Tiananmen Square 1989: In Remembrance of June.

The Great Wall of China

Beijing, China 1988

When they told us we would be taking the train, I was ecstatic!  And when they said it would take 4 days from Beijing to the city where we would live for the summer, I was beside myself!  A steam train trip across China was an unexpected adventure!  ("They" were the Chinese railroad officials and "we" were a group of English teachers whose plane tickets were suddenly no longer valid, eager to reach our destination.)  When the summer session ended, I would stay on for the rest of year and continue teaching.  The rest of the group would return to America.

Singing at a celebration

The school year began quietly.  I settled in to teaching a few days a week, learned local languages, to navigate my way to markets in sardine cans called busses, and made dear friends.  I taught college students and they were wonderfully curious & eager to transform their textbook language into idioms, slang and conversational American English.  Like wide-eyed kids in a toy store, they'd ask questions about me, my life, my culture, my family, my country.  I saw stunning fireworks on Chinese New Year, rode a 2-humped camel, learned to play the dombra, learned to speak enough of three languages to buy food, and got reacquainted with Jesus.

Apple Lady at the School Gate

2000 Mile Ripples 

In late spring, 1989, news of protests in Beijing made small waves in my city, like the last ripples from a rock thrown into a pond.  It was, after all, nearly 2,000 miles from the capital of China.  I started sensing subtle tensions. My students were more reserved and distanced themselves from me, and clouds of worry gathered in the eyes.  I noticed the usually unarmed PLA soldiers, who patrolled the city more like a Sunday stroll, now strapped on side arms and carried automatic weapons, and the lackadaisical looks they wore on their faces were replaced with suspicion.  Veteran English teachers had more details--thousands of students were gathering in Tiananmen Square. The army was massing.  We were all praying. 

 Massacre

June came, and the ripples became waves.  I began to hear the word massacre and Tiananmen Square in the same sentence.  Remember, this was 1989 and my only connection to the non-Chinese world was a short wave radio.  My TV showed only one scene over and over again--soldiers in army vehicles being pelted with rocks by students.  Once clear broadcasts from Voice of America became lifeless static.  I could not call home.  I and a group of other teachers were able to leave China safely late in June, my year commitment not quite complete.  A plane flew us to Guangzhou, and a bus took us to the border, and clearing customs we finally boarded a train for Hong Kong.  At the train station, I stared in horror at this June 12, 1989, Time Magazine cover photo, and then called my mom and dad.

http://www.time.com/time/covers/0,16641,19890612,00.html.

June 4, 2012

To be honest, I did not remember about this world-shaking event until I saw a post on Facebook today.  But the memories brought back faces, smells, tastes, chills and the longing to return.  I do not feel like I was a part of history, like those I know who were in Beijing at the time. That was 23 years ago--truly a lifetime ago.  I'm no political pundit and I cannot comment in that way on China then or now.  But I do know what the Bible says about rulers and kings-- "Now therefore, O kings, be wise; be warned, O rulers of the earth.  Serve the Lord with fear, and rejoice with trembling. (Psalm 2:10-11); and what it says about the oppressed "The Lord works righteousness and justice for all who are oppressed." (Psalm 103:6).  

China will always be in my heart.

Memorial Day & A Song in His Memory

My Memorial Day memories default to sweating in a navy blue wool uniform as we, the Lodi High School band, marched through my little hometown toward Mount Pleasant Cemetery in the annual  Memorial Day Parade.  In my mind I see my dad, Glen Frank (Mike) Clark, among the veterans that gathered at Mount Pleasant, wearing his gold-rimmed Government Issue sunglasses, a pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket, staring past the crowd at his own distant memories, during the prayer of invocation and the 21-gun salute. He served our country in World War II as a Navy radio man on a freighter that transported supplies to U.S. ships, all while trying to avoid getting blown out of the North Atlantic by German U-boats. Dad never missed the ceremony at the cemetery.  

 

Dad, age 6-9 months?

