Last summer shortly after Annie was born, Brad and I went to see the Avett Brothers at Wolf Trap with some friends and my sister Jen.
Our cousin Christy had passed away a couple weeks before. Though Christy hadn’t had an easy life- she’d struggled with addiction and later an infection that left her wheelchair bound- her death was unexpected. She was much too young. While I didn’t know her well (she lived on the West Coast and was a bit older), Jen had been friends with Christy and her sister Wendy. My siblings and parents had all been checking in with that side of the family- I think hoping reconnection could possibly be a salve for the pain of Christy’s death.
At the concert, the band closed with “No Hard Feelings,” as beautiful a song as I’ve ever heard about making peace with dying and what comes after.
Jen and I stood there at the show, hand in hand, tears streaming down our face and felt… something. Something greater than ourselves I think. Something not of this world.
“When the sun hangs low in the west
And the light in my chest
Won’t be kept held at bay any longer
When the jealousy fades away
And it’s ash and dust for cash and lust
And it’s just hallelujah
And love in thoughts and love in the words
Love in the songs they sing in the church
And no hard feelings”
As the venue lights came on, I told Jen I was going to share the song with Wendy. The words and the timing of them felt significant. A connection beyond our Earthliness. Jen agreed.
So did Wendy. That night, she wrote back:
“I swear it feels like a message to me through all of you. Does that sound weird? Just read the lyrics, too … I’m crying in my bed while my son sleeps next to me feeling love and feeling like these are words Christy would want me to understand.”
Last year Scott and Seth Avett were interviewed by comedian Pete Holmes for his podcast You Made it Weird. During the interview, Holmes asks Seth Avett about writing “No Hard Feelings,” noting that he and his wife were deeply moved by the song.
Seth shared that it took him eight years to write it- that, he had to let the song come to him in spurts.
“Sometimes you’ve only lived the first verse,” he said
Seth described driving through North Carolina in tears when the first few lines to the song came along. He was driving with one hand, writing with the other:
“When my body won’t hold me anymore
And it finally lets me free
Will I be ready?”
Seth told about feeling a sense of responsibility about the song- which he described as a death letter. He was concerned about the temptation to go in and direct the song in a way that might change or water down the central message. Instead, he allowed himself to be guided.
“I never felt so much like God was just saying, don’t worry about that here you go, there it is.”
Mid-blog warning: I have a lot to unpack here, so bear with me. Or don’t, and be on with your day with my continued love and good will. No hard feelings, naturally.
I am not at all surprised to hear that Seth Avett felt the hand of God on his own while writing this song. Elizabeth Gilbert would’ve called this thing Big Magic– you know, in case the idea God feels a little too “Moses chatting with a burning bush”-y for you. It’s a real thing. It is.
I think creative people understand this force as the thing that infuses their most cherished work. The golden threads in their songs or novels or paintings or dances. And I think creative people only put their own names on those works because someone’s name needs to be attached, but they also recognize they are just the vessel, really. The ink in the pen maybe, not the maestro.
I think creative people chase this force, even though they know it can’t be chased. They chase it by arriving each day at their desk or their instrument. At their easel or their studio. They chase it by putting down the words and plucking the strings and painting the strokes and moving their feet. And doing this over and over with their heart the wide open hole of a butterfly net, ready to capture whatever the divine winds blow to them.
Here’s what else I think: I think the words “creative people” are redundant. To be human is to be a creator. And it’s not an accident that we are both creators and the vessels of divine creation. It’s the same. This paradox we can’t quite wrap our brains around.
“I am who I am.”
We are who God is. Or if you prefer, who god is. Or the creator. Or the great spirit. Or the life force. Or the divine question mark.
That thing we can never quite put our finger on. It doesn’t matter if you ever put your finger on it. It Is whether you do or don’t.
The art- the songs, stories, images, dances, the things that stir our hearts, the stuff of goosebumps and tear drops- that’s divinity. That’s where we find ourselves and so it’s also where we find God.
And it’s for everyone. Not just the Grammy-winning bands or the best-selling authors or the famous actress. In fact, it’s better for everyone if you show up and create the things you’re called to create in whatever form it takes.
Because you don’t know. You don’t know if the thing you create is the thing that allows someone to feel understood. You don’t know if it’s the thing that causes someone to break open with laughter. You don’t know if it’s the thing that opens someone to a perspective they’re desperately in need of seeing. You don’t know if it’s the thing that inspires them to dive into their own divinity.
You don’t know if it’s the thing that connects one sister to another, hand in hand or from Earth to the great beyond.
By the way, I’m sitting here on my couch- attempting to write all these thoughts down and my brain feels weighted and weary and not at all verdant.
As it turns out, tonight I’m going to see the Avett Brothers again, so I’m listening to their music.
“Winter in My Heart” just played. And the words lyrics speak to me:
“They say flowers bloom in spring
Red and golden, blue and pink
They say seasons turn in time
Theirs our changing, why won’t mine?
It must be winter in my heart
There’s nothing warm in there at all…
I don’t know what the reasons are
It must be winter in my heart.”
I don’t like to write when I feel heavy hearted. It’s not my favorite. But I have this weird sense of responsibility, or duty, maybe. I can’t only show up in states where I feel all puffed-up and brilliant (which I laugh at re-reading, feelings of brilliance are rare) but you know what I mean. There’s not always a neat, happy ending, right?
My friend stopped by yesterday she seemed to mirror how I felt. Both of us dressed and facing the world and attempting human interactions when maybe we would’ve rather just disappeared into a hobbity hut in the middle of the Redwood Forest. (I mean, who wouldn’t want to disappear into a hobbity hut in the middle of the Redwood Forest? If there isn’t a hobbity hut in the middle of the Redwood Forest in my next life, I’m quitting).
We didn’t get to talk long, but I mentioned in passing or off-handedly of unhappy family news. And she looked at me, with compassion and concern and all she said was that there seemed to be a lot of stress within my family. And I agreed and we continued our conversation as her son climbed the tree in the back yard and Annie ate a fistful of mulch.
And even though I didn’t really dive into any of the details about my life or the heartbreak of the week- I felt heard in a way I didn’t know I needed to be heard. And that without me needing to go into all of it, she understood. And it was enough. The acknowledgment that it was painful.
When I picked Annie up off the ground and scooped the dirt out of her mouth, I handed her to my friend, who looked like she could use a baby to snuggle. And because children are intuitive and because of grace- Annie didn’t fuss. Instead, she stared into my friend’s eyes and then rested her soft head on her shoulder.
A small hug. But I could see the shift in my friend’s body as she accepted it. A slackening. A sinking into.
I bring these things up- this conversation with a friend, this little hug- because I think that’s divinity, too. And that’s something we all carry into each day in us.
Humans are all so much better than we believe ourselves to be, I think.
I’ll close where I started, with the Avett Brothers. From “Through My Prayers”:
“If you have love in your heart, let it show while you can.”