Rain

“Ever since you went away,

Everything’s been wrong;

My days have felt so empty

And my nights are feeling long.

Feels like it might take years

Before these dark clouds are gone;

But nothing is as it feels-

That’s why I write this song.

‘Cause it looks like rain…”
…

Long before many of you were born, a singer named Karen Carpenter crooned, “Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.”

I rarely feel that way about either, but today could be the exception. It’s Monday morning at 6:40 a.m. We’ve just schlepped through the rain to board the regional jet that will take us from Des Moines to Cincinnati, where we’ll have a three-hour layover before heading to Nashville. Hopefully I’ll make it in time to teach my afternoon class.

So I’m just a little cold and wet and tired…and aware that this might be the perfect morning to explain “Rain,” one of the new songs featured on Ephemera.

“Rain” is the only song on the project composed in less than a day—and in less than an hour, in fact. It was a last-minute addition-written just a day and a half before I went into the studio. Since most songs on this project went to tape with me playing and singing at the same time, I had to remember the lyrics and chords well enough to put them together—and to do it with feeling. I was somewhat surprised at how easily I was able to recall the words. I mean, it wasn’t perfect the first time…or the second time…but by the third take, I was able to perform the entire song without forgetting a lyric. (I think I rewrote the bridge each time I retook the song, so that part doesn’t count.)

Upon first listen, one would assume this song is simply about a break-up, where one person is left alone to nurse her broken heart. (And if this isn’t what you’ve gotten from the song, please do tell.)

Whether it is because I am a songwriter, a female, or a female songwriter, there are, of course, several additional layers to this lyric. I must confess that I dislike sadness immensely, especially when I know it’s going to linger for awhile. C.S. Lewis wrote an incredible memoir on suffering after the loss of his wife to cancer entitled A Grief Observed. In it, he writes of that physical tenseness and emotional anxiety usually acquainted with fear, and how it becomes very familiar while in the throws of deep sadness.

Although deep sadness isn’t welcome here,, I’ve been graced with its presence quite often during the past several years. I think the dark clouds began to set in when the record label I’d always thought of as “family” started to unravel. Next came the most confusing and painfull (and necessary) break-up (with a guy) I’ve ever experienced. And then there was the discovery that one of my dearest friends—an absolute angel—was facing an indefinite battle with acute MS. Several months later, I was invited into the world of an incredible 20-year-old lady who was talented beyond belief. She always loved to sing, but discovered her ability to write music and poetry when she discovered she had an enormous battle to fight with a cruel, terminal cancer. The six months I knew her were the last six months of her life.

Not long after this “downpour” came the next—the passing of my wonderful Grandfather. We were kindred spirits–both introverts thrust into extrovert work. He was the kind of Grandfather who would sit with me at the piano when I was young, singing his heart out as I made futile attempts to play his favorite hymns by ear…

And then, Mom got sick…

None of these things is about me, and yet it is impossible not to witness each of them with an immense amount of sadness. And I’ve spent a good portion of time trying to fight my way through the rain.

My Mom always likes to say, “This, too, shall pass,” and I know it’s true. The broken heart that comes from the loss of a relationship that never should have happened to begin with shall indeed pass. The acute sense of loss we feel when a friend or family member has passed away will perhaps become less unbearable over time. However, in order to experience a loss or walk with someone through their suffering, we must acknowledge and even accept the rain as part of the process. I don’t think that we’re meant to become completely comfortable with rain; if we did, we’d be too intense and melancholy to do anyone—including ourselves–any good. But experience has taught me that it is good to be familiar with rain—respectful of its reality and mindful of its necessity in our lives.

And you thought it was just some dumb lovesong.