"Mike" was born May 26, 1924, so our family often tossed a birthday celebration into the other Memorial Day festivities.  He would have been 88 this year.  My dad hunted, fished, trapped, gardened, mowed the yard, fed the cows and the horses, hauled water when the windmill broke down, sang Ray Price songs and whistled a lot.  And he always had a dog!  Dad passed away on May 8, 1993.  Some of my most treasured little girl memories are of him and me on the rocky shoreline of the Wisconsin River catching blue gill.  Of course, he'd probably remember there was more hook baiting, snag clearing, and line untangling than fishing!  

Walleye from Lake Wisconsin

Which brings me to the song, "Meeting My Maker", written by me, Lee Black and Chris Filer. The idea came to me a couple summers ago, while walking in the North Woods of Wisconsin, one of my favorite places on God's green earth!  I love the warm piney smells, the loon's lonesome call, and waves of wildflowers... I feel God's presence when I'm out there.  "Meeting My Maker" is a song about a man who feels closer to God, not in church, but out in the woods.  In the Bible, Romans 1:20 says, "For [God's] invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made."  I'd like to think my dad felt God's presence when he was in the woods or on the lake, too.  And I'd like to hope that, out there, he heard God speak to his soul.  

So, in memory of my dad, I'm posting Meeting My Maker. Click on the title to hear it.  As you listen, remember---remember fathers, brothers and sons who served; pray for those serving still. But most of all, remember that though there are wars and rumors of more wars than we can count, God will one day bring an end to them all.

(The awesome singer on this demo is Matt Dame.  

Check him out at http://www.reverbnation.com/mattdame.)

Songwriter Envy - Cymbal Crashing Clouds

Songwriter envy - I've got it  - I confess.  But not in the dark, malicious, green-eyed monster kind of way, but in the "aspiring to" and "hankerin'" kind of way, i.e., "this song makes me want to go write a new song..."

Certain songwriters' lyrics inspire me and move me to delve deeper into my own creative mine.  Recently, it was Ben Shive and his latest cd "Cymbal Crashing Clouds".  The record's been out almost a year... but it's new to me and hopefully new to a few of you!

Now, I have say to that a few people I've talked with are not big fans of Cymbal Crashing Clouds, probably in the same way they may not be big fans of modern visual art (myself included here).  I understand that and I had to listen a few times myself to wrap my mind around this imagery.  And sometimes records like this can make me feel like I'm not a real artist because, generally speaking, most of my lyrics make sense on the first listen!  But this record doesn't make me feel that way... in fact, it makes me want to be a better writer!


I seriously love the brilliant way Ben employs words.  Andrew Peterson says it best, "These songs are quirky, brilliant, poetic, and joyful... with pop hooks, chamber strings, great sounds, intricate poetry, and on top of that, Scriptural allusions galore."  In "Cymbal Crashing Clouds" Ben creates fascinating images through word collisions that explode in my mind like fireworks!  

LISTEN!

I pass through a door in a dream

Hidden in the cleft of the night

Among the parked cars lining the street

Robed in petals of white 

Where the seeds spin down from the trees

Whirling angels in free flight

And the houses mutter in their sleep

Covered in shuttered eyes

Listen!

I'm skipping to the end here...

So signal the cymbal crashing clouds

Pluck all the steeples and spires

Cue the rivers with the reeds in their mouths

Conduct the electrical choirs

Rattle every window in town

Strum all the telephone wires

Crossing arms drawing the phrase out

Crossing arms drawing the phrase out

‘Cause my bones are all bells to be rung

My nerves are attuned and tight

So come knock the air from my lungs

Out over the cords in my windpipe

My skin pulled taut like a drum

I am bracing myself for the strike

Waiting like a song to be sung

Hidden in the cleft of the night

And sprinkled throughout the record are lines that I have oohed and ahed over more than once:  


"the bitter's end" in "Last Time For Everything";
"panning ordinary rivers on rumors of gold" in "EGBDF";
"the city is a mirror ball throwing rainbows around" in "Someone is Asking"
"tearing at my soul with oblivious claws" from "She's Invincible"

Dang!  Thanks, Lil Wrangler, for stirring things up!  Isn't that what great writing does?

