The Heartache Series: A Returning
I've been listening to Mumford & Sons again. I'm beginning to use the phrase "my favorite band of all time," but feel I should wait for their second album to make such a declaration. Counting down to September, baby! Anyway, I've been listening to their debut album on repeat.... something I haven't done since December 2010. The first time around, I was obsessed with Sigh No More, Little Lion Man, and Awake My Soul. But I've come back to the album as a blank slate, tabula rasa if you will.
It's fun to let their lyrics and melodies fall over me anew. For instance, during my initial obsession, I'd overlooked After the Storms. That little gem went un(der)appreciated until three weeks ago, when a friend asked me to give it a listen. The oversight made me wonder what else I'd bypassed. The answer is... a lot.
Or maybe it's not that I had missed the song(s) before, it's just the lyrics didn't hit home for me until now. For instance, I listen to I Gave You All some nights when I'm trying to fall asleep. The lyrics resonate and I love the song's crescendo. But the biggest re-discovery is White Blank Page.
Today, on my drive home, I listened to White Blank Page at least five times. The song begins with....
Can you lie next to her and give her your heart, your heart
As well as your body?
And can you lie next to her and confess your love, your love
As well as your folly?
And can you kneel before the King
And say I'm clean, I'm clean?
Here in the opener, the song asks if the man can give more than physical pleasure, but love her with his whole heart. Then the song asks of the man, will he be brutally honest with her about who he is. Sharing virtues and vices alike. Baring himself and, one can assume, inviting the same from her. Finally, the opening stanza asks, can he bow before Christ with a clear conscious. [Of course, none of us is clean. We're all imperfect. But I like that the song recognizes that the King is a part of romantic relationships. Faith is integral to every part of us; it's the larger story we're all living. So, our relationship with the Father matters to who we are as individuals, daughters, sons, friends, romantic partners, etc.]
Why I love this song? Simple. The lyrics help me return. Return to dreams I've long held (ones I had for myself and for the man I may someday marry).
I started praying for my future husband when I was 13 years old. Pretty crazy, huh? Well, I grew up in a church community that taught about the power of prayer. As a young teen, a youth leader challenged me to begin praying specifically for the man I'd someday marry, asking God to mold him well. I accepted the challenge and have prayed for my future husband ever since (sometimes fervently, other times with little faith).
White Blank Page reminds me of hopes I've somehow lost sight of. I must return to the belief that the Lord has created a man that gives his body and his heart, his whole heart. A heart that approaches me with kindness, not indifference. I am returning to the hope that God has designed a man who confesses his love, shortcomings, and accepts those things from me. This is huge---to believe that I don't have to be perfect to be loved. I can be too loud, rowdy, or lacking in conversational insight and still be cherished. My vices will be recognized and yet I'll be treasured. What a beautiful thing.
Of course the dream I must return to wholeheartedly is my deep-seated desire to wed a Christ follower. A man who leads me (and others) into a closer relationship with Jesus through his words of encouragement, acts of service, example of discipline, and steadfast love. I want to marry a man who puts first things first and second things second. Christ always comes before self. Something I struggle with daily. God's kingdom comes before ambition and everything else that sparkles in this world.
A huge turning point for me in this whole heartbreak saga is that I sense myself returning. Returning to who I was before. Returning to old hopes and dreams... ones I carried long before this recent romance. And I like the person I recognize, as I return.
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