Princesschair’s Weblog

paper hat on robin hood

Thursday, a perfect day to learn a lesson from Ruby again.

Sitting there next to me reading this morning, she produced markers and paper, saying, “I’m going to make the coolest craft ever.” A few minutes later, she held up a beautifully colored hat and beamed. “Isn’t it pretty?” I smiled and said, “Oh, Ruby, it’s awesome!” She grinned back and said, “Thanks,” delighting that I’d affirmed what she already knew.

A few minutes later, I turned to see her holding it up to God, asking, “God, do you like it?” She waited for the answer. So did I. Pretty soon a smile spread over her face.

“Thank you,” she repeated. I melted, because I understood that whole scene was to show me something.

This album compiles all the creativity and excellence of the best musicians and engineering I could muster. I got my favorite colors from the marker bin and started coloring the hat of songs I’d folded, thinking, “I’m about to make the coolest craft ever. . .” I’ve asked many people, “Isn’t it pretty?” And I’ve gotten all kinds of answers, most of them kind, some of them cruel in an effort to make it the best it can be.  Today’s word speaks louder than any to date.  I see now how it looks when I hold my craft up to God and ask Him if He likes it. . . and it’s very pretty.

My Daddy in heaven matters most. His opinion reaches in to satisfy my deepest need for approval.  Yes, I pray this music pleases the ear of everyone who listens, and I hope the vocals hold up next to the phenomenal songs I hear every day with an ever-more discerning ear. I’ve got to keep in mind and never forget that this is really just a paper hat, a craft born of ideas and a desire to create something beautiful. It never has to be more than that. It’s just a paper hat. I’m holding it up for all to see, but it’s ultimately meant to please my Daddy, and He says it’s wonderful.

So. . . are you crafty?  What’s your paper hat, your current project?  Want to hold it up?

Here I am, sitting at the computer which is conveniently located in my kitchen at the desk some builders in the the eighties thought might be a smart addition, trying to write amidst UTTER chaos. Three of my kids are rolling on the floor next to me in the music room with the dog and their dad, and it’s so loud I swear my eardrums are cracking open. They’re having a ball, but we’re one good kick away from disaster for someone. And the screams will not change a decibel, I’m sure.

Is this normal, I wonder? Whatever happened to the halcyon image of bliss and order? Why does it have to be so loud? And am I expected to just sit tight and wait for the dog to stop barking. . .

Ah, there’s the cry. Evan got hurt and he’s holding his nose. “Mom. . . ” He’s coming right for me. Paul intervenes. “Evan come here. . . Oh, it looks crooked. . . I think we’re going to have to have it removed. Let’s look inside of there. Oh, we can’t have it stay that way. No, that won’t do at all. Please Evan, hold still.” Screams from Evan. “There, there.” He’s pandering and I don’t want to know what else, but it’s working. No more crying, only punching–which is okay, since they both love UFC fighting so much and practice on each other so often. “Ow, Evan. My shoe. . .” Paul knows just how to avert any kind of crying. Wish I had that skill.

Now Chloe and Ruby are chasing each other around the circle of our rooms. The dog loves it; she’s barking up a storm and to tell her to stop I’d have to stop reporting here.

Evan’s crying again. Paul sings, “Oh, Evan, what’s happened?” Ruby runs over to defend him; starts punching and jumping on Dad. Evan’s had enough. “I HATE those shoes! Why don’t you ever take them OFF!” Evan is definitely mad. As he’s stomping off to his room, deep shrieks: “WHY is it ALWAYS ME?” Slam.

Chloe, who delights in moving in for the kill, runs after him. “Evan. . . ” “CHLOE!” Paul’s tone commands immediate stoppage. She halts, thinks, and tisks, “Temper, temper. . .”

Ah, from the elevated position of scribe, this all takes on a rather comic hue. I believe this is my bliss; here writing, I understand that this too will pass, and if I were managing it all like I normally do, I’d have made things worse (like I normally do). Besides, this way, you’re in on it, too.

P.S.  We’re officially in mixdown–the part of the album that makes all the sounds come together and jive.  Pray for wisdom and insight, musical genius and supernatural understanding about what’ll make these tunes live lives of their own.  Thanks.  Your prayers move the car along.

There’s a song out right now that says “I wanna live on the other side. . . .” What does that mean? I’m getting it:

We all do things that make us feel awful afterwards. You do. I do. Harsh words spoken, kind words left unsaid, various violations of the ten commandments . . . we all do them. Habitually. Some more than others. This brings on that old familiar pal, guilt. It sticks like sap, and I haven’t found anything on earth that can get it off. Some try to drown it, some try to smoke it out, others seek therapy, others do yoga.

I’m being made aware of the wonder way: the cross. Somebody get Billy on those commercials. Guilt drives me there to the cross now when I screw things up again. That’s the only place where guilt really comes off when I drop it down. My confession–actually saying “I did that” and taking responsibility for it, owning it there at the cross–cleanses the stain and stickiness of guilt right away like Goo Gone. But wait–that’s not all. . .

