Summer Romance II

I just read my entry from the day we got back from Budapest, and am filled with longing for that gorgeous place.

Being oriented to all things Hungarian was no easy task, and it seems that we left just as things we starting to settle in. In a way. In another way, there was no sense of staying- no sense that staying was right- at least then.

It's become so clear to me that God has cleared the decks for us this summer to work on the music. It's painful, b/c Budapest is calling, other things, places are vying for our time and attention, but not now. This is it. This is the time. It's now or never.

We have one song, done- One song, a brand new one, for the worship album, it's called Improvise. It's the best thing we've ever done. Together or separate. So simple. You'll see.

This summer, it's about finding a pool, drinking alot of iced tea, being in Texas, and making blistering rock- Christmas and otherwise.

Can't wait.

I will post the song somewhere they do that sort of thing and will let you know how to find it.

In His Grip,
Cameron

Apology and other news

First, I'm sorry for my last post. No, really I am. I over reacted. Rather than address the person and the comment directly, I hauled off an fired a generalized retort that probably didn't make any sense to anyone. The "comment" wasn't even geared to me, just a generic intolerance that found it's way onto my page- likely by accident- but- nonetheless.

Onto more important things. Brian Mann just returned from India and gave me a sneak peek at the footage he shot for Freedom Firm, an organization that rescues and rehabilitates victims of forced prostitution in India. While looking at the footage Brian suggested I write a song that we could use with his images. I mentioned it to Matt and he is downstairs right now recording it:

Guard my life and rescue me; let me not be put to shame, for I take refuge in you. (Psalm 25:20)

There is an itch in my bones about this issue and I can't even really figure out why. There's nothing in my past or present that would indicate why I have such a burden for this- slavery, forced prostitution, etc. But I do.

We've been invited to Budapest in August to help lead worship for a new Calvary Chapel church plant in Budapest-- out by the airport. We also have a desire to bring a small group of musicians to Nice, France in the Fall and support Jassie and Igor- friends who are pioneering a YWAM base there.

In the meantime we are working- writing and recording- and trying to discern the still small voice. Pray for us- if you do that sort of thing.

He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God; Many will see and fear And will trust in the LORD. (Psalm 40:3)

Why Everyone is Not Your Friend on Facebook

So, I was reminded just now of why reconnecting with a fairly painful past through Facebook, is something that is not for the weak stomached (like myself). There was a section of my life in a place, with people, that is so tied to my parents divorce and all the painful years surrounding it, that since then (1990) I have imagined that it never existed. I have- untruthfully- skipped over it in the cliffnotes version of my life story- or mentioned it briefly- in passing, hoping to avoid questions about it.

Beside it being the site of the painful disintegration of my family, it was where I lived out the awkwardest years of my life- middle school- so until FB, it had been buried in the recesses of my memory.

But God is all about raising the dead, isn't he, and so that's what he's doing in a way, with my life. He's raising the dead parts. One dead part was my relationship with my father. Literally years- sometimes 8 or 9 between sitings. And sitings or visits were always painful, until now. This past summer, after 3 months in Europe, we returned home to two shocks- Matt's layoff and my Father's congestive heart failure.

Nothing in me wanted to drop my life and get on a plane for New Jersey to be with the father who was never there for me. Nothing in me wanted to navigate the streets of that town that has forever been tied with embaressment, rejection and uncertainty. And no one would expect me to. Everyone would understand if I just couldn't go up there. Everyone but the still small voice, the change in me, the wonderful councellor who will not be ignored.

I say all this I guess because my faith is another part of me that seems incompatible with that past place- another thing about me for them to reject, I think. And in many cases I am right, and in many cases I am wrong. A few old friends have become new ones, as we suspend judgement about eachother. But does it matter? Should it matter? Should I hide who I am and what I am because I am still trying to fit in? Should you? Hell no.

But I'm not going to fulfill sterotypes either. I'm not going to judge you, preach at you, or try to convert you. I am going to tell my story, that's all. I am going to provide a platform for others to tell their stories. That's all any of us can do really. I would respectfully ask for the same from you. Don't judge me. Don't assume I'm a republican (I am not), don't assume I think your going to Hell (I don't), don't assume I am ignorant, judgemental, or brainwashed ( I am not). Give me a chance. Have an open mind. Or don't. It's up to you. The minimum of what I ask, is that you maybe just try to have some respect. I will do the same for you, I promise.

Baby Daddy

Matt's new website.

Rolling

Roll your works upon the Lord, commit and trust them wholly to Him; He will cause your thoughts to become agreeable to His will, and so shall your plans be established and succeed. Proverbs 16:3

Friends,

I have the great privilege and honor of being friends with a few women who are truly superheros. One of them, Jane Pettit, gave me this scripture above to focus on and pray and I want to share it with you.

