Hide in thee
Longing for the garden Song Stories - Part 3
“How can beauty come from pain? Will tomorrow feel the same?”
“Hide in Thee" began to take form as I was preparing to lead a virtual Good Friday service in the early weeks of the Covid shutdown. “Rock of Ages,” one of my favorite hymns, was part of my setlist for that night, and the line “let me hide myself in thee” grabbed my attention. I’m not always the best at chasing down ideas, but this one stuck with me and I kept pulling on the thread to see where it would lead. As the beginnings of a new song based on that line rolled around in my head, I would hum the melody just like I do in the opening moments of the “Hide in Thee” recording. There was something comforting to me about the reputation of that phrase.
Side note: I’ve often been curious about the story we get a glimpse of in 1 Samuel 16, when David plays his harp for Saul. I won’t attempt to unpack this theologically, but I’ve always thought it was cool that a song helped sooth the tormented king. Good grief, music is such a gift.
Anyway, around the time I was prepping for Good Friday, my mother in law’s cancer was rapidly progressing. Simultaneously, any sense of control over the circumstances of our family’s life rapidly waned.
We were in Tennessee, and they were quarantined in KY.
This woman, a pillar of strength and resilience in her family and community, was becoming weaker, and she could not risk exposure to version of Covid that was taking the lives of so many during that time.
It was hard for Andrew and me to make sense of it all, much less explain it to our 7- and 3-year-old girls, whose little lives had been turned upside down by the pandemic and who loved their “Gram” so much. We desperately needed respite, some good news, a breakthrough, but it didn’t happen in the way we wanted. Gram went to heaven a few months later. We didn’t even get to have a real funeral because Kentucky “remained closed” much longer than Tennessee did. It was a dark and confusing time - for the whole world, and also for our home.
Psalm 126 holds a beautiful, mysterious promise for those who have known grief:
“Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy.”
“Hide in Thee” is not a joyful song (that comes later, with “I Will Give Praise”), but I tell the truth when I say that it became a place where I could bring my unedited self to the Father when nothing else could offer comfort.
P.S. If you’re an attentive listener, you will hear musical motifs weaving through the string quartet that are later echoed in “Tapestry,” the song that immediately follows “Hide in Thee.”
Gentle Gardener
Longing for the Garden - Song Stories, Part 2
“Catch the foxes for us, the little foxes that spoil the vineyards…” (Song of Solomon 2:15)
“Gentle Gardener” is a song of surrender to the One who invites us to take that painful first step out of disintegration and into wholeness. He is the one who prunes and tills up the overgrown, hardened places so that new life can bloom.
If you read the album overview I posted a few weeks ago, you might remember the dream my husband had before we were married. Because it is so integral to “Gentle Gardener,” I’ll share the dream again:
Our daughters Lily and Ruby on the Gentle Gardener single artwork
I was caught in a burned-out tree trunk deep in a forest that had been devastated by fire. In the dream, he offered his hand to me, but when I took it and began to step out towards him, the bark tore my skin and I wept - the painful first step. He held on and I kept moving towards him, and when my foot touched the forest floor, moss and small flowers began to grow up from the ground - new life, where there had been devastation.
That dream has stayed with us throughout our marriage, and we’ve taken on different roles in its story during different seasons. During the dark decade that was Andrew’s Lyme disease journey and his mother’s illness, I was the one holding out my hand to him. There have been seasons when we’ve each had to reach out for the other again - reminding each other that there can be beautiful things birthed out of pain.
More often than anything, we’ve both been stuck in the tree trunk, and it was the Lord who held out his hand to us.
The 2nd pre-chorus is my favorite part:
“You are catching all the foxes in the vineyard/As you clear new pathways thru the burned-out wood/Where the trees that fell in all the desolation/Display new growth I never dreamed they could.”
While the garden narrative ties in with the album’s theme, the deeper meaning is actually pointing to our creator’s amazing design of neuroplasticity, and how mine and my husband’s neural pathways have begun to heal and create new connections after engaging our stories of trauma and saying “yes” to the healing journey he invited us to - stepping out of the burned-out forest and into new life.
