He gets the words wrong, but his heart is in it as he sings. Andrew Peterson’s “The Queen of Iowa” somehow becomes “The King of Ireland” when sung by our two-year old son. Talk about progressive. His version goes beyond gender-neutrality into categorical inaccuracy and also breaks up those long-held biases about geographic specificity.

I thank God our cute little boy doesn’t yet fully understand all the words he tries to sing. For this is a song about suffering and death. And, of course, life and light. I hope, as he matures, he does get it.

I hope I do.

This seems like a good song (and story –see video blow) for some context on what we see as struggles and suffering and how we see them. It’s perhaps good for our New Year hopes. Are we wishing for a pain-free, suffering-free New Year? I’ll admit that it’s a deep longing for me. Part of that desire I view as righteous, longing for the Kingdom to come all the way and the world to be made right again. The other part is selfish, wanting to be spared the troubles God intends to use as tools to work good in me. Pain is often an avenue to graceful maturity.

Two of the sweetest and most refreshing Christian friends I met this year had recently experienced the death of their only child. In the deep well of their suffering, they spoke of all the good God was doing in their lives. They did more than speak, though. They sang along to the God-tells-me-who-I-am songs of Jason Gray with passion. My friend wasn’t the greatest singer, didn’t hit all the right notes. But it was among the most beautiful singing I’ve ever heard. Jason never had better accompaniment. I couldn’t sing along for the lump in my throat. This couple, so outfitted with reasons to surrender to bitterness and anger, radiated generosity and grace.

Do miracles still happen?

That is the mercy of God. That is maturity. God wants his children to have maturity –childlike faith and maturity.

We will not always get the words right and we will not always sing on-key, but let us keep singing.

So, Almighty God, do your work in us, frightened as we are. For we would be mature and childlike. We would be as you want us, for you are what we want and all our hearts need.

Andrew says meeting the Queen “…helped me to believe the words of my own songs.”

Maybe a good prayer for the New Year is that God would give us experiences, even painful ones if he must, that cause us to believe, and believe more deeply, all that we confess.

Because sometimes we get the words right, but our hearts wrong. The reverse is better, I guess. But best of all would be both.

May our hearts and tongues be in harmony this year and in the years to come. May they sing the same song, for the glory of God, Most High.

Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church, of which I became a minister according to the stewardship from God that was given to me for you, to make the word of God fully known, the mystery hidden for ages and generations but now revealed to his saints. To them God chose to make known how great among the Gentiles are the riches of the glory of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory. Him we proclaim, warning everyone and teaching everyone with all wisdom, that we may present everyone mature in Christ. For this I toil, struggling with all his energy that he powerfully works within me.
(Colossians 1:24-29 ESV)

“I’ve seen Eric play his songs probably hundreds of times, and every time I’ve been struck by how blessedly peculiar he is. He’s self-effacing and passionate, he’s wry and gracious, he’s funny (especially when he doesn’t mean to be), he’s shy about his gifting and bold about his brokenness–and his songs are some of the most precariously honest songs I know. I need them. I think we all do–every peculiar one of us.”  –Andrew Peterson

It seems like everyone who knows Eric Peters can articulate the unique genius of his music better than he can. It’s kind of strange, since he’s a lyrical alchemist, making gold appear mysteriously from the bubbling cauldron of his soul. I can remember describing his music in writing on one occasion and his response was something like, “Seriously? I never thought of that before. Well, I guess so.”

I’ve always loved the music. Catchy and able to catch you off guard. Somehow, the careworn and carefree are often separated only by a soaring note from the most unique of all his instruments, his voice. That voice has always hooked me (and many others).

Eric’s music is a burrowing owl, digging down into the earth of your heart. It lingers there, nestling deep. It breathes and sleeps and sings. Just when you think it’s confined and heavy, it takes flight, shaking off its clinging clods and soaring into a sunlit sky.

I think that always happens with Eric’s records, but I believe this is part of what his new project is about. It’s one of many reasons I’m excited to support his Kickstarter campaign (which you still barely have time to help with). I’ve heard most of the songs that will be on this record and I expect it will be his best yet. You can be a part of making it. That is a pretty fun thing to do.

Eric is migrating. The new record, Birds of Relocation, is your ticket to ride. Beetles will be eaten, new heights will be reached, new sights will be seen, and new nests will be built. (People will not be pooped on.) Perching at the intersection of catchy pop-folk and liberated introspection, this is one songbird you shouldn’t miss. Open your window.

But don’t take my word for it.

