When Little Girls Hold Hands

Do you remember? Reaching out to grab her hand. Not being afraid of what anyone else thought. Not even being aware that anyone else existed. Just you and her. On an adventure. Planning an escape. Sneaking upstairs to eat chocolate and swap secrets. We held hands out of instinct. We looked both ways and crossed the street together. We held hands for comfort. We held hands out of love. We held sticky, played with, cried on hands with no shame or fear or insecurity. We were little girls. And we still knew how to love each other without hesitation. We reached out and grabbed the others hand because there was so much we wanted to share. The excitement. The not-knowing. The joy. The smiles. We knew these things were good, but they were better shared.

We weren't self-conscious yet. Wondering if we might look silly. Weak. Weird. Dependent. Wondering if the other hand was better than ours? Worse than ours? Prettier. Skinnier. Smarter. Or from a bigger house. We didn't know how to compare, measure, sum up or judge. We didn't even know to think of the other hands around us. Were we being exclusive? Should we try and make the rounds? Holding every little girl's hands? We did not yet operate out of guilt or obligation or even political correctness. We didn't see skin color or political parties or labels. We only knew the nudging of our hearts.

It felt best to reach out and grab her hand. Because life was way too good to walk alone.

And sometimes we broke free of each others hands for a moment. Because side by side, we felt brave.

Perhaps it was all those sticky finger embraces that gave us so much courage to break free and lead the way for a minute. Knowing she was by our side. Not yet condemning, bossy, mean or passive aggressive. Just our friend. Our cheerleader. Our confidant. Our person. The one we were unafraid to hold hands with on the play ground. We gave each other courage. Not psychotherapy or prayers. We didn't know how to do those yet. All we knew was our hands. We knew how to be present.  How to reach out to the other person in the most basic way.

Here's my hand. Take it. Wrap your fingers around mine. We will do this together.

We would scoot our chairs close. No sense of personal space. We, who shared beds and bathrooms and bathing suits and boys. We gave each other the best gifts we had. Ourselves. Long before we knew how to be guarded, we knew how to be girlfriends. We giggled, cried, dreamed impossible dreams, and then grabbed each others sticky fingers and ran off to explore.

And I watch her now. My little girl who holds the hands of others as if they were precious treasures. And I wonder-

When did I forget how to hold another girl's hand? And how do I get back there?

Back to the place where I just reach out and grab and hold- and give myself to another girl without fear or shame or expectations or guilt. Back to the place where joy ran free and I was compelled to share wonder and delight and mystery with the closest girl in sight. Back to that moment, when little girls hold hands, and the whole world is made simple and beautiful by the innocent touch of the unafraid. That's where I am trying to get back to. Life is good. But it's better shared.

The Soundtrack of My Life

I sing to her in bed, the same words sung over me when I was a little girl.Tomorrow morning if you wake up and the sun does not appear- I will be here. If in the dark we lost sight of love, hold my hand and have no fear- I will be here.

And when she is restless in the night, I sing the one song that has calmed my fears and brought peace in the midst of every numbing storm I have ever lived through. Be still and know that He is God Be still and know that He is holy Be still, O restless soul of mine Bow before the Prince of peace Let the noise and clamor cease Be still

And when we dance around the living room? I will dance with Cinderella While she is here in my arms 'Cause I know something the prince never knew Oh I will dance with Cinderella I don't want to miss even one song 'Cause all too soon the clock will strike midnight And she'll be gone.

And when we are just pretending to be wild animals? K-I-N-G of the J-U-N-G-L-E

...Followed by an insanely dramatic cow-girl version of Saddle up yeeeeer horses! We've got a trail to blaze! Through the wild blue yoooooonder of God's amazing grace!

These are our songs. These are my songs. The soundtrack of my life.