We get to live on the other side. We get to walk forward INTO the cross to receive God’s forgiveness. See, Jesus took my ugly deed with Him to the grave, buried it, and gives me His righteousness in its place. Sin’s paid for; I’m free of debt. There as I walk through the cross, something is exchanged, and I RECEIVE forgiveness. That in itself is incredibly cool and liberating, but the BEST part comes next: There is life on the other side of the cross, and that’s where things get positively supernatural.

On the other side of the cross is heaven. Eternal life is for now as much as it’s for later. I mean, it started the moment I gave my life to Jesus, right? Benefits galore. For instance, in heaven I have the mind of Christ. I wouldn’t dream of getting p.o.ed when somebody cops an attitude with me; instead I would know how to act in kindness past that person’s rude behavior, and I would do it. I would naturally love them with God’s love so they could know Him. I would be immune to sin and totally responsive to God. In heaven I am victorious over that which formerly got me every time.

Wow! I want to LIVE on the other side. Even here, right now, on this earth, I want to live like I just came from heaven, full of God’s Spirit. I want to touch people and see them healed, because where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty from sickness and disease. Jesus did that. I want to love people and see them melt. I want to give what people need because it’s God’s to give anyway, and my heart is in heaven with Him where my treasure is. I want to trust Him to take care of all the consequences for my obedience to His suggestions. I want to be so full of Him that I ooze His presence and smell like Him, leaving places better by far for having me walk through.

Funny, this is exactly what born again people are completely supposed to do. Rock on. And all from a trip through the cross-wash.

Paul, the kids and I just high-tailed it over to a free concert to see Francesca Battistelli, a new artist who sounds eerily like Sara Bareilles, another new artist. . . one is marketed as Christian, the other isn’t overtly so. Both are Italian girls, sounds like, and both have a driving, happy, bold sound that I happen to like very much. Check out Francesca’s music at her myspace: www.myspace.com/francescabattistelli.

Here’s a shot with my daugher Chloe after the show:

Sara Bareilles’ website is cute, too. Check it out: www.sarabmusic.com

Best prayers for these girls as they go on with it. Fun!

The time has finally come for me to write about my trip to Poland. I’ve had plenty to say, but as simmering sauces thicken as they reduce, so has this life changing experience been for me. Mmm. My life tastes different.

Life in Poland is slower. Maybe it’s because all email, websites, parenting and responsibilities were a trillion miles away, or perhaps because I couldn’t understand a word people were saying, but I was relaxed. You must understand: usually my heart feels like it’s going to explode at any time. Stress consumes me no matter how hard I try to stave it off. There, I had no control, obviously, so I just rolled with whatever. And I loved it. I didn’t know how much until I came home with all sorts of idealistic hopes; within three days I’d abandoned them all, and stood in my kitchen with my heart twisted up in that old familiar strangle hold.

There’s the bad news. The good news is that a new fire burns inside me now, ’cause I’ve been touched by true religion. Caring for widows and orphans and the poor is sacred stuff, possible only by offering yourself with no expectation of return, all for another’s good. It means being a vessel for heaven to touch earth. The Lord God leaves a mighty fine residue when He flows in and through you. It makes the heart squeeze here at home worth it, and assures me that it will not last. I am on a new path of trusting God for real, for everything, and peace will come.

It all started with this book I read on the plane: The Shack, by William P. Young. Touted by Wynnona Judd as responsible for “blowing the door of her soul wide open,” and by Michael W. Smith as a book which makes you “crave the presence of God” intensely, I thought it a worthy read. Oh. Read this. Please. Go to Amazon.com and just get it delivered to your door right now. You will be forever changed, too, as you understand God in ways you always hoped but never expected. He is wonderful, and this open trust in a wonderful God paved the way for me to meet kids with love I knew had to come from Him.

A couple of stories:

Dominika was a wild, unkempt, animalistic child of about five with blonde hair and rotten teeth. The middle child of three there at the children’s home, she pushed away positive attention and preferred only negative. She blew a plastic whistle as we played with the kids in the front lawn, ensuring she was always there in our attentions, if only to wish she’d shut up. . . One night a few others and I came to the little kids’ room to sing to them before bedtime, and there Dominika climbed incessantly over our backs and blew that whistle until I turned and commented to Krista, our translator, “She is an animal, isn’t she?” Both of us knew there was more going on inside her than met the eye, for how she looked at us as she acted so wildly. At one point I stood up and happened to turn around to face her standing there at my eye level on a couch. With a voracious look, she lunged at me, hooked both arms around my neck and both legs around my waist. Instantly, divinely, I understood. She just needed love. I hugged her close and held her for a second, then pulled back to look her in the eye. I sensed a powerful surge go through me into her heart, and I said, “I bless you in Jesus’ name.” She stilled immediately and looked deeply into my eyes. Noticing the change in her, I smiled and said breathlessly, “Yes. I bless you in Jesus’ name. He loves you, Dominika. He wants you to know Him so much. . . ” I trailed off as I knew that she, not understanding English at all, had heard me. Suddenly, for the first time, she was calm. We looked into each others’ eyes for a moment more, then she extricated herself and walked off to bed. The next day, unbeknownst to me, another male member of my team had a similar experience with her. On the last day, just before we left, out on the playground we’d built for them, she came to ride the teeter-totter. Krista had given her a bear, and she was elated, bringing it even to the playground. Her smile was calm; her face was happy. She is my favorite memory of what happens at the name of Jesus and a rush or two of His love.

