beneath the willows

"Do not allow your harp to hang silently from the weeping willows (ps. 137:2)

but take it down and with a grateful heart do your best to make beautiful music.

Arise and sing His praise as each morning dawns, lifting up your notes of thanksgiving.

And may your songs follow each day's setting sun as well.

Encircle the earth with your praises, surrounding it with an atmosphere of melody,

and God Himself will hear from heaven and will accept your music."

Beautiful music is born from deep heartache.

Beautiful writing is formed from depressive minds.

Beautiful art is created by tortured souls.

Why is that? We watched Midnight in Paris (great movie!) and discussed this phenomenon. Some of the best artists/ poets/ writers throughout history were extremely unstable. Do you find that strange? Because I do.

Unless...

there truly is a beauty to be found through a suffering soul. This is a mild and somewhat incorrect example (because many of these such artists had mental problems and were possibly influenced by multiple not-so-healthy substances) but I find truth in it as well.

When a person is among "weeping willows," under the burden of grief and loss, yet chooses to pick up their harp and play, there is a strength and a power that I don't think we can recognize or see fully in this realm. I believe there is a spiritual affect that happens in the universe (is that too New Age-y?) when we choose to create beauty from our sadness, whether that's physical beauty or relational beauty. We can reach out and connect and produce change-- a change in ourselves and for the world around us.

This is something I want to be mindful of... creating instead of wallowing, loving amidst the lamenting; not secluding but opening and sharing myself, my heart.

We were made to worship, and I think the most beautiful worship comes from beneath the weeping willows.

I was with You last night and You caught my tears.

I saw the bottle where You store them-- each one a precious sign to You of my fragile, precious humanity, and my need for the ocean of love that is You.

You see me and You've memorized me. You know me, God.

You silently and strongly wade with me through the muck of my shame. At times, You pick me up and hold me above it, but You love me too much to just make it disappear.

You are forming me on the way. We are, together, struggling and working,

making more room for You in my heart.

This brings You joy. And this is what You've promised me:

those who sow in tears will reap a harvest of joy.

Sow in me the good things, the hard things, the beautiful things.

And help me to grow towards You.