The Soundtrack of My Life The summer after second grade my family moved from a tiny town in Mississippi to a rough, low income neighborhood in Ft. Worth, Texas so my parents could go to seminary. I was terrified and heart broken at leaving all our family behind and starting over in a foreign world. As we drove from Magnolias in Mississippi, over boggy rivers in Louisiana into wide open fields in East Texas, my dad put a cassette tape in to cover the tears of my sister and I.

You're my hiding place, safe in Your embrace I'm protected from the storm that rages When the waters rise, and I run to hide Lord, in You I find my hiding place

I am 33 years old and I still sing this song- often.

When I am afraid, the words of this song flow out of my soul; well-worn and true. Thousands of miles have been traveled since I was that 8-year-old little girl crying in the back seat of my parent's green minivan, clinging to the words of this song as if they were the only hope I had left. And 25 years later, this is still the soundtrack of my life.

So let your people seek You While You may be found 'Cause You're our only refuge When the rain comes pouring down

And so goes my life. So much road traveled. Thousands of miles. Hills. Valleys. Flat tires. Bus fires. Broken. Beautiful. Becoming.

And his songs play out like a God-orchestrated soundtrack telling the story of my faith- speaking the very words that shaped, formed, and breathed life into me.  I knew the words to these songs backwards and forwards. They were prayed, sung, danced to, clung to. In closets, cars, church and in my heart- they were the whisper of the deepest things I knew to be true in the world.

Even as a little girl, I knew these songs were the heartbeat of life set to lyric and melody.

It was never about fame or being a fan. Barring my parent's presence in my life, these songs had the single biggest influence on my soul running to Jesus and never turning back. They represent the seasons of my life; spiritual markers for a girl who just keeps falling more in love with the mystery of Christ.

I sing these songs instinctively. Often. They are forever woven into my story. A part of who I am.

How do you thank someone who has penned the soundtrack to your faith?

How do you thank a man and a woman who have been there your entire life (without knowing) and shown you what marriage, honesty, beauty, severe loss, transparency, authenticity and well-worn faith looks like? How do you tell someone that they have shown you Jesus in such a way that everything in you changed? Forever changed. And that anyone who has ever heard my music-was just a by-product of me hearing his music. Of me watching his honesty? Of me watching their honesty on display for all the world to wrestle with?

Steven and Mary Beth Chapman don't know me, but my life is different because of their faithfulness.

They have been with me since I was a little girl. My earliest memories have songs attached to them. His songs. My earliest moments sensing God's presence in my heart and in my tiny bedroom came as I put in my cassette tapes and let the words carry me to a place I knew somewhere deep inside of me but didn't yet have words for.

Words to my faith. Melody to my prayers. Lyrics to my heart.

Long before I could memorize a scripture verse or understand the Bible for myself, I knew Jesus well- because Steven Curtis Chapman painted a picture of a Savior who loved me- and I just knew- from a song- that I belonged to God. And everything changed.

These are the words. The soundtrack of growing from a little girl, scared to move away from my small town Mississippi home- to a grown girl, trying to be honest and brave.

Life-Long Friends 8-years-old Sometimes His voice comes calling Like rolling thunder, like driving rain And sometimes His voice is quiet And we start to wonder, if He knows our pain But He who spoke peace to the water Cares more for our hearts than the waves And the voice that once said, "You're forgiven" Still says, "You're forgiven" today

9-years-old The world's an ocean waiting at my door Before I set out for the open sea I'll take the word my father's given me And I'll go sailing out to treasure island *** He died to bring us more to this life living than dying More than just trying to make it through the day More to this life, more than these eyes alone can see

10-years-old For the Sake of the Call... Don't get me started. I'm already a weepy mess. I remember the first time I heard this song. I sat and listened to the entire cassette, entranced, tears dripping off my chin. Me, a 10-year-old girl, felt more compelled to live life than I knew what to do with. With each song, my heart soared. It rang so true. Something in me ached as I listened to every word and listened to Jesus tell me that this is what He wanted from me. This album was my anthem. It still is. Sometimes- when I want to quit ministry- I literally go to a closet and sing this at the top of my lungs. And then remember. All over again, I remember.