Visit Ben's website And at http://www.rabbitroom.com/2011/08/psst-listen/ Ben shares his writing process for "Listen".  

The Day I Began To Miss My Mother---Post Mother's Day Reflections

Mother's Day was yesterday.  A friend asked me if I missed my mother.  Hmmm... good question. 


Mom died July 4th, 1997.  Do I miss her?  The truth is, I missed her when she was still living.  My mother was an alcoholic. 


Don't get me wrong, she was a great mom; she worked full time and stayed married to my dad; she tucked me in at night; and woke me up with this funny little nursery rhyme song, "Good Morning Mary Sunshine", that always made me laugh (till junior high, that is).  She cooked and cleaned and grew beautiful flower gardens; drew pictures of Snoopy on the brown lunch bags in which I carried my bologna sandwiches to school; she bought my horse, Duke, for my 10th birthday; she drove me to band practice and piano lessons.  She even let me learn the hard way.


Now, we always had beer in the house.  A couple at dinner was the norm for mom & dad when we kids were younger.  A few more on Fish Fry nights or when friends or family came to play Euchre.  Occasionally, when they got a little schnokered, they'd argue.  Oh, heck, even when they weren't schnokered,  I can remember some real roof raisers!


But as we kids grew up and mom & dad grew older, something changed--or so it seemed to me.  By the time my brothers & sisters were grown and gone, and I was in my early teens, my parents drank more and more often.  I came to hate dinner times when it was just me, mom & dad.  They'd take verbal pot shots at each other like drunken cowboys with 6-shooters picking tin cans off a fence.  If Dad ate out of the green bean bowl with his fork, mom would roll her eyes & swear at him under her breath, and he'd fire back that he never was good enough for her; and so on.  Then it escalated to name calling and fists pounding on the table--only on the table, fortunately.  My knotted stomach was the cue for me to get the heck out of Dodge.  Thank God for big Duke, my horse!  He was my savior more times than I can count in those days.  We'd ride until the sun set, then I'd stay in the barn currying him, singing and talking to him, till my parents ran out of ammunition.  (After I got my driver's license, I avoided being home routinely, sometimes staying out till I was sure mom & dad were in bed.  And I was tipping a few myself by then.  But that's another story with another Savior.)

Being the youngest of the five kids, I think I was more aware that alcohol was overtaking our parents, especially mom, and it affected me deeply.  The beer soon gave way to harder stuff.  Cemented in my mind is the vivid image of her swigging whiskey right out of the bottle.  I was 16.  With a hand on each hallway wall to steady herself, she staggered to my room, leaned against the door frame, swinging slightly like a saloon door, slurring I'm alrights and I love yous...  That was the day I began to miss my mother.

Please do not misunderstand me.  This is not intended to dishonor her in any way or vent my anger.  Jesus helped me deal with that years ago and, in fact, it was His forgiveness of my sins that taught me to forgive mom and to repent of how I had dishonored my parents during those teen years, and spurred me on to love and honor them the way the Bible commanded me to.  God redeemed our relationship and I'm profoundly thankful for that.  Perhaps you find yourself where I once was and need to forgive a parent or someone else who has wronged you.  Jesus can help you do that.  Trust Him.


Mom wasn't perfect.  Neither am I.  I am certain she loved me and I loved her, even more as the gospel renewed my mind and heart toward her.  So, yes, friend, I miss her. I missed her then. But I miss her now.

Object Writing--work out in the word gym

Lately I've been "object writing" as described in Berklee songwriting prof Pat Pattison's book Songwriting Without Boundaries.   Object writing is the daily exercise of sense-bound writing--digging into the sights, sounds, smells, tastes, feels, etc., that a certain word or words evoke.  Here's a link to a sample...  


http://www.hillbillyculture.com/#/articles/Day_9_Songwriting_Challenge
www.patpattison.com.

