Wish I had river

Today, I thought about an old post that meant a lot to me and still does. I looked it up, and was surprised to see I posted it on this exact day last year. What a perfect time to share it again.

It's chilly outside, the world is spinning, the responsibilities on my plate are overwhelming, and lots of people in my life are a hot mess. I myself am narrowly escaping that definition for the time being, yet I know that could change any minute too. I need to reread this, and thought maybe you'd enjoy a second glance too. Or a first one.



Joni Mitchell's River is another of my all time favorite Christmas songs.

I know, I know. I may have some opposition here. It's not really a Christmas song at all. It's more of a winter song. Not even a nod towards Jesus and the story of Christmas. But just bear with me; it's spiritual, under the surface. And actually quite moving to me.

If you haven't already gathered, or happen to be reading this blog for the first time in your life, I am a melancholy girl through and through. I find beauty in not only the beautiful things in life, but the bittersweet and sad as well. To me, there is something poignantly lovely about the human experience from its splendor to its grief. God created all our emotions, not just the happy ones, and for His good purposes. That's why a good cry can feel so good. And hitting our limits forces us to look outside ourselves for a Savior. It is in the plea, when we're at our end, that we can find that which is truly life-giving. Personally, my moments of deepest grief, deepest pain, have resulted in the most beautiful seasons in my heart. I've met God more intimately in those moments than in all the other pleasant ones combined. What isn't completely lovely about that?

Back to River.

It's comin' on Christmas.
They're cutting down trees.
They're putting up reindeer,
Singing songs of joy and peace.
Oh, I wish I had a river that I could skate away on.

You know this song? Isn't it depressing? Before I listened closely, I thought, but why? Why is she so down on Christmas? The song rambles through a few verses of winter-themed commentary, but we don't get an answer to the question of "why" until about halfway in:

I wish I had a river that I could skate away on,
'Cause I made my baby cry...

I'm so hard to handle.
I'm selfish and I'm sad 
Now I've gone and lost the best baby
That I ever had.
Oh I wish I had a river that I could skate away on.

There it is. Brokenness. Loss. Remorse. Hurt. The Plea.

And this plea - whether Joni Mitchell's herself, or merely an invented character - is not so different from ours. Hard to handle? Check. Selfish? Check. Sometimes sad? Check. Doing my share of damage to my loved ones? Check and sigh. Sometimes I plain hate the sound of my own voice by the end of the day. 

But the woman in River makes an unfortunate, though very human choice. Her plea causes her to decide to retreat. Now, I've had these days. Sometimes weeks. I stop offering my true self. A relationship gets messy and hurtful and maybe I don't deserve more. Maybe the damage is irreparable. Maybe I'm alone. I start to believe there's only one choice.

Just. Skate. Away.

How many of us are way down that river in our hearts? How many of us have tried that route of managing our brokenness? Just skate away. All of us. Every one.

And you KNOW now why this is a Christmas song at its core. This messy, unpredictable, hurtful life spinning around us is exactly why Jesus came.

In His immense love for us, He became Immanuel, God with us. Not because we deserved it, but precisely because we didn't. When we were way the heck down the river, He came to save us. He came to be with us when we were sure we were alone.

In my life, I can tell you from experience, He continually works at melting all my rivers and quieting all my pleas. He gently reminds me that my plea, my yearning for healing and that abundant life, needs to turn me towards Him, not toward an icy path of resignation and retreat.

In River, again one of my favorite Christmas songs, Jesus whispers, I'm here. I've got this. So you can untie the skates.

From the files: Good Friday '08

I came across this article I wrote two Easters ago, and thought I'd post it here just to get our hearts going in terms of what the upcoming "Passion" week is all about. If you were on my email distribution two years ago, you may have read it before, but since I could barely recognize my own thoughts and sentences, I thought you may enjoy a fresh read as well.


Yesterday was Good Friday. As much as it is common to happily anticipate the Easter season, it is hard to look forward to Good Friday. It is a somber day, and a time I usually commemorate by going to church to be reminded of the horror brought upon our Lord for our sake. Honestly, I like to go in a way one likes to get an annual physical – it is not something pleasant, but understood as necessary to stay healthy. Basically, I need to go to the Good Friday service because it keeps me in check. After all, Jesus tells us to carve out time to remember what He’s done for us on the cross. So I go every year, knowing there is no spoonful of sugar to make this medicine go down.