This song is dedicated to our daughters, Lily and Ruby - you can see them running hand in hand through an open gate on the single artwork and hear their sweet laughter at the track’s end.
Love Never Fails
Longing for the Garden - Song Stories, Part 1
Mamaw and Papaw on their wedding day, circa 1952
I’ve been holding this song close for a while — my husband and I wrote ‘Love Never Fails” for my grandparents’ 60th wedding anniversary in 2012.
The day we played it for them was special: our extended family gathered for a feast honoring them in my aunt’s beautiful home on the river in Dayton, TN. I was 8 months pregnant with our firstborn and stood beside them while Andrew played guitar. I remember it so well.
The next time we played the song was at Mamaw’s funeral, which was 10 years ago this week. We played it for my Papaw’s service in 2022, and also for his grandmother’s in 2023. Because of this history, the song is filled with complex emotions for both of us. Tears often flow when I sing it, and this was true even in the studio. The piano intro quotes the opening line from the hymn “In The Garden,” which was a favorite of both of our grandmothers.
You know the text, taken from 1 Corinthians 13 (“the love chapter”). The part that has always stuck out to me is verse 12: “For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.” When cross-referenced, this verse might not automatically take you to the last chapter of the Bible, but it did for me:
“Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life,
as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of
God and of the Lamb down the middle of the great street of the city.
On each side of the river stood the tree of life,
bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month.
And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations.”
Revelation 22:1-2
Each of us experiences great loss on this side of heaven, and suffering is a daily part of the human condition. We long to be held and soothed by a parent or grandparent again. We long for the innocence of childhood that was stolen much too soon. We long for cancer to bow the knee. We long to embrace the prodigal child who is far from home. We long for “the good old days” - or maybe we resent that what should have been “the good old days” were actually the hardest days of our life. We long to be healed, and for the wrong things to be made right.
I often struggle with doubt, but when I sing this song, I believe this in my bones - that the promise of Jesus is the promise of restoration. There IS healing for us now, and there will be glory on the other side. We will be held by Jesus, cry the last of all of our tears, and he will dry our eyes.
We only know in part/But we will know fully/When perfection comes the doubt will fade away
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.
Much Love,
Emily
Longing for the Garden - behind the album
If you’ve seen the artwork we’ve used in promotion for Longing for the Garden, you may wonder why the heck we planted flowers around a tree stump and then lit it on fire. Stay with me - there’s a story there:
My husband Andrew had a dream before we were engaged - I was caught in a burned-out tree trunk deep in a forest that had been devastated by fire. In the dream, he offered his hand to me, but when I took it and began to step out towards him, the bark tore my skin and I wept. He held on and I kept moving towards him, and when my foot touched the forest floor, moss and small flowers began to grow up from the ground - new life, where there had been devastation.
That dream has stayed with us throughout our marriage, and we’ve taken on different roles in its story during different seasons. During the dark decade that was Andrew’s Lyme disease journey and his mother’s illness, I was the one holding out my hand to him. There have been seasons when we’ve each had to reach out for the other again - reminding each other that there can be beautiful things birthed out of pain. More often than anything, we’ve both been stuck in the tree trunk, and it was the Lord who held out his hand to us.
I know many of well enough to know that your stories have been marked by grief and suffering, and you’ve come to mind during the process of creating this album.
You’ll hear a lot of scripture in these songs, but the overarching themes are contained in the following 3 passages:
“For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.” (1 Corinthians 13:12)
“My beloved speaks and says to me: ‘Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come away, for behold, the winter is past; the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come..’” (Song of Solomon 2:10-12a)
“On each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations.” (Revelation 22:2)
Each song has a story that I’ll share here in the coming weeks - from our creator’s incredible design of neuroplasticity (“Gentle Gardener”) to quoting my Mamaw’s favorite hymn (you’ll have to listen to find it). My prayer is that these songs create a space for processing pain and grief as we each take our next, sometimes painful, step of faith into fullness of life with Jesus.
Sometimes I Feel Like I’m Standing in the desert
My friend Spencer penned this line for our song “I’ll Keep Walking,” and it echoed through my mind constantly last week, taking on new and deeper meaning as my family and I baked in an autumnal heatwave in the Sonoran Dessert. Temps were between 105-110 degrees and the air was so dry that our skin started cracking within hours of landing.
