I Have a New Life Anthem

You can listen to it here, although the sound quality isn't absolutely fabulous. I would say I'm mildly attached to this song, but that would be the understatement of the year. As a matter of fact, since my little brother introduced me to the wonders of The Gabe Dixon Band and downloaded their most recent album onto my computer, I have listened to little else. (With the exception, in December, of Josh Groban's Christmas CD.)

The new day dawns and I am practicing my purpose once again.

I'm utterly and completely in love with the phrase "practicing my purpose once again." Quite often these days, I'm not entirely sure what my purpose is supposed to be. Let me pause to ponder how to explain this: I know my purpose, but I don't know my purpose. To elaborate: I know, eternally speaking, what my purpose is. That particular direction has never posed much of a problem for me. But when it comes to the here-and-now, I feel that I am always and forever practicing what I feel to be my purpose at any given moment. Right now, I suppose that purpose is finishing my master's degree. And I still have a goodly amount of practicing that particular purpose. And it always feels like practice: I never feel so purposeful and driven that I think that I'm not making all of this up as I go along.

It is fresh and it is fruitful if I win, but if I lose . . . ooh, I don't know.

I tend not to view losing as an option. In the course of a conversation I had with my parents and my brother this weekend, my dad asked all of us what we fear most. With absolutely no hesitation, I replied: failure. Because I am deathly afraid of failure. I tend not to try anything I know I won't succeed at, because failure scares me that much. And the few times I remember losing left me in a state of perturbation.

I'll be tired but I will turn and I will go only guessing till I get there then I'll know. Oh, I will know.

Any substantial effort to do anything has always exhausted me. Whether I win or lose, I end up tired. But I end up especially tired when I lose. Possibly because I get this looming sense of discouragement that exponentially increases the exhaustion. But setbacks are no reason to stop. They never have been; they never should be; hopefully, I never let them be. After all, the way past a roadblock is never to stop in front of it and await the day it goes away. In that circumstance, a detour is necessary. And detours are often as beneficial--or more--than the ways we choose to go. Sometimes I forget that. I need to remember. I also need to remember that I don't always need to know exactly where I'm going and exactly what I'm doing. Life would be dreadfully dull if everything went exactly as I planned. Such exactness leaves no room for surprise. And I like being delightfully surprised at life. On a regular basis.

All the children walking home past the factories can see the light that's shining in my window as I write this song to you

I don't know if the light is always shining at the end of a tunnel, but I've discovered that there's always a light shining in my life. It's there, but it's not always directly in my line of sight. After looking a while, I always see light in my life. At certain times, I have to look harder than I do at other times.

And all the cars running fast along the interstate can feel the love that radiates, illuminating what I know is true.

Sometimes we run so fast that we forget to reassure others and ourselves. But that doesn't mean we can't. Even when I'm in a hurry, I know I'm loved. And I know that I love people.

All will be well, even after all the promises you've broken to yourself.

Don't think I'm heretical or anything, but I prefer this "all will be well" construction to the "all is well" construction from "Come, Come Ye Saints." Because frankly, there are times I feel most vehemently that all is not well. Not at that particular moment. And that's part of the test that is life. There are moments we're required to sing something we couldn't disagree with more. But eventually, everything will be well--in select temporal moments and in the eternal scheme of things. As far as breaking promises to myself: I'm my own worst critic. I think most individuals are their own worst critics. We expect more of ourselves than others expect of us, so it often seems that nothing will be ever be completely well because we never believe we've done everything we expect of ourselves. But I'm facing it right now: my expectations for myself are ridiculous. I'm acknowledging that right now, so the next time I feel I've failed myself, I can look back at this and tell myself exactly how insane it was to try to reach that expectation.

All will be well. You can ask me how, but only time will tell.

I've had moments where I felt that all was well. If only for that instant, all was well. Those moments pass, and I never know how they came into being in the first place. I have this nagging suspicion divine intervention has something to do with it, but I have no idea what part I play in those moments. Or if I play a part at all. But I appreciate them, and I trust to Heavenly Father and to time (His time, not mine) to periodically bring them.

That's not the entire song, but since I don't want to write an epic post, I'll stop there. But that's my new life anthem: All Will Be Well. Even if it's not right now, all will be well.