Your waves and breakers are rushing over me. You have not allowed me to wade peacefully in the waters, but have stirred them in Your frustration over my neglect. You thrash in your pain and I am undone as You writhe so close to me; if You had left me out of disdain I would not have known your exasperation, but you remained close and thus Your commotion affects me. I am in love with You, my Husband. Never leave me. I would rather gurgle in the wake of Your jealousy than to float peacefully with You too far away to feel.

Do not refrain your stubbornness for my affection; I will respond to You. I had forgotten how You loved me. But Your jealousy has sparked the memory. I assumed You would move on without me. But You have not.

You are still here.

Pining.

You are my Hosea.
And I love You.

Refuse to be Denied

I am Yours; You are mine.
I refuse to be denied.
All of You is my heart's cry;
I refuse to be denied.

I'm comin' after You.
I'm comin' after You.
I'm comin' after You.

Though I'm weak, though I'm dry,
I refuse to be denied.
All my life a sacrifice.
I refuse to be denied.

I'm comin' after You.
I'm comin' after You.
I'm comin' after You.

"Refuse to be Denied"
Desperation Band

A Simple Song

Psalm 104:33 I will sing to the LORD all my life; I will sing praise to my God as long as I live.
Psalm 108:1 My heart is steadfast, O God; I will sing and make music with all my soul.

I don't know what I would do without song. Outside of relationships, it is my most precious gift.

It makes reality more tangible for me. I often find there is more to me than I had imagined with a simple utterance of song. Emotions I would not dare allow myself to address in thought are suddenly acceptable under the blanket of song.

Even silence is better expressed for me in music-
The Lord's avenue for quieting my mind and calming me.

It is His best way of asking me to let go.

I say things to the Lord that I am too afraid to tell Him by way of thought: sometimes believing Him to be more pleased in my song, and sometimes because words alone seem to be an injustice to my message.

My deepest longing is to know Him, and for Him to know me.

I allow myself to be known in song. And in return, His responses to my troubles and my joys reveal to me who He is.

He gave me music so that I would not be stuck in a fantastical allusion of some imagined god. In song, I find that He is closer than I imagine. He hears more than I realize. And I love Him more than I had believed.

In song, my eyes are opened and my ears hear, and I am awakened to a level of reality of His presence that I cannot live without. I dry out without Him.

And so I will sing to the Lord all my life. I will sing praise to my God for as long as I live.
My heart is steadfast, O God. I will sing and make music with my soul.