When the World is Aching
Letters and songs as balm
I have a dear friend, Alisa, that lives in the great plains of Iowa. I visited her once a few years ago, and as we were driving through long stretches of land at nightfall, she pointed to a house in the distance with the lights on, that yellow glow in the distance flinging light towards us.
“Do you want to know what heaven is like?” she asked.
It is just like her to pull heaven down into all our conversations. “Hmmmm,” I hummed, “what is it like?”
“It’s like that house out there,” she said, plainly. There it was. Heaven in a house full of life. Made sense to me.
Alisa and I met at a house in the middle of an English countryside, lights glowing with community bustling in and out called L’Abri Fellowship. Nearly a decade ago, we were roommates in a house of forty people. During our limited free time, she would frequent the local library and bring back stacks of children’s books. Sometimes she would leave one on my pillow with a note that read, “Made me think of little Becca. Enjoy.” At firs it annoyed me, since I was there to do serious study and ponder the deep meaning of the world and my inner landscape, not read children’s books. But then I read them, and I fell asleep feeling silly, playful, loved.
Alisa’s loyalty to me is the reason our friendship has been sustained all these years. I am horrendous at staying in touch, but her phone calls and letters have invited replies, which have built a slow and steady friendship. More often than phone calls are her letters. She writes frequently, keeping the lost art alive and well, and I treasure her words. Recipes, thoughts about her spiritual life, funny stories from her nieces and nephews— some have been brief, some have been multiple pages—but they come right from her heart into my hands.
I think of her when the world is aching and darkness hovers. She lives a life with her heart wide open, her feet firmly planted in that Iowan soil she loves dearly, teaching children how to read, baking bread, writing letters. She is more than this, of course, but she lives a life of deep attention, and I am a grateful recipient of her loving gaze.
A few years ago, I was asked to write a song for a woman named Maria. She fled Ukraine when Russia invaded, moving in with her adult daughter that lives in the United States. I was given a few things about Maria through her daughter— that she made her living teaching, that she loved working in her garden, that her husband had passed in the recent years and she missed him, that she loved her country and in her early 80’s, didn’t want to leave. Her daughter insisted.
I was connected to Maria through the beautiful non-profit The Giving Notes Project, where songwriters listen to another person’s story and write a song for them, a way to say, I hear you and honor their story.
After a 30 minute chat with Maria’s daughter, I set off trying to write. A month in, I had a few ideas but was mainly stuck in the Land of Overthinking, where every door seemed shut and another step towards a different door felt like I had a brick tied to my ankles.
I was scheduled for a co-write with a friend around this time, so I shared about my dilemma.
“I know this song is for Maria, but I can’t help but think it’s also for her daughter, too…” I said, bemused. “I’m not quite sure how to write this yet.”
“Write a letter,” she replied.
A letter.
So I wrote a letter from Maria’s perspective to her daughter, and the song practically wrote itself. You can listen to it, if you’d like.
Maria’s Song
My love, how I want to tell you a story that ends well- But here I am so far away at the beautiful home you’ve made in another place... Remember the day you called me and told me to pack my bags just in case I needed to come to you and leave Ukraine? Oh how I wish there was another way! Sorrow has a melody That haunts me in the night But love sings the harmony And wakes me to the morning light When I was young, I saw war once before- watched our wheat fields weep under Russian force. I was a little girl in a man’s world (my spirit was still unfurled!) I knew then that I wanted to be a woman who always created beauty... So I taught the children to sing and planted the tulips to rise every spring. Heartache has a melody That haunts me in the night But joy sings the harmony And wakes me to the morning light Now I hold onto you when we walk around. I miss your Dad everyday when the sun goes down. He loved to call you from the garden house to tell you what was coming up, no matter what... Grief has a melody That haunts me in the night But peace sings the harmony And wakes me to the morning light So let us not forget to sing and tell each other what’s true: Oh my love, how proud I am and how much I love you!! Love, Maria
When the world is aching, write a letter.
Girl. I need to write you a letter again.
Oh Becca, this song is beyond words. It strikes so deeply in its rawness and sweetness. Thank you for sharing this and reminding me to write some letters :)