I feel that I’ve become a bit jaded to worship music. I love it, but lately, it takes a lot to really get my attention. This past Tuesday at Kairos, I heard a new (to me) song that blew me away.

“For the way I’ve thought too much of myself
For the way I’ve been trusting in my flesh
For the way I’ve not come to you with tears and brokenness

For the way that I have made you small
For the way I’ve not noticed you at all
For my pride and fear that won’t let me surrender all
Forgive me

I need your mercy
I am not worthy
Without the cross
Oh, Lord come and wash me
From my head to my feet
I need you desperately
To forgive me

For the days that I love money more than You
For the days I love secrets more than truth
When I am too busy to reach for the needy, or reach for You
Forgive me

I need your mercy
I am not worthy
Without the cross
Lord come and wash me
From my head to my feet
I need you desperately Lord
To forgive me

I need your mercy
Without the cross
Lord come and wash me
From my head to my feet
I need you desperately
Please

Forgive me”

This one’s so bad it’s good:

“Mahatma Gandhi, as you know, walked barefoot most of the time, which produced an impressive set of calluses on his feet. He also ate very little, which made him rather frail and, with his odd diet, he suffered from bad breath….

This made him a super calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.”

You’re welcome.

When I was younger, I loved going to the YMCA pool. That for me marked the real beginning of summer when we’d pack up the station wagon and head over to the East Memphis Y.

Honestly, I was a bit of a scaredy-cat. I stuck to the shallow end where I could see the bottom and where I could stand with my head above water. Forget about me going off the diving board. I was sticking to the kiddie end of the pool.

I’m beginning to see that real faith is when you leave the shallow end and go deep. More accurately, it’s when you find yourself thrown in to deep waters that go over your head. Your circumstances seem hopeless and impossible.

Maybe true faith kicks in when your feet can’t feel the bottom anymore. Maybe that’s when you learn total dependence on God when all your props and crutches get kicked out from underneath you.

Sometimes for me, faith feels close to panic. It’s not a calm soliloquy in the storm but an almost hyperventilated prayer of “Help me, Lord, You’re all I’ve got.”

I stand by my statement that God can and often does give us more than we can handle. He will not allow us to be tempted beyond our ability to endure but He will absolutely give us circumstances where we’re forced to rely completely on God’s mercy and grace. Either He comes through or we drown.

I’m still not the world’s greatest swimmer, but I don’t mind the deep end as much. When it comes to faith in deeper waters, I’m slowly but surely learning not what great faith in God is worth but what a great God can do with my little bit of faith. Just a tiny mustard seed’s worth can move mountains . . . and keep me afloat.

Can I be honest here? Ok, good. I’m really not looking forward to this work week. I know it’s a 4-day work week, but it’s also the end of the month, and that means that I’ll be super stressed up until Friday.

Still, I’m thankful for my job. I’m practicing the art of giving thanks instead of giving way to anxiety. Some days, I do better than other days. I’m learning that it’s an intentional choice I have to make every single day. Peace of mind doesn’t come by osmosis or happenstance.

I’m also thankful for a super cuddly kitty cat who does a lot to relieve stress. She may not be the ultimate lap cat that Lucy was, but she has a gentle way about her that’s very calming and soothing.

I’m reminding myself that no matter what, God’s in control. Even if my very worst case scenario happens tomorrow and I’m out of a job, God won’t be taken completely by surprise. Even then, He’ll be working all things together for good– including my good– and His glory.

I do wish that Peanut could be the one going off to work tomorrow and I could be the one sleeping in and lounging about all day. But I’m choosing to give thanks instead. Be thankful, be thankful, be thankful . . . I’ll keep it going until it finally sinks into my thick skull. Be thankful.

To preface, I should mention that I do understand that the holiday we celebrate tomorrow is not all about grilling out and the opening of swimming pools.

It’s not about backyard parties with lots of food, nearly all of it bad for you but oh so tasty.

It’s about those in the military who made the ultimate sacrifice so that we could have the freedoms like grilling out, having the day off from work, and especially the freedom to speak our minds freely and choose the people we want to represent us in our government.

That said, it is nice to have a 3-day weekend.

I did a break from my usual norm and visited The Church at Harpeth Heights, one of the newest regional campuses of Brentwood Baptist Church. I followed it up with a pilgrimage to one of my favorite places, McKay Used Books. It’s still Nerd-vana to me with all the massive amounts of movies, music, and books.

I capped it all off with by checking out a Cajun place called Voodoo Gumbo. It was good, but not great. I think next time I’ll try one of their Po’ Boys.

I’m trying this year to not take freedom for granted. I don’t want to take the gift of life for granted. I want to honor those who laid down their lives for me so that I could have freedom. I want to live in such a way that shows that their sacrifice was not in vain.

So happy Memorial Day tomorrow, especially to all those who have served in the armed forces. Thank you for all that you do.

May we all choose to ask God for another route for love to travel instead of seeking to kill it (and part of ourselves in the process).

I chose Down from the Mountain as my viewing choice for the evening. It’s a documentary about a concert of music from and inspired by the movie O Brother, Where Art Thou.

I didn’t realize until I got five minutes in that the concert was exactly 19 years ago today. It was literally an unplanned, spur of the moment choice.

Also, fans of Roots and Americana music can probably point to the movie soundtrack and this concert as one of the watershed moments for the genre. It seems to me that perhaps there was no such genre until O Brother, Where Art Thou.

It’s really a fantastic documentary filled with some of my favorite artists. Where else do you get Emmylou Harris, Allison Kraus, and Gillian Welch singing together? Or the Fairfield Four? Or the Cox Family? The music is sublime, at once a throwback to a simpler time and something entirely new.

I keep hoping next year the powers that be will release a 20th anniversary edition with extra footage of the concert and behind the scenes moments. Also, they could throw in a tribute to those we’ve lost, like Dr. Ralph Stanley and John Hartford.

Somebody needs to make that happen.

There’s a game I used to play as a kid where the object is to count as many different models of cars as you can find. It’s really more of a way to kill time on a long roadtrip than an actual game, but it helped to make the hours more bearable.

Lately, a friend and I have revived that game with a twist. We walk around the parking lot and try to pick out all the different kinds of cars. There’s always the usual suspects– Ford, Chevrolet, Mercedes, Dodge, Honda. Every now and then, I’ll see a Pontiac or a Mercury.

But one car I have yet to see in one of these contests is an Oldsmobile. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen one. I imagine those aren’t exactly in high demand as collectible antiques.

I suppose my reasoning for wanting to find one is to have a sort of connection with something tangible from my past. To me, Oldsmobile in a way represents an era from my life that I can never get back to. A time in my life that now only lives in my memory and in faded photographs.

Every time I see an old station wagon, I have vivid flashbacks to riding in the rear seat that faced the rear window. I confess I was always a bit freaked out seeing the cars coming at me, wondering what would happen if one plowed through the back of that old station wagon into my seat.

So the game continues. My quest is to find an Oldsmobile. It’s not a lofty ambition or a bucket list goal, but it might conjure up a few more happy childhood memories.

I dare you not to have this song stuck in your head now. It’s impossible. You’re welcome.

This may just be for one person. One person out there in Almighty Interwebsland might need this encouraging reminder not to give up.

What seems like unending is only temporary. All storms cease. All trials end. Suffering and pain are momentary compared to the eternal love and grace of God.

Whatever you’re going through, you will see how God used it and brought you through it and be grateful for all the lessons you learned. But most of all you’ll be thankful for a deeper and richer understanding of and love for God.

Don’t give up just yet.