Nobody stood and applauded them So they knew from the start This road would not lead to fame All they really knew for sure was Jesus had called to them He said "Come follow me" and they came With reckless abandon they came- We will abandon it all For the sake of the call No other reason at all but the sake of the call Wholly devoted to live and to die For the sake of the call

12-years-old Who, who's gonna love Maria Who, who's gonna touch her With the tenderness she longs for Like a desert longs for rain *** Started out this morning In the usual way Chasing thoughts inside my head Of all I had to do today Another time around the circle Try to make it better than the last...

...and you are all kinds of lying if you grew up in Christian sub-culture and don't confess to not only singing this song out loud at the top of your lungs, but also acting it out. We all saddled up our horses. Don't lie. It was the greatest thing to happen in 6th grade. And admit it, the advent of the Toby Mac rap song sent us into Christian music ecstasy.

14-years-old God our Father once again I bow my head to pray You are my Father and my Friend, and You hear every word I say A prayer for forgiveness, a desperate cry for help Or praise flowing from a thankful heart Like each time before, I come knowing You're still listening

15-years-old And with love that conquers loneliness, and hope that fills all emptiness He came to earth to show our worth. Our God is with us, Emmanuel He’s come to save us, Emmanuel And we will never face life alone Now that God has made Himself known As Father and Friend, with us through the end, Emmanuel Our God is with us, Emmanuel

Has a more beautiful Christmas song ever been written? The answer, of course, is no. This song is as close as you get to Heaven in the Real World.

16-years-old I'm free, oh I have been forgiven God's love has taken off my chains and given me these wings And I'm free yeah and the freedom I've been given Is something that not even death can take away from me Because I'm free, Jesus set me free *** I am the heart, You are the heartbeat I am the eyes, You are the sight And I see clearly, I am just a body You are the life I move my feet, I go through the motions But You give purpose to chance I am the dancer You are the Lord of the dance

19-years-old Words fall like drops of rain My lips are like clouds I say so many things Trying to figure you out But as mercy opens my eyes My words are stolen away With this breathtaking view of your grace I am speechless I'm astonished and amazed

21-years-old Just when you think 'he must be running dry'- 'he cannot possibly write another song that so deeply resonates with the rumblings of my faith-' A haunting, vulnerable melody comes along with a lyric so powerful that I cannot listen to it without the deepest longing for heaven aching inside of my soul.

And the pain falls like a curtain On the things I once called certain And I have to say the words I fear the most I just don't know And the questions without answers Come and paralyze the dancer So I stand here on the stage afraid to move Afraid to fall, oh, but fall I must On this truth that my life has been formed from the dust God is God and I am not I can only see a part Of the picture He's painting God is God and I am man So, I'll never understand it all For only God is God

When Loves Takes You In, Magnificent Obsession, Carry You to Jesus... the soundtrack of my early 20's.

Thank You I could go on for another decade. Just when you think there can't be more- it flows forth.

A beautiful gift to the world.

A guide to the traveler searching for the words and melodies that offer up Jesus as beautiful, holy, faithful, inviting- constant.

And that, of course, is the best gift that Steven and Mary Beth have given the Christian community. A beautiful picture of faithfulness. What it looks like to be in it for the long haul. They have given the world a rare gift. The gift of a journey. Their journey. The journey of faith. The journey to the cross. The journey through unbearable loss-grief-suffering and healing. The journey that says- no matter what- we are constant because HE is constant. They have invited us to watch. To join. To dream. To live. To abandon it all for the sake of the call.

So tonight as my little girl tossed and turned in her bed, she said, "Mommy, sing me the song about being still and knowing that He is God. And being quiet and stuff."

And I did.

I sing this song over her every night. "Be still and know that He is God. Be still and know he is your Father. Come rest your head upon his chest- listen to the rhythm of, His unfailing heart of love. Beating for His little ones. Calling each of us to come. Be still. Be speechless."