If you are a writer of any kind, jump on in.  We're still going...

Don't Be Fooled by a Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwich Cover

On the front cover of Wednesdays Were Pretty Normal is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

On the back cover, near the bottom, is a white box containing the words RELIGION/Christian Life/Inspirational.

Inside is a theology book.  Inside is a rich, conversational study of God, human suffering & pain, the gospel and beliefs about those things.  Theology.

With the depth of C.S. Lewis and the acuity of Tim Keller, Michael Kelley wrestles with his own beliefs about the nature of God in the diagnosis of his then two-year-old son Joshua's leukemia, and throughout the treatment of it. Take God's love, for example.  "A little boy with cancer is a situation I would try to keep from those I love... but God?  I couldn't say the same for Him."  I've thought that... maybe you're thinking that now.  

See? Theology. The nature of God.

Sometimes I believe in the Hallmark Hall of Fame movie God, whose sole purpose of existence is to make my life turn out the way I think it should. But, writes Michael, "If all we do is trust God for a positive outcome, we are subtly implying that we... know what is best."  He goes on to say that doesn't we mean we don't pray for healing or an end to suffering--we certainly do.  But we pray "undergirded with confidence not only in what God can do but in who God is.  That's really what we are choosing to believe."

See?  Theology. Beliefs about God.

Wednesdays Were Pretty Normal is a book that reads as though Michael, Jana and I are at Starbucks having coffee and conversations about God; and what the Scripture tells us we should believe about Him; and whether or not we really DO believe it and how that plays out whether or not you're in a hard place.  And, really, I think that's how theology is best studied, don't you?  Maybe that's even the way God wants it to be studied--in heart-felt conversations of truth between stumbling, struggling people who help each other keep walking in faith.

Certainly, this book was written for the person dealing with hard stuff.  But, and maybe more importantly, it's also a book written for those who are dealing with people dealing with hard stuff.  Ever wonder what to say when a friend tells you they have cancer?  Or that their husband is cheating on them?  Ever quote Romans 8:28 and wonder how on earth this could actually be true?  Me, too... Thankfully, Michael Kelley is honest enough to grapple with it in black and white, and loving enough takes us with him to the mat.  What I really appreciate is that Michael doesn't give us neat and tidy answers, because there aren't any.  There is only God.  And what He wants us to believe about Himself.

If you are the kind of person (like me) that does not naturally gravitate toward the RELIGION/Christian Life/Inspirational department in the bookstore, you may miss one of the most genuine theology books shelved there.  Please don't let the peanut butter and jelly sandwich cover fool you. There's a lot of meat in these pages.  

In Heaven, In The Round

Dear Reader,

I love to hear how songs came to be written.  I love to hear what circumstances made the writer say, "Man, that's a great idea for a song"!  And songwriters love to tell the stories behind their songs.  That's one reason I love writer's nights here in Nashville, because in crowded, low-lit clubs, sitting 'in the round' I can hear songwriter stories and the songs that came from them.  

I was reading Psalm 51 recently, and noticed that before verse 1 of Psalm 51 there's a little blurb that reads, "To the choirmaster.  A psalm of David, when Nathan the prophet went to him, after he had committed adultery with Bathsheba."  And my first thought was, "Hey!  The story behind the psalm!"  How cool is that?   (And it's a doozie.  Check out 2 Samuel 12 and then read Psalm 51.)

My second thought was, here I am, in the year 2012, writing songs about sin, confession, forgiveness, repentance, worship and redemption, just like King David did a few thousand years ago.  How cool is that?

My third thought?  "In Heaven, in the round, King David, J.S. Bach, Fanny Crosby, Wendy Wills."  

(O.M. Goodness - I just blew my own mind!)

Happy New Year!

wendy