The story: One of my students approached me with a song he produced. I listened to it through his headphones. He asked, "Would you be able to write the lyrics to this song?" I agreed and listened to it several times throughout the cool, spring evenings in May. Pictures followed by words began to surface. I quickly grabbed one of my colored pencils and wrote what I saw. A pregnant woman. Labor pains. A cry. A scream. Hope is coming home.
My student recorded the musical poem at his studio in June:
The Lyrics:
Four A.M./ The sun almost rising/ A cry, a scream/ Hope is coming home/ Hands open wide/ Shakes and sweats/ Hearts are racing/The newborn crowns and lands on its side/Still and quiet/Purple and blue/Light still shines/Will this baby see life anew?/ Dawn breaks/ Light cracks in my window/ The last breath/ Mother enters her final rest/ Life turns down low/ Hope is coming home/Hands open wide/Tears flow on my mother and baby’s side/Lifeless and cold/ Will this baby grow old?/Sun sparkles on the blood and slime/ Will it be time?/ It moves/ A hand goes up/ A mouth opens wide/ A cry, a scream/ A new life/ A new day/ Now moving on to a different dream/ Hope is coming home/ Hands open wide/ Love never dies and always stays by my side/
Over the summer, a story about a farm horse started to unfold in my mind: "I'm standing at the edge of the meadow. I look beyond it. I see a new horizon. The wind tickles my face. I wonder how many more times I'll run this race. You wave the sword and Proverbs 3 crosses over my face. New is coming. Be ready for it. I see that woman with that fiery, red hair. So long, it blows in her face and beyond. Her penetrating eyes of green gaze at me. I'm at a farm, and she has a horse. She takes my hand and puts it on the horse's back. I stroke his hair, and it's muddy and coarse. Rough-hewn and rugged your life may be, she says. Rub it some more and soon it will be silky and smooth to the core. Take the living water. I'll put it on your hand. Keep rubbing that fur and let me wash away your soul's burrs. Silky and smooth it (your soul) will become. Keep rubbing and washing. Then you will see the riding and the shining. "
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