Dawn Xiana Moon: Intelligent folk pop with influences from jazz and traditional Chinese music. From Chicago.

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Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Why Recording Dialogue on Instant Messenger Can Be Amusing Years Later

I guess you never know where life will take you--this morning Alex IMed me the following messages, originally sent on September 7, 2002:

Dawn: we should sing together sometime
Dawn: I'd love to hear you on BGVs for my stuff
Alex: wow
Alex: really?
Alex: that'd be interesting to try
Alex: see if it meshed
Alex: but regardless - we should get together and jam sometime :-)
Dawn: definitely :-)
Dawn: I wonder if we blend?
Alex: i don't remember *thinks* but we'll find out sometime soon :0
Dawn: :-) i don't remember either

It would only take us another two years to actually start playing together. (We did try to sing together once back then, but it didn't work very well--who knew that one summer we'd start singing musical theatre tunes on a whim and end up transferring that to my folk/pop stuff?) For that matter, who would have guessed that we'd get to be good friends?

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Sunday, March 20, 2005

Sometimes encouragement comes from unexpected sources.

Last week I played four shows, two of which were volunteering at homeless shelters in Jackson and Ann Arbor, and while that was fun in many ways, it was disheartening to see few people at the concerts. It's standard at many cafes to play for tips, and when you only have five people in your audience even enthusastic fans probably won't leave you with much more than gas money, if that. Not so good when you're hoping for an income from this music thing. But you pay your dues and eventually you build enough of a fan base to move on to venues that will actually pay you. Or you get enough of a base that those same cafes are packed and you eventually have enough money to buy your own guitar. At least that's the idea. Ask any performer though, it's disappointing to play for small numbers (even if the people that do come are wonderful and much appreciated, because they definitely are!).

There are times you doubt yourself, doubt the wisdom of pursuing your passions and callings in opposition to the safe and secure. But at the Ann Arbor homeless shelter on Sunday, a man came up to me after the show and was adamant that I should keep playing, no matter what--mind you, I'd mentioned none of this about discouragement--and told me I had real passion and soul when I sang. That he could see God through me. (I told this story to my mom, who dismissed it: "Of course. It's easy to say nice things when you're not paying for the concert." She failed to realize that most of the venues I play don't charge a cover anyway.)

And then tonight a girl emailed me about a show I played a couple of weeks ago: "You really inspired me a whole-stinkin' lot! ...Your musical talent didn’t just 'tickle my fancy,' it really knelt down deep within me...." And again, there was mention that somehow, God was in the music (which is interesting, because I don't mention God in most of my songs).

So maybe there's something to this whole music thing after all. At the very least, it appears that I'm not wasting my time. Which is encouraging.

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Friday, March 11, 2005

Slightly modified, this is a column that will run as soon as the new Relevant Magazine launches. Yes, I've just added another project to my already busy schedule: I'm the new online editor for the Deeper Walk section.

When Souls Have Lost Their Courage

We are a broken people.

I was reminded of our frailty two days ago when my brother finally told me the reason last semester had been difficult for him, why he seemed so contemplative about his future and amazed that relationships could function at all. After much prayer, fasting, and advice, he had a series of discussions with a good friend and initially their relationship deepened—but soon after, he essentially lost her friendship and still doesn’t understand why. "God, I did want you wanted me to... how could the results turn so bad?"

I was reminded of our frailty two days ago when I had dinner with a friend of mine whose girlfriend recently broke up with him; the end came three weeks ago but he’s still hurting, although he’s not advertising it. That night, other friends he hadn’t seen in a while noticed that he wasn’t his usual self, but he didn’t have the energy to launch into explanations. "How do you just tell someone in the middle of a [swing] dance that your girlfriend broke up with you but it was a few weeks ago and it’s still not easy?"

I was reminded of our frailty last night when another friend asked me about my financial situation and I fudged my answer: "Well, it varies." While I’m not starving or in dire straits, I have less than I admit—which brought me to the thought, how can others even attempt to address our needs if we’re scared to admit that we have them in the first place? I’m so concerned with looking like I have it all together, like I’m invincible—even when I’m foundering, in most areas of my life I won't ask for help. I almost never (literally, only a handful of times) cry in front of people; in my proud mind, that would be a sign of weakness.

But the truth is that we are weak. We hurt and hurt each other. So we build walls, cities, veritable fortresses that Napoleon’s army couldn’t break through. In Jesus, God experienced firsthand what it means to live in a hurting world—but instead of building the defenses that eventually alienate us from one another, he left himself vulnerable. He cried with Mary when she mourned the death of her brother. His heart went out to the widow whose only son had died—he comforted her and for her sake, raised her son from the dead. He wept for Jerusalem, a city that would clamor for his death, because he knew it would be destroyed, its children killed.

And he does the same today. When we look at injustice and pain and failure, yelling to God, "Why?" he doesn’t just stand impassively, shaking his head at our audacity—he grieves for us, with us. Even as we wonder why he doesn’t seem to be taking action.

And that's the God I know, a deeply personal God who must be encountered rather than just studied or discussed. And if you haven’t yet met him, my prayer is that you will, that you would experience him tangibly. We are a broken people. And that is why we need God.

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