Not too long ago, as I sang while she nodded to sleep with her tiny eyes closed, she said-

"Mommy- I want to be best friends with God forever because this songs make me love him sooo much."

I kissed her forehead.

"I know baby. This song makes me love Him so much too."

Steven and Mary Beth- you have given us a legacy. And tonight as I laid with my little girl, I decided that I have waited long enough to say thank-you. Your words and your witness have been the most beautiful soundtrack a generation could be privileged to grow up with.

So though it falls short...

Thank you.

You have given us the heartbeat of Jesus this side of heaven. A soundtrack of faith.

Generous People Are: Part 2

A few years ago I wrecked my dad’s truck. In the Target parking lot. I wrecked into a parked car. I pulled through a spot, turned left, and somehow- in a stroke of mind-boggling science- I hit the car to my right and jacked it up into the air. Straight up into the air, with my truck pinned underneath its driver-side hood. Kids and old ladies gasped and everyone else was looking at me, smirking, as if I was the most stupid girl they had ever seen in real-life-action. Who hits a parked car? Seriously Jenny?

I called my dad crying.

And he replied the same way he has my entire life. “Are you hurt? Are you OK?”

And I replied the same way I have my entire life. “I’m fine. I just _____.”

Wrecked your truck. Caught the microwave on fire. Spilled nail polish all over the carpet. Broke all the glasses in the top of the dishwasher. Burned a hole in the carpet with my curling iron. Locked myself out of the house. Out of the car. With Annie inside.

You know- the normal issues a girl like me has.

And dad always responds the same. No matter what I throw at him. “Are you hurt? Are you OK?”

I tell him I am fine. And then he always, always says, “OK. Well that other stuff is just stuff. As long as you are OK. That’s all I care about.”

And the thing is- he means it.

He cares more about me, my mom and my sisters than about the carpet or his truck or any of his belongings.  And he has always made sure in the midst of our tears and panic- that we KNOW- besides us, to him, everything else is just stuff.

My dad is, without question, the most generous man I know. And not just with his money- though he is insanely generous with his money. He is generous with his affection. He is generous with his forgiveness. He is generous with his time. And he is generous with his grace.

Take  IT

Back to that pesky fire I talked about yesterday.

People were insanely generous with us. We showed up to our next few concerts and people gifted us with clothes, jackets, diapers, suitcases and even guitars. I remember getting a call from a DJ at KLOVE radio who said that someone in Oklahoma had heard about our RV exploding and burning to the ground and had an RV they wanted to offer us to use for as long as we needed it. After some conversations with them- we sent our driver out there to pick it up.

He called Ryan and I and said, “We can’t take this R.V.”

We said, “Why not?”

He said, “It’s too nice. It’s brand new. There’s like- plastic still covering the chairs up and stuff.”

We told the couple that we had had our van and trailer stolen twice that year. Followed by a fire which burned our last RV down to the ground. We told them we were bad luck. We told them we were traveling with at least seven people and a toddler. We told them we would be driving it from California to South Dakota to New Jersey. We told them, there was a chance the thing would come back broken, scratched, with thousands of miles on it.

We told them: you don’t even know us.

They told us: take it.

Them. A young couple. With young kids. With a lot to lose by giving us their RV. This was their investment into their family’s vacations for the next ten, fifteen years. This held incredible value. And they said take it.

And here’s what I’ve learned about generous people from my dad and from this couple in Oklahoma and from so many others:

Generous people like people more than they like stuff.

A lot of them like their stuff too. Like houses and cars and art and good wine and nice clothes and memorable vacations. But at the end of the day- if it comes down to honoring one thing over another- they make it very clear that people trump, say, animals or cars or carpet.

Without flinching, generous people value human beings more than stuff.  Generous people are lovers of people. They realize the value of their belongings pale in comparison to the value of the human being standing before them. Grace trumps glares. People trump possessions. And everything they own finds its value, not in monetary currency, but in the way those things allow for love, grace and open-handed generosity to flourish in the people around them.