“Message in a Bottle”

Seven years ago, I wrote a song called “Tragedy” based on an observation that many people I knew with the strongest faith in God seemed to have had some tragic aspect to their lives.  This was the chorus to that song (other lines from the song are included throughout):

“Will it take a tragedy

To clear a path between God and me?

Will I have to feel some real pain

Before I’ll ever be born again?

Will it take a tragedy?

The act of writing and sharing that song with others was, in hindsight, akin to me putting my message in a bottle and throwing it out there with hope.  This is how my story evolved:

About 15 years ago, I had neurosurgery to treat a condition called Chiari Malformation that was causing me daily headaches and neck pain. The feelings that accompanied the surgery and recovery – the hopefulness and ultimately the relief – put me into a state of gratitude to God  A couple of months later while I was flying home from a business trip, I said THE prayer, the one that goes like this:

“Dear Lord Jesus, I know that I am a sinner, and I ask for Your forgiveness. I believe You died for my sins and rose from the dead. I turn from my sins and invite You to come into my heart and life. I want to trust and follow You as my Lord and Savior”

It was an exciting time for me, one filled with hope and expectation. The six or seven years prior had been a long, slow climb in my faith journey: 

“I’ve been trying to get closer to Him

Take a couple steps forward every year

Going to church and reading His Word

Is what my wife said would get me there”

Finally, I had reached the top; I had achieved Christianity. I had a permanent home with God. The long climb was over.  Now I would receive the blessings – the peace, the clean heart – and have comfort around my Christian friends who would now be relatable. I would be stronger in the face of temptation, more confident in expressing my faith, and, well, just more Christian.

It didn’t happen:

“But I feel like I’m climbing a mountain

And, boy this one it ain’t small

If I’m ever gonna reach the top of the mountain

A lot of rocks are gonna have to fall”

I sat in church and all around me, I saw arms extended with open hands while mine remained at my sides. During prayers, as I opened my eyes and looked around, I saw bowed heads with eyes tightly shut, lips quietly saying “amen” at various points of the prayer. I felt entirely awkward when asked to pray at any function, in any setting.  I never felt God’s presence or knew he had answered a prayer of mine.  I didn’t understand how people read and reread the Bible, day in and day out, and walked away strengthened from this reading.  I never thought I could put my faith and trust in Him to the extent that I would rely on Him to provide for me.  I gave to my church but struggled with giving as every dollar I gave away made me a little less confident in my ability to be self-sufficient.  I saw others publicly express their faith and never felt comfortable doing so, always hesitant because my faith did not run deep:

“My friends talk to God in loud voices

And they feel an answer in their hearts”

I struggled with a question: What was it going to take? What was it going to take to break me out of the halfway commitment to my faith that I was living in? More church, more bible, more prayer, more community, more sacrifice, more courage? I wasn’t confident that any of these things were going to make a difference so I did none of them. I just drifted through years of what felt to me like being in ankle deep water.

One Sunday, our church did a special program called “Cardboard Confessions”. A long stream of people stepped to the front of the altar alone, each holding a small piece of cardboard. On the front side of each piece of cardboard were written their sins or their struggles, things like alcoholism, drug abuse, sexual brokenness, crimes, accidents that left them physically damaged, or experiences that left them emotionally hurt. Each person held their piece of cardboard in front of them for a moment and then flipped it over to reveal how in turning their lives over to God, they had been healed. They had beaten addictions, disease and many other life tragedies. The message I took away was “Because we suffered, we have God”:

“But most of them can tell a real sad story

That gave their faith a big jump start”

I have only really suffered once in my life, that being when my mother passed away from a brain aneurysm when I was 23 years old. It shook my family and altered all of our courses, particularly those of my father and youngest sister. To this day, it remains the tragedy of my life. Tragic, yes, but different than all those words I saw printed on pieces of cardboard. The healing those people needed and received was different than my situation; the loss of my mother at a young age did not throw my life into turmoil. I deeply grieved her loss, but I moved forward in life. My father so clearly demonstrated to me that this was what had to happen.

For years after this day at church, this thought stayed in my mind “Because they suffered, they have God”. So was I was doomed until I had some life event occur that I alone could not manage or recover from, some addiction, illness or action that I was powerless to deal with?  Then, I would fully open the door to God and completely surrender to him and receive Him.  How does one hope for such an occurrence?:

“I guess my life has just been too easy

Maybe I need to get hit by a truck

Then I could open my eyes and see Him

I might be better off with bad luck”

I didn’t know what to do with my questions at this point, so of course I wrote a song about it.  I say this with tongue firmly planted in cheek because I had never written a song before.  In fact, I had only written poetry when forced to in high school and had no interest or skill in this craft.  But something moved me to put this into my own words.  So I produced 30 lines of poetry, had it put to music and shared it with friends.  Did this help me?  Well, it did give me an opportunity to publicly express my faith, and to start conversations about God with a few people I didn’t even know were Christians.  The biggest impact from the process, though, occurred when I realized that each person’s journey is unique.  It’s a journey in which we seek to walk with God, not to him. 

In the seven years since I wrote “Tragedy”, I’ve continued to build my relationship with God. I’m not waiting for a tragedy to occur to bridge some perceived final distance; if I ever believed that was going to have to happen to cement my relationship with God, I don’t believe it today. What I have learned is you don’t “achieve” God.  Like with any relationship, it takes investment of time, treasure and talent.  So now, I am challenging myself to listen and trust Him in my life and to recognize that I already have a relationship with Him, one that I cherish.  This is my new message in a bottle.