“The thing I love about Eric Peters is that he is a master craftsman with words; a poet, even in his prose. I’m always one to connect first with the lyrics of a song, like I have to trust where the artist is leading me before submitting to the spell of the music. With Eric, you have that unequivocal trust in one who both knows exactly where you are and calls you higher in the same breath. Like the best writers, he pricks you out of complacency with the exquisitely disconcerting reminder that we’re not yet all we’re meant to be—but we’re on our way. And we’re not alone.” –Lanier Ivester

“Did you ask me to indoors Eric Peters? Oh sorry, well, I wholeheartedly endorse Eric Peter whether indoors or out. The vulnerable beauty of Scarce, Chrome or any of the Ridgely rarities I own are at home anywhere I go and I wouldn’t hesitate to put my money where my heart will inevitably be once I hear these tunes.” –Matt Conner

“The vast complexity of even Eric Peters’ minor and inchoate work puts one in mind of the greatest pillars of our musical landscape: Beethoven, Handel, Dylan, Esteban. That such a man, so small and so coarsely bearded, should alone possess power to rive asunder the very foundations of the acoustic/folk establishment and institute instead his own solitary and tyrannical vision of songcraft in a glorious Eric-ocracy of his own making, is cause indeed for for raucous and limitless celebration and, in the end, unbounded hope.” –A.S. Peterson

“A lot of people don’t realize this, but Eric Peters is younger than me. And yet he writes songs way better than I can. He supposedly cooks better than me too, but how would I know, since he’s never invited me over for his famous gumbo or étouffée or whatever it is? I’m pretty sure I’m better at board games than Eric. In any case, when he came over and ate my food, I beat him at a board game. I digress. This endorsement is mostly about Eric, not me. And from where I sit–a place of impeccable judgment and unimpeachable rectitude–I consider Eric Peters’ work to be brilliant. It grows out of an honesty and self-awareness that would terrify most other artists. But if the emotion in Eric’s music is raw, there’s nothing raw or unformed about the music itself. It’s thoughtful, challenging, excellent music. That’s just my opinion. But I’m rarely wrong.” –Jonathan Rogers, Ph.D.

“Eric Peters doesn’t write songs as much as he opens up a vein and bleeds them. That’s why his songs feel more like a transfusion than anything else.  His music is most meaningful, I think, to others who have lost some blood of their own. To them his songs are life giving and saving.

“Not to belabor the metaphor, but I think we live in a culture that by and large refuses to bleed or otherwise enter the gift of our pain. But the slow death of denial keeps us from finding our hearts and ultimately from truly coming alive.  Into this world, then, comes the gift of Eric Peter’s music that wounds while it heals.  Eric’s audience is likely to always be that brave but small group of people who aren’t afraid of the sight of blood because they recognize it as the life-giving force that it is.

“It often falls upon the living to care for the dying. Most of the hymns of our pop culture are broken anthems to self-indulgence and escapism that lead to a literal dead end. In a culture that sends Katy Perry’s ‘I Kissed A Girl’ to the top of the charts, the humanity of Eric Peter’s ‘Chrome’ is especially meaningful.

“The more I hear Eric’s music, the more aware I am of how generous he is, always giving away every bit of hope for the journey as he finds it. I’m grateful to be able to give back and help make space in the world for songs that bleed life, truth, hope, and beauty.” –Jason Gray

SUPPORT ERIC’S NEW PROJECT HERE. IT’S BASICALLY A PRE-ORDER WITH COOLER OPTIONS.

These are as many of the post-Hutchmoot posts as I could find, gathered for the purpose of easy access now and in the future. (A few are pre-’moot.)

Also, it’s convenient for those who weren’t able to be there to read and enjoy some of the fruit of that experience. (You can also see last year’s collection here.)

A good place to start is with Kristen’s first post. I haven’t read all of these yet, but look forward to doing just that.

Let me know (comments, e-mail) if you have a post to add to the list. The list will likely expand and I’ll put new posts in parenthesis near the top.