I have consistently gotten my ideas of who God is mixed up with the truth of who God is and the result is invariably confusion and frustration. In darker times I have been challenged to repent of believing lies about who God is. For example- not believing that God is good. Perhaps the image of the cosmic disciplinarian lingers in my sub conscience and even though I know that's not true, it creeps in.

I have often believed that when things are hard or bad that God is teaching me some sort of lesson, and that I should endure it for that reason. How very wrong. I remember being in the throes of my post partum depression when Sydney was maybe 4 or 5 months old, another sleepless, anxiety filled night for me while Sydney and Matt snored. I remember saying angrily aloud to God, "What could I possibly be learning from this!"

There is a subtle yet distinct difference that needs to be metabolized here. God did not author my post partum in order to teach me something. My human body, flawed as it is, as all of ours are, went hormone haywire and triggered an off the chart anxiety that didn't subside after two weeks- when the baby blues are supposed to vanish. I went to God again and again and again. I felt forgotten, forsaken. I felt like a failure. I felt these things--because my chemical, physical, self was totally out of wack. Yes, God could've touched me and healed me in an instant but he didn't. As he's done before, he allowed me to humble myself and ask for help. I am stubborn so it took 6 months, but when I finally asked for help, medical help, I recieved it and was healed. All healing comes from him. I think he knew I would have more confidence in medical healing.

What He did with my situation is he redeemed it. This is the difference. Redemption- to make good out of something bad. Resurrection- to bring something to life that was lifeless. I am convinced that this is the business he is in- In spite of our lack of belief, our doubts, our disappointments-- he makes something beautiful out of an ugly mess.

I am living proof. Man oh man was I an ugly mess, I can still be an ugly mess. Visit me on a weekday morning before 9am! And man oh man- has he made me beautiful.Not physically per se (again, weekday mornings, rough) but I am a beautiful work in progress . I am in the process of being redeemed, every day. Places that died in me- are being brought to life- dreams, hope, faith. What makes me beautiful is that I am broken, and in spite of my broken-ness He is making something good of me. He is fixing me. Often, in spite of myself.

So thank you Jane. Thank you Lauren. Thank you Cheryl. Thank you Anna and Ryan and Jenna and Paula and Mom and Nancy and Cameron. Thank you for all you've done to speak into my life past and present and remind me that I am a beautiful mess- a beloved work in progress.

Love, Cameron

thoughts

So the memorial service for Grant was today, and it was beautiful, I think. I can't say for sure because some other person got up there and sang and led worship without sobbing uncontrollably because it wasn't me. It was an out of body experience. I had this strange sense of peace and calm the whole time. I remember thinking "you can do this, you lead worship all the time," and "everything is going to be alright," and "an americano with 2 percent would be delicious right now." Strange I know. Interesting what the mind does to preserve itself. It's true that I've lost friends before but it never gets easier. The platonic male friend is a unique phenomenon, always more common when one is married, but still rare. A genuine friend. Like the whole thing in When Harry Met Sally about whether or not men and women can really be friends. I know they can be, because I've had them, not many, and three of them I've lost. An americano does sound good right about now.

I looked up Grant's obituary online (because I don't read the newspaper, I am a publicist who doesn't read the newspaper) and I felt for a second like I was trapped in a movie like "Dead again" or something where the person is not really gone but they are seeing the world act as if they are and how strange that is. Seeing that picture of him, that grin, next to those words, is so wrong, so out of context, so surreal.

Yes, he was sick, but he never seemed sick, he never acted sick. He always acted like his illness was a temporary road block, a minor irritation. What was that nickname he had for his nefrologist? Something offensive and hilarious. I bet that guy will miss Grant. There's a woman out there that Grant had dated, Adriana, and I wish I could get her phone number or contact her somehow. We never met her, but she is sick too, and I want to love on her- as we say in the South, talk to her. Being around his friends is comforting, but I keep waiting to see him walk around the corner. Show up at my front door with take out , in his shorts and birkenstocks, the taped up arm, the goofy smile, the polite-ness. He was polite. I always felt like Grant knew how to tie a tie, how to address people properly, how to act in fancy places and situtations. I liked his waspiness, it was comforting to me. My mother would have loved him if she'd gotten to know him. She did meet him once or twice at Christmas. That was nice.

I remember that first lunch at J Alexander's after Easter. Grant was there and all our "Well" friends (the young adult ministry at Grace), Rob and his mom, Sydney was a baby. Paula and Bill were there, gosh they were like holiday parents to Grant- there was a stretch when we got him for Easter, Thanksgiving and for the Baptism- post Baptism party, he was baptised with Sydney. I just want to write it so I don't forget how he was so easy going, how he came along, how he said yes to church, yes to lunch, yes to our small group. How eventually he said yes to Jesus and yes to living, or Living, really. It is a great honor to have been a witness to that transformation. He was so cool about it, so matter of fact.

This old world is not the same without you in it my friend. I will truly, truly miss you. But I will see you again someday in a better place than this one. Like Erin said "Put in a good word for us".

Love, Cameron