the weight of freedom

My mom once wrote a song (I don’t know if she finished it) with these words:

Roses round the door, babies on the floor,

who could ask for anything more in Sleepy Valley?

Sometimes dreams would come a-knocking

Couldn’t let ‘em in ‘cause we were rockin’

Rocking chairs and lullabies …

I can’t remember the rest, but the idea is about seasons of life. When children are small life your options are significantly limited, but when you and your kids are older you’re free to “rock” in other ways. As a single person with no kids or even a spouse, I have so much freedom. Sometimes I have felt the weight of too much freedom.

Dara and I have been loving our tour so far: one weekend down, three to go. There was even a glimmer of hope that this could be an ongoing and indefinite partnership. Yet, we are having to face some facts that this season of Dara's life is not conducive to regular touring. This season gives her fertile ground for creativity and she is writing some gorgeous songs, but she is not free to come and go easily. Parenting is more important than singing right now.

I can easily forget that parents of young kids don’t just have limitations and responsibilities, but their desires go in other directions – towards babies and spouses. I don’t mind being reminded about that. And in many ways, I envy her anchored, clearly defined life. But it’s not my season. Who knows if it ever will be.

My season is about singing release to nations. As Dara and I work together, I am getting a clearer picture of her life in Pelican Narrows, of the everyday pain she witnesses, the needs she meets, the love she gives. Like a song I used to sing as a kid and still like to revisit:

Love is something if you give it away, give it away, give it away
Love is something if you give it away, you end up having more.
It's just like a magic penny, hold on tight and you won't have any
Lend it spend it and you'll have so many they'll roll all over the floor,
For love is something if you give it away, give it away, give it away
Love is something if you give it away, you end up having more.

Her love spills and rolls all over the floor. And her love is to be located, for now, in her home in Pelican Narrows.

My love? It is also specifically located. My locale is Strasbourg and area, where I keep house and otherwise try to help my brother, write for the newspaper and teach guitar. Yet I have also been given freedom to travel on weekends to tell stories and sing songs that will bring release to nations. To the First Nations of Canada. To orphans in China. To the lost children in Uganda. To refugees from Burma. To my neighbour.

Not only do I have freedom, I have a responsibility to do the things to which I am called and not snivel about things I do not have. Sniveling like that is to give in to the temptation of acedia.

In truth the prison, into which we doom
Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me,
In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound
Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground;
Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be)
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
Should find brief solace there, as I have found.
(Wordsworth, from "Nuns Fret Not")

It is past time for me to be bound within the song's "scanty plot of ground." To sing release to nations (rather than commit to a spouse and/or bring up babies) "no prison is." Surrender is solace.

"I'm living out the life that I was given, but baby I still wish you were mine." (Amy Grant)

I thought that you would stay here
And listen as I discovered my voice
I hope you're watching
When I am standing, declaring my choice
To take my calling, now I am following
After resisting far too long

I am a poetess ...

(Colleen Taylor, "Poetess")