In most cases, I put the name as it appeared on the blog. I want to respect the reasons you may not have your full name, so let me know if you want me to change that here and how you would like it to appear. Thanks. –Sam

Kristen….. A Hutchmoot, Banned Books

Jen….. A Place At The Table

Alyssa Ramsey….. Confessions of an Unexpected Poem, Hutchmoot: The Morning After

Breann….. A Way To See In The Dark Concert Review

Micah Hawkinson….. Hutchmoot II:In Which I (Finally) Make It To Nashville

Tom Henderson….. Requisite Post-Hutchmoot Commentary

Heather….. Hutchmoot (great pictures)

More below…

Dan Kulp….. Hutch 1! Hutch 2!,  Moot Day 2,  HM: The Morning After,  Hutchmoot In Poems Called Clerihew,  Seriously Now: Hutchmoot 2011

Julie Silander….. At the Start Line Again…This Time for Hutchmoot,  Along the Road: Hutchmoot 2011

Tricia Prinzi….. Hutchmoot Reflections

Redhead Kate….. Scarred by Hutchmoot

Lori….. Post moot wanderings

Barb Lane….. Seashells: At The ‘Moot

Jen Rose….. you belong. (a reflection)

Gina G. Smith….. Maybe I’m a Robot…Trying to Process an Art-Filled Weekend

The Nerdy Blogger….. Conference Preparations: Hutchmoot 2011

Sally….. Leading With Our Wounds,  What, Me Worry?,  Hutchmoot Dining,  How Much Can Children Understand

Leanne….. Hutchmoot 2011

Ashley….. Hutchmoot

Under the Radar….. Hutchmoot 2011 Recap

Jaime G….. Experience leads to Doxology: a Gracious Plenty

Katherine….. Nerds

Janna Barber….. All I Need

Dave Bruno….. Of Hutchmoot and Suburbia

The Sound Opinion….. What is a Hutchmoot (and how did it sell out in 6 hours?)

Dave Bruno’s image: Andy Gullahorn playing “Skinny Jeans”

Hutchmoot 2:Revenge of Hutchmoot has ended. But for those who came either last year, or this year, it’s like Hutchmoot never ends. It just gets carried around inside you for months and months to come. Like gold in your pockets. This year was special/amazing and I plan to write more about it later.

But even if I never do myself…

I’ll be doing again this year what I did last, making a master directory of all the Hutchmoot-related posts I can get my hands on. If you want me to include yours, send me an email, or comment here with a link.

So let the Hutchmoot Hub 2011 commence. As last year, I’ll work this up on my site, then probably move it over to The Rabbit Room when it get’s closer to what it will end up being (that is, has what seems like most of the posts it will end up having).

(If you are not sure what Hutchmoot is, look here. It’s an in-person retreat/conference for The Rabbit Room community.

It was a lot of fun last year to collect all the different stories of how Hutchmoot worked on people. Or really, how God worked on us all at Huchmoot through his people.

I have so much to be thankful for, from hand-crafted name-badges to folded up papers-in pockets. But more on that later (maybe). For now, write your story of Hutchmoot. Then let me know. Then, consider eating some jello.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow…

Photo by Thomas McKenzie, on the scene of Andy Osenga’s spaceship, along with Whit, Goodgame, and Shauna Peterson.

You too? Yeah. Great song…so true. Get his new record here.

Jason is one of many reasons I’m excited to be heading to Nashville for Hutchmoot in a few days.

The bicycle pictured above is from Vashon Island, Washington. Some history can be learned here, but it appears most people don’t know where the bike came from. Some say it was left there by a young man who went off to fight in The Great War, never to return. That’s how I first heard of it and it got me thinking.

A picture’s worth a thousand tears.

When I’m leaving the house I sometimes think, “If I died today, what will they find of mine and what will it mean to them?” It can be a healthy question, or worrisome and destructive. It’s good to evaluate what impact we’re having and whether that impact will carry on in the direction we hoped for after we’re gone.

Whenever I leave, how will I leave things? It is good to consider. Of course, it’s unhelpful to overestimate our importance. God is in heaven and we are on earth. So let us not believe we are what you might call essential equipment for the operation of the world. As Charles De Gaulle said: “The graveyards are full of indispensable men.”

My prayer: Oh, God. What I have built by destroying, destroy. What I have made by distortion, unmake. May the things I have shaped as things ought and shall be shaped, carry on.

What will we pass on when we pass on? Someday, when our prayers for God’s will to be done “on earth as it is heaven” are fully and finally answered, the earth will be filled with the glory of God, as the waters cover the sea. Someday the bikes will be reclaimed and we will go to war no more.

Hear. One of the most beautiful passages in the history of worlds and words.

It shall come to pass in the latter days
that the mountain of the house of the LORD
shall be established as the highest of the mountains,
and it shall be lifted up above the hills;
and peoples shall flow to it,
and many nations shall come, and say:
“Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD,
to the house of the God of Jacob,
that he may teach us his ways
and that we may walk in his paths.”
For out of Zion shall go forth the law,
and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem.
He shall judge between many peoples,
and shall decide for strong nations far away;
and they shall beat their swords into plowshares,
and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war anymore;
but they shall sit every man under his vine and under his fig tree,
and no one shall make them afraid,
for the mouth of the LORD of hosts has spoken.
For all the peoples walk
each in the name of its god,
but we will walk in the name of the LORD our God
forever and ever.

