Betty And The Boy

On Monday evening my family and I had the pleasure of being entertained by the mesmerizing vocals and newish folk feeling beats of Betty And The Boy. Wow, that sounded really dry and... reviewish. Check out their MySpace here.

Not only does Betty Jaeger have a face like an angel, her vocals seem to have wings as well. Josh Harvey,(brother to Todd Harvey) who makes up the Boy part of the equation plays several instruments, including the banjo, guitar, bass and percussion.

We had a great time at Colter, drinking Double Macchiato's (and yes, a Macchiato is always deserving of caps) and visiting with family and friends. I'd add a link to Colter Coffee, but their website is awful and doesn't do their INCREDIBLE coffee any justice.

My favorite song they performed (well alright, I have two) is My Ghost, and Devil Town. Hmmm sounds like I'm going Goth! But seriously, all eyes were on Betty during My Ghost. The entire coffee shop was mesmerized.

They definitely have a bunch of new fans.

I'm having trouble getting the photos and videos off of my brothers camera and onto my computer (my camera has decided it is ONLY taking purple hued photos, so I had to borrow). But as soon as I get em off... I will put em on!

A Barn Burning

My barn having burned to the ground, I can now see the moon.— Japanese poet Masahide

Sometimes I come across something written that touches me deeply. (Okay, so it happens a lot) I am stunned at the ability of thoughts put to paper to move me so powerfully. The words above resonate so deeply within me and seem to speak of my faith in Christ.

My barn. The thing I build with my own hands. The thing that I "need". The thing that I believe will add to my safety, or my livelihood, or my well being.

My barn.

I think we as humans imperfectly place much faith in our own brand of wisdom. At least I know I do. The word of God can plainly tell us that it is not for us to direct our own step, and yet we do, I do. Time and time again I direct my own steps, until Christ in his infinte love, grace and power reaches down and sets fire to my barn.

I wail as its burning, I cry to God for help, for mercy, for aid. And He hears my cries, knowing that the fire that I pray will be extinguished, is the very mercy that I need. His will, not mine. Because His will is Omniscient, while mine cannot see the beyond the barn.

And as I survey the ashes, I have a choice. I can bitterly sift through them, cursing and searching only for what once stood. Or I can stand, searching the heavens for the face of Christ. I can see not only the moon, but the Son.

I think of the barns that have been burnt down in my life, the fires I thought I would never recover from. Perhaps Christ did not light each one of these, but He used the empty places they left behind to to call me to Himself. These very fires that have brought me to my knees in despair, have brought me to my knees before my Lord.

They have destroyed the barn, illuminated the night, and made clear the path that leads to Him.

My Beautiful Morning

I woke this morning feeling, awake. Which is a wonderful thing in itself. But I also awoke, aware, which is a blessed thing.

It started with coffee (doesn't everything good start with coffee?) Breathing in the purifying aroma of fresh ground beans...for coffee lovers, nuff said.

Then, slippers on, coffee at my side, I sat in the hushed quiet of my still sleeping house and spent time with my God. My God. Because in those moments of solitary communion that is exactly what he is. He is mine, and I am his. I belong to him completely and he is available to me with an infinite exclusion. What an amazing and beautiful gift we have been given. I am filled with thick emotion in just remembering. Awesome.

And then I just sat. Listened. Listened to the waking world outside my door. Listened to the quiet inside. I was aware. It seems like such a simple state to be in. Strangely and to my detriment, I am not in it enough. I am so hurried, worried, rushed and busy that I forget to be still, to listen, to feel, to breathe.

And so, with new awareness, I filled my dishpan with water so hot the steam curled up into the cool air of the kitchen bringing with it the soft scent of lavender and clean. I washed up the few dishes left over from last nights snacks, looking out my kitchen window to my little urban farmyard. A thick sleepy fog muted the world, but my chickens paid no attention. They were busy about their work, scratching and pecking along the little path of hay I had made for them the day before. There is just something so whole and natural about chickens. Something peaceful and real that comforts and grounds me.

I'm sure it's partly because of their simplicity. Their unplugged, non-CNN, off the grid loveliness. I think it's also something borrowed from yesterday. That retro comfort that I find wrapped up in the strings of vintage aprons.

Now morning is turning to noon, and with each hour, the intensity of the day increases. I am going to try to carry with me, everywhere I go, the peace I found this morning.