Then, needing to practice for a show in a Polish coffee shop on Friday, I found a piano pretty-much-in-tune in the foyer. Music flowed through the halls like it probably never does, and I found myself praying subconsciously for walls to come down (what walls, I didn’t even know). Mark White, the mastermind behind the playground trips and the proud adoptive father of two children from this very children’s home in Poland, told me later (not knowing I’d been praying, of course), “Lori, amazing things were happening here as you played. It was like walls were falling down. . .” When I came home and led worship on Sunday in my home church, a dear friend came up and said, “Lori, I’ve only had a few times in my life when I’ve awoken from a dream and I knew it was from the Lord. I saw you singing to children in Poland, and I saw walls coming down, and I knew God was breaking hearts for the orphans. . . ” I started jumping up and down in my high heels, and told her what had happened, and I’m convinced after some questioning that with the time change, she was dreaming at the time I was singing. Wow! How cool!!!! The workers there noticed how the kids responded to the love we showed, and I wonder if it’s their hearts that got broken that day. Extended love. . . that’s our greatest hope.

More later. . . .

I’m reading today about how Solomon built the temple according to skilled instructions God gave his father, David. He employed many people to complete this amazingly beautiful offering to God. . . and left no detail unconsidered or up to chance. All mattered; because it was for God Most High, he oversaw it with painstaking attention to detail. Everything was of the highest quality. God is God, after all! The best is the very least of what He is due. And God had provided all of the resources to Solomon in the first place; it was only proper to give it back to Him with man’s creative touches applied.

And so goes this album as well.

God wrote these songs. He gave me the inspiration with ideas I couldn’t bear to lose; He gave me the skill to write them cohesively; He opens people’s hearts to receive them clearly and like what they hear. I had the raw material for five years in my hand, wondering what to do with it to get this album built. But in God’s timing, everything fell into place.

First, the $6000 gift. That started the process of hiring the best musicians for these songs and locating the best studio. . . and everyone had to have the right heart about the messages and the Lord behind them. That was very important. Prayer started every session, and the Holy Spirit anointed us–Alex the keyboard player noted the magic that happened in that room . . . and all of us agreed. These are professionals for many years, and all believe it is some of their best work ever. What an honor to be part of that! It was also very important to me that every man and woman involved felt free to bring their own creative expression to the music without feeling hemmed in, yet my original idea for the song still had to remain the anchor, the voice in the middle. It is so; the results are amazing.

There has been no rushing, no worrying. When I ran out of money, I prayed and asked God for more and kept serving as worship leader for our church and ladies’ events. One of those events provided opportunity to ask for support from anyone who felt led to help record the album, and another $3000 came in that day!

Wow! Now we could hire more skilled musicians to add spice and flavor sounds over our already delicious foundation. Like Solomon covered the temple’s interior with cedar carved with winged creatures, palm trees and lilies (making the temple impressive to all who entered–they’d never forget their experience in God’s temple), so did the Lord allow me to gather some of the most talented people in Kansas City to play their B3 organs, Miles Davis trumpets, Irish whistles, flutes, country and classical violins, upright basses that sound just like celloes and fancy keyboards that sound like orchestras. The effect is splendor. This music hardly needs lyrics!

God even kept His hand on us when we were about to make some wrong turns. One day I had scheduled a session with a musician who couldn’t make it, so I thought that would be a great day to start re-doing the vocals. That morning I woke up crabby, flat and listless and could barely drag myself to the studio. I warned Larry about what was going on (this isn’t like me at all), and he said we could just try. We spent an hour and forty minutes on the song A Different Kind. Technically it was all right, but the spirit behind it was all wrong. We stopped and learned this lesson: the scratch vocals actually capture that magic Alex mentioned better than any other vocals ever could, so why not save money and time just using the magical ones? After we came to this, my body and soul became as right as rain. God had made His point.

Absolutely brilliant: the vocals you will hear on the album are all recorded on a Shure 58 while I’m sitting on the black leather couch in the studio with Nate, Jim and Alex, looking into the drum room at Doug. I love it. I sing better live anyway.

Other times, musicians fell through so others could come in–by God’s design. He brought every musician in Himself, for His own reasons, His own glory.

Dear God, thank you for your faithfulness! You’ve arranged a dream to come true here, and I pray it reaches many thousands, even millions of souls with Your message of hope and love for them. There’s no end to my praise of Your love, Your kindness, Your ability to do great things, Your steadfastness when I flag. Thanks for letting me play with your craft supplies. I give you this masterpiece almost ready now because I love you. . . this macaroni sculpture. . . .

P.S. we’re recording the background vocals tonight. It’s the last piece before mix down. It’s coming. . . .