And every year, I am a little disturbed as the account of the crucifixion is retold. The brutal violence, the senseless and angry mob, the evil men in authority…really it is all hard to imagine. I am usually left thinking, “I get that this had to happen, but really how did this happen? Who were those people?” So much of the story is so shocking.

Then, the service always implies that WE are the ones who crucified Jesus because He died ultimately for our sins. Again, I understand the connection and have known my need for a savior my whole life. But in my heart of hearts, I try to put myself in the shoes of all the evil characters in the story and come up at a loss in terms of being able to relate. Would I have been Judas, betraying a friend for a buck? Never. Would I have been in the angry mob? Would I have been screaming, “Release Barabbas! Crucify Jesus!” Can’t imagine it. Would I have been the spineless Pilate, letting a gross injustice (the death of someone he found innocent) slip right by me? No way. I’m sorry, I just can’t identify with any of those people.

So let’s go to theology. This year, the screen in the service was slowly flashing up reasons why we are the ones who crucified Jesus. The first said, “We are sinners by birth.” I get that. We had no choice; we came out that way. (And here I go in my mind…Would I have really bitten into that apple like Eve? I think I would have been pretty content in the garden of Eden, and yet she slaps me with the sentence of a lifetime. Thanks.) Next reason on the screen: “We are sinners by nature.” I get that too. We are imperfect pieces of flesh, another sort of imposed sentence, in my mind, something I didn’t buy into and something I can’t cure as long as I’m on this earth. Then a third reason flashes up, the one that startles and stops me: “We are sinners by choice.” I immediately want to protest, “No, I have no choice because of Eve, because of my nature, because I was designed to fail.” All these arguments sound solid from a philosophical standpoint. But they are not telling my whole story.

I sat in my seat, now totally unaware of what was happening in the service, weighing my own heart. How much am I choosing my sin? A mother must similarly weigh the heart of her child when deciding how to discipline; is he or she simply making childish mistakes, or is the child being truly defiant? It is a very important question for a parent; the answer determines the consequence. But now I am in the position of the child. I do indeed make many mistakes based on my lack of maturity, but I also know there are times when my sin is truly my defiance, my choice.

I let this realization boil down in my heart: I am not a victim of my nature, I am a willing partner. Not only do I at times choose to sin, but if I am brutally honest with myself, I know there are times when my rebellion is bold and prideful and senseless and shocking and I can look at me and say “Who is that woman?”

Yes, I am sometimes the child who makes mistakes. But I am also a sinner by choice. I choose it, regularly, even if just in my mind. Sometimes it is an indulgent, horrific conversation in my mind that I never plan to have, sometimes it is an attitude of entitlement, or superiority, or self-centeredness. These are ugly things that I can freely embrace, partly because I know each person has his or her own things. I may not ever choose what Judas did, or any of the other evil people in the Good Friday scene, but turning my back on Jesus just once in defiance qualifies me for desperately needing His payment for my forgiveness. Let’s just face facts that my bad choices, and yours for that matter, put Him on the cross because He couldn't stand to live without us.

At the end of the service, I stood listening, absorbing the music. I closed my eyes and I saw a picture of myself standing on the earth. All my sins and weaknesses were ropes and chains connected to the ground. A tangle of them surrounded my legs. But my chin was tilted up toward the sky and I was full of joy because every single one of them was severed. My sins and weaknesses existed but I was bound by none of them. I stood there in the service, having been given this picture of my freedom, and it was a beautiful thing.

Tomorrow morning, Easter, I feel humbled and privileged to be able to celebrate God’s love for me, that while we were still sinners, Christ set us free (Romans 5:8). He didn't wait for us to change or come looking for Him. He just came, in our hour of deepest need. He paid the price we owed, and then called us by name. I pray today you’ll walk with me through this Easter season feeling a deep sense of gratitude that, if you know Him, you’re free indeed.

[photo from www.freefoto.com]