The Power of Song

What is reading and writing without music?  Music has always inspired my writing, empowered my imagination, and influenced my reading.  I think that music deserves a special place in each of our hearts, because I have never met a human being who doesn't like music of any kind.  If you are that person, I am terribly sorry for you, because there is amazing art floating around in those music notes...

One of my most inspiring artists in the music and writing realm is Andrew Peterson.  He is a man after God's own heart, clearly from his music alone.  Here are the lyrics to one of my favorite songs of his, Let Me Sing from his album Clear to Venus.  This song is talking about how we should open the gifts God has given us and use them to the fullest extent through art and beauty.  I love this song because of its potent reminder to praise God for all that he has done for us.

If this song inspires you to write your own tunes, buy the whole album, or merely jump up and down because of God's goodness, let me know. :)

Let Me Sing ~ Clear to Venus

Andrew Peterson

I wanna open up my eyes 

And see a more beautiful world

Let the hand of God Almighty

Sweep his colors through my life

I wanna hold tight to the laughter

And ride it like a child 

On the winds that billow joyful 

Through the sky

I wanna open up my heart

But you know, sometimes it's hard to find

Because I've buried it beneath the selfishness

That I've hidden behind

I wanna stand my ground unshaken

But I wanna tremble when I kneel

And let my song remain unbroken 

Through the tears

So let me sing for the love

Let me love for the lost

Let me lose all I have 

For what I found on the cross

Let me trust you with my life

Let me live to give you praise

Lord, let me praise you 

For the grace by which I'm saved

Lord, let me sing

I wanna open up Your word

And let the thirsty enter in

So they can drink deep of the water 

You have given to them

I want to run the race with vigor

I want to fight the fight with strength

And let my song rise from a whisper

To a scream

I wanna open up my arms 

And embrace that old rugged cross

I wanna take pride in the reason

And be humbled by the cause

And when this lisping, stamm'ring tongue

Lies silent in the grave 

Then in a nobler, sweeter song,

I'll sing your praise

I'll sing your praise

So let me sing for the love

Let me love for the lost

Let me lose all I have 

For what I found on the cross

Let me trust you with my life

Let me live to give you praise

Lord, let me praise you 

For the grace by which I'm saved

Lord, let me sing

To Love and Be Loved ~ Part 3

To Love and Be Loved ~ Part 3

Janelle Spiers

And now introducing, Part 3 of To Love and Be Loved... A free verse story about the Roaring Twenties...

Evelyn O’Hara

Growing

John holds tight, close to my heart.

I rub his skinny back, comb his dark

hair.  His breathing slows with sleep.

I do not cough on this perfect night.

I listen to the slow rhythm of my child,

wrapped tight in my arms, growing too thin.

Marjorie J. Riley

Indifference Is Cold

I glide down the long stairs, my guests

turn and gawk.  Music plays and drinks are

served. My hand touches the rail. I search for

Will, but                      he does not care.

Danny                         does.  I do not like

Danny, he                   is a fool.  A fool

who wants my money.  I take one last look

at Will, before Danny takes my hand.  I do

not want to dance with Danny, I want Will.

Evelyn O’Hara

Lies

“Mamma, see what I’ve made you!”

John places a tangled wad of yarn in my hand.

“Itsa scarf, to keep you warm,” he smiles.

            Cough,

            Cough,

            Cough,

Worry steals my child’s smile. He frowns.

“Whas wrong, Mamma?” “Nothing, Johnny,

Mamma’s fine.”  I wish I could tell the truth.

Marjorie J. Riley

A Sad Smile

I smooth down the rich fabric on my dress.

I stroke the feathers in my hair, preening like a

bird.  I twist my dark locks in my fingers,

preparing for another dance.  I look

at Papa’s                                 picture on my

shelf.  His                                smile is sad.

Is father                                   disappointed

with me?                                 I know that

this is a foolish idea, that picture was taken

before I was born.  But I still wonder when I

come home early in the morning, was this

what he wanted his little girl to look like?

The Music Plays Louder

I hold Will’s hand as we step in time. 

His mind is somewhere else, anywhere but

here, with me.                         “Will, why

don’t you talk?                       You are so

dull.”  His eyes                       meet mine.

“The music is too loud for talking,” he says. 

Brown eyes are gone once more.

Evelyn O’Hara

Burdened

I see a young child begging for food

on the street corner.  How can I pass him

by?  If it were my own son, I would feed him.

            Cough,

            Cough,

            Cough,

It is not my own cough that echoes in the streets, 

but the boy’s.  I hand him my bread. 

His smile fills my soul and hunger is gone.

Marjorie J. Riley

The Less Fortunate

Papa always said to help those less fortunate.

I disagree, but do it anyway.  As my car rolls

past the grubby faces, the crippled legs, I give

them                                        a coin or two,

but is                                       this really what

Papa                                        had in mind? 

How                                        will this fill the

hole I am feeling in my heart.  Something is

wrong. I have everything I have ever wanted,

so why do I feel like I have nothing but want?

Take Me Back

I came across these precious poems today, and thought I should share them with you, dear reader.  These are the poems I grew up learning and memorizing, through copy work and hand motions.  May you laugh and enjoy these happy little poems as much as I did.  They take me back to childhood days that seemed so far away until I read them.  May they bring out the child in us all again.

Mr. Nobody

Anonymous

I know a funny little man,

As quiet as a mouse,

Who does the mischief that is done

In everybody’s house!

There’s no one ever sees his face,

And yet we all agree

That every plate we break was cracked

By Mr. Nobody.

’Tis he who always tears out books, 

Who leaves the door ajar,

He pulls the buttons from our shirts, 

And scatters pins afar;

That squeaking door will always squeak, 

For prithee, don’t you see,

We leave the oiling to be done 

By Mr. Nobody.

The finger marks upon the door

By none of us are made;

We never leave the blinds unclosed, 

To let the curtains fade.

The ink we never spill; the boots 

That lying round you see

Are not our boots,—they all belong 

To Mr. Nobody.

The Goops

Gelett Burgess

The Goops they lick their fingers,

And the goops they lick their knives, 

They spill their broth on the tablecloth – 

Oh, they lead disgusting lives!

The Goops they talk while eating, 

And loud and fast they chew, 

And that is why I’m glad that I 

Am not a Goop – are you? 

The Caterpillar

Christina G Rossetti

Brown and furry

Caterpillar in a hurry;

Take your walk

To the shady leaf, or stalk.

May no toad spy you,

May the little birds pass by you, 

Spin and die,

To live again a butterfly.

The Purple Cow

Gelett Burgess

I never saw a Purple Cow, 

I never hope to see one, 

But I can tell you, anyhow,

I'd rather see than be one!