Soundtracks

I often agree with my friend Adam: life should have a soundtrack.

It has for me this past week. In the days preceding and following Grandma’s death, I found strength and solace in Andrew Peterson’s CD The Far Country, an album entirely about heaven. I’ve rejoiced in the promise that this is not the end, been reminded of Abraham’s call to a land “when he didn’t know the way.” I haven’t known the way much these last few days, either. I’ve cried my way through “More” more times than I can count, using it to express both my pain, sorrow, and belief that there is a God in heaven who called my grandma home. More than that, He knew the plan He had for her, the number of hairs on her head, and her name. (See Andrew’s song “Mountains on the Ocean Floor.” ) He knows mine, too. It was these lyrics that captured my heart Wednesday as I cried my way home from work, exhausted physically, spiritually, emotionally.

This is not the hardest part of all This is just the seed that has to fall All our lives we till the ground Until we lay our sorrows down And watch the sky for rain

There is more More than all this pain More than all the falling down And the getting up again There is more More than we can see From our tiny vantage point In this vast eternity There is more. . . .

There is more More than we can stand Standing in the glory Of a love that never ends There is more More than we can guess More and more, forever more And not a second less

Yesterday, my soundtrack switched to, of all things, Andrew Peterson’s Christmas CD, Behold the Lamb of God. Somehow, for me, there’s joy in the knowledge of a God who had a plan to send His Son to us, to rescue His people, and spend all eternity with us from the very beginning. I’ve stolen moments to cry aloud with Andrew to “Behold the Lamb of God who takes away our sin.” I’ve claimed the line from that song—Broken hearts, behold our broken hearts, Fallen far, we need you—as my own. My heart feels broken. A band came by for a meet and greet yesterday, and played a song called “All of This for You.” The lyric everything I have is yours, all I have and all I am, broken heart and empty hands, all of this is yours stopped me dead in my tracks. They don’t know me; they don’t know my grief. They don’t know that I sometimes feel guilty when I laugh or do something fun. Regardless, they’ve captured my heart and given words to my battle cry.

Today I sat in chapel at work and listened to the new Christian band 33 Miles. And as they sang a song called “Salvation Has a Name,” I found myself in a spirit of worship. As the various names of God poured over me in their lyrics—Jesus, Father, Maker of time, Healer, Teacher, the Maker of light, Sustainer, Savior—I knew in that way you know deep in your spirit that God was with me. Creator, Comforter, Friend.