"The winter here is cold, and bitter; it chills us to the bone..."
New songs emerge ready for the studio.
My thoughts are a bit bleak this Winter. It's easy to say that I'm not as destroyed as I was two years ago, or even just a year ago. It's clear though that the winter sun--or lack there of--takes it's toll on my body. Earlier this year I had received prayer of healing from depression. It was seemingly effective. What has become so disheartening of this season is that I find myself depressed. Friends made it clear to me that even though Lazarus was brought back from the dead, he was still subject to death. That's unless he's still alive somewhere, and we don't know it; I'm sure that's not the case.
This year I'm sober, and have dealt with all of this in sound mind. The music is still to come in January. I have been most lazy in rehearsing for the studio. The track list is strange; I've never gone in with this kind of plan or itinerary. Initially I was going to do a complete worship album, but as the time carried on, some new songs emerged. These songs had never existed before, and weren't part of my stock pile or the things in my slow cooker. Through dreams and petitions they arose. I knew that I would need to take them to the studio, so that they were down before die.
In the slow cooker, waiting to be revealed.
I've had an impending since of doom lately, and an urge to "handle my business". So, this year will be a studio year of utility. I'll be recording the originals that have made themselves prevalent, as well as the worship set that I gathered. Most importantly, I will be recording some scratch work of the things in the slow cooker. This will be so I can go over them through out the year, and determine what is trying to be said through them. This is a first for me at the studio.
This fleeting reality.
Worst of all of these things is the death of my brother, and my non response. Maybe I'm subconsciously dealing with it? I'm not I'm angry about it more than anything. I'm angry that he couldn't maintain relationships. I'm angry that the people that have inherited his legacy are irrelevant to my grieving process. I'm angry that he's dead, and we last left each other with such a petty argument. I'm angry. I'm not sad. I'm angry that I've been dealt this card of response.
I'm mad because of this fleet reality. People can be so important, and hold major rolls in the influence of ones life. They are aloud to participate or not. All too often we choose to keep ourselves separated and isolated from those who need us.
One day we're just gone, though. Never to be spoken to; never to be reconciled to our role. We become that vapor, and we're carried off by the wind. No goodbyes. No apologies. No recovery.
"Explosions, on the day you wake up needing somebody, and you've learned: It's ok to be afraid, but it will never be the same."