(Micah 4:1-5 ESV)

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

This all reminds me of the song Chrome, by the poet laureate of abandoned bikes, Eric Peters.

This was originally posted in The Rabbit Room.

Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow

Quoted in “Fiction and The Big Picture,” a post by Robert Sagers.

You can, as I indicated earlier this week, get this fine book in audio format for a mere $5 from Christianaudio. Or get it from The Rabbit Room to read in the traditional fashion. It’s another excellent read from Mr. Berry.

Note: This was posted last week at The Rabbit Room and there were lots of funny comments. If you want to join that conversation, go here (there, I mean).

If you’re a writer, admit it. You have always wanted a “writer’s hut.” According to a source close to me, a writer’s hut is a little structure set apart from the bustle of home life, dedicated to eliminating distractions and focusing the efforts of the writer’s mind on the business of writing. So, it’s a lot like Facebook in that way. The writer’s hut is small, often spartan, and does not, in most cases, include a Wii. It looks much like the micro-machine version of a house. The picture above is George Bernard Shaw’s hut which he called “London.” This was so his staff could, without falsehood, tell annoying callers he was away “in London.” I call my bed “Work” for the same reason.

The idea of a writer’s hut has always been a romantic notion for me, right up there with a fire, a pipe and…oh yeah, I almost forgot…a book in print! (Small details.)

I’m sure if I did have a cool writer’s hut I would transition from failure to success as fast as you can say Henry David Thoreau likes Ralph Waldo Emerson and self-mandated, adult time-outs.

Acclaimed children’s author and hutless coveter Jennifer Trafton pointed out this site which features several famous writer’s huts. She referenced it on Twitter with the statement, “I want one.” She succeeds, no doubt, in producing the selfsame envy in others. ‘You shall not covet your neighbor’s writer’s hut’ means nothing to acclaimed children’s author and hutless coveter Jennifer Trafton. Nothing.

Here’s Roald Dahl’s hut. Spiffy. I assume he spent most of his time in there learning to spell his own name.

Once, at the Rabbit Room, we helped artist Evie Coates name her studio/workshop –”The Hatch”— and then that same studio was featured in famous (and as far as I know, hutless) radio sensation Jason Gray’s video. That was fun.

What would you name your writer’s hut? Not like, if you owned a writer and you kept the writer in a hut –like a kidnapping kind of situation– what would you name the hut. I mean if you were, or are, a writer and you had a hut to write in, what would you name it?

I might buy the house next door. This is not a lie. It has a hut and I might write in it and you might end up having named it. Aaaaaand….I might write the great American novel in there (or a few hundred more Jellybean Highfive shorts) and wouldn’t you feel special if you named it? Yes. Yes, you would.

So, what’s a good name for a writer’s hut?

Arthur?

Do any of you have such huts and can you share pictures and names with us?

(I’m just going to go ahead and say –cough, Aaron Roughton– that Pizza Hut doesn’t count. So don’t even try it.)

Another great thing about this song is that it means more, not less, than what is said above. It says so much about so much.

“Lean into something lasting…”

My Rabbit Room buddy Thomas McKenzie shares a thoughtful blog post about the importance of narrative to connect us deeply to the truth. This is something important to remember during this season (and always). I am all for propositions; we need them. But they matter because of a Story.

He begins by explaining what happens on an especially great episode (one of my favorites) of Star Trek:The Next Generation called “Darmok.” Captain Picard meets up with an alien who is only able to communicate through stories and the allusions to those stories. When Captain Picard figures out the stories (for the aliens it’s “Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra”), he can finally communicate. Thomas goes on to say…

“I recognize how increasingly like these aliens I am.  I was sitting in a meeting a few weeks ago.  The person leading the meeting was talking about “spiritual formation.”  That’s kind of a buzz word in the church world right now.  He had lots to say about this topic, and what he had to say was very well thought out.  I, however, had a hard time understanding what he was saying.  Why?  Because he didn’t use any stories.  There were not examples, no parables, no narrative.  Because there was no narrative, no “Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra,” no “Juliet on her Balcony,” I couldn’t grasp the material.  I understood every word he was saying, but the words were like vapor in a disembodied haze.”

Read the entire post here.