Looking Forward to Amy Grant's Mosaic

Sep 26, 02:33 AM

By the middle of October, I should be receiving my very own autographed copy of Amy Grant’s Mosaic: Pieces of My Life So Far, an intimate, autobiographical self-examination of the life (thus far) of Contemporary Christian Music’s premiere songstress. Not many books have taken this artist’s life to task, so it’s a rare treat to be able to assemble the many stories and thoughts of this remarkable person.

Having subscribed to her fan club’s newsletter, I’ve been fed excerpts from the upcoming book in my email. For some reason, I sort of glossed over the first excerpt sent to me. Call it the rush of everyday life. But this time, I took a few moments to read the few paragraphs that were sent.

There’s no doubt in my mind that as a new born-again convert in my teen years that I was deeply influenced by Amy Grant’s music. Not only did it keep me from quitting those debilitating piano lessons to finally emerge as a musician in my own right, but it set the tone for what is the core of my beliefs and how I think of what it really means to be a Christian; or to be more adequately described as a person finding a spiritual identity.

I am by no means a spiritual giant. I am flawed and frail and reluctant to set an example for anyone to follow as far I’m concerned. My doubts run deep and I wrestle with God like Jacob in the Bible. I probably don’t pray or read the Bible as often as I ought to do. As a Christian, I am underwhelming.

And I have no doubt in the face of such a seeming failure to flourish spiritually, many believers have fallen aside and have abandoned all hope they once had. And as such, I cannot blame them. Either they’ve found alternates that would not be accepted in the church family or have decided that certain questions are without answer and therefore not worth the anguish to pursue. I find myself in the uncomfortable middle void, desperate for reassurance from a loving God yet feeling lost and abandoned. I know that I cannot live up to the expectations that my evangelical brothers and sisters would prefer from me. At least, not without being dishonest. And so it all seems pretty dismal.

Then I go back to my roots. The place where I started to ask the fundamental questions about why I’m here and if there is a God and does he provide the love and meaning I need to make it through this life. And I realize that it’s only in the simplicity of faith where I find true peace and comfort. It’s not an easy comfort. It’s not without hesitation. But it’s that very slight tension, that quiet longing that gives me a sense of meaning that I cannot find in any church setting or in a manufactured experience.

I read the excerpt from Amy’s upcoming book and realized that finding that connection with God doesn’t have to follow a set form or ritual to be valid. There’s no need to mimic a set of boilerplate epithets to commune with our creator. In the passage, she describes her moment of wordless prayer while on a personal retreat in the country with her daughters.

Maybe I should pray. Maybe out loud.

But when I opened my mouth, the words seemed outside the moment. My voice too thin. The actual sounds inadequate and out of place. If this had been male-female communication, words would have stopped and touch would begin. How natural.

And then I was marching and seeing my father, and dancing a jig… And then I moved in gratitude for my mother, kneeling, and bending, and rising… And then for my children and Vince, and I moved and twirled and danced, and balanced, and stood and spun until I was panting and my heart was racing and I felt connected.

I truly enjoy gaining a very different perspective on life; to be surprised. I am reminded that my spirituality is not be confined to convention and not to feel condemned when others see that I don’t step to the same beat as everyone else when it comes to expressing faith, whether in actions or words. I know that when I get to that private place, I am free to let out all the good and the bad that I have penned up inside me and not to be worried. When I talk to God, I don’t pull punches. I apologize, I curse, I praise, I complain, I am honest. And in my heart, I know it’s all good with him.

Spirituality is not lived in the halls of the temple but in every breathing moment. And when I get off the treadmill and stop, time stops with me. And I become vulnerable and real. I whisper to the one listening. And he hears. And I have what I need to keep moving ahead for that day. And I am grateful.