It’s hard to believe that anything can stay alive, much less thrive, in the desert at all. It felt like a reflection of the condition of my heart in dry seasons…longing for breakers of living water - the kind that instantly refresh the soul - to crash over me, to refresh and change me. To quote my friend Justin Carlson in his song “Cold Spring” (which has been living rent-free in my mind and heart for months):
“Give me some relief/Even a small drink of mercy/Lord quench my unbelief/With a long drink from your cold spring”
But even in the desert, there were signs of life everywhere - strong, resilient plants and animals thriving in the midst of a parched landscape. It hasn’t rained there in months, but the flora and fauna that still stand are mature. They have been nourished and sustained by what was provided and will make it until the monsoon comes and the parched desert transforms into a beautiful garden.
And for my heart and perhaps yours, I wait and trust that in seasons where the the living water we long for feels so distant - that the giver of life is building something mature and resilient in us.
Andrew and Ruby in the Sonoran Desert
O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you;
my soul thirsts for you;
my flesh faints for you,
as in a dry and weary land where there is no water. (Psalm 63:1 ESV)
Listen to “I’ll Keep Walking” here: https://open.spotify.com/track/4n6MkoscLlc7y4RkzMrNnu?si=54aac4e95c1f4e88
Listen to “Cold Spring” here: https://open.spotify.com/track/3zVnBlr1MGYmBTm2JBWtxP?si=61c48bc6ca5d4be8
New Album Coming 11/8/24
“Longing for the Garden” (at the end of election week)
In case you haven’t heard, I have a new record coming out in about 6 weeks. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking, releasing a concept album about grief and healing at the end of election week. I am either brave and my timing is poignant, or I’m a fool. Whichever it is, “Longing for the Garden” is coming November 8th.
I’ll talk more about the album in the coming weeks leading up to release day. For now, I’ll say that each song on the record has a story.
I’ll share a story now - not one that directly affected/inspired a song on the album, but one that helps me think about why I continue to do what I’m doing - writing, arranging, practicing, scheduling studio time, recording, producing, hiring, promoting, distributing - making music (Important note: these things are not done alone, but with the help/partnership of so many wonderful people). Music is a powerful tool, helping engage parts of us that are not always easily accessible - for making sense of things that were previously locked up and undecipherable.
I was co-leading a prayer set with a friend on a Tuesday morning. We were in this flow/improv scripture-singing moment. He sang a line from Psalm 139 about the Lord’s care for us that was so tender, and I instantly became a weeping mess at the keyboard. I was taken back to a moment in my story that I had struggled to confront, a moment that needed to be approached with kindness. It felt as though a part of my heart had become a dry patch of ground - hydrophobic, perhaps, not allowing water in to nourish it. But that line of music came out and the garden of my heart cracked right open, and it was as though water flowed into those cracks and nourished my soul. It was surprising and a little bit painful, but it was beautiful, and it was healing. The tears fell for a long time that day, as they still do at times when I remember that moment. And it started with a song.
I hope the songs on this album and the stories they tell will help you access and explore the parts of your own story that the Lord is inviting you to nurture alongside Him. More to come…
You can pre-save or pre-order “Longing for the Garden” at the top right of this page.
New Year, New Script, New Music
It’s a new year…goal-setting time!
My resolution for last year was to record and release a full-length album, and I got off to a good start, tracking much of it in mid-January 2023. Then, life happened. We buried Andrew’s precious Mamaw. We continued our journey with Lyme disease and its long-term effects. Our kids started 5th and 2nd at a new school. We had joys and challenges in ministry and relationships. 2023 was a great year - one of the sweetest we have experienced as a family. But in the midst of it all, the record didn’t meet every arbitrary deadline that I’d made for it, and even though my team created a new (and better!) strategy for releasing it, I still secretly felt like a failure. After all, I’ve been working on this album for over a year - I should be able to check it off the list!
This is what my therapist calls a “negative script.” I’m learning that a lot of my life has been spent with them lurking around, living rent-free in my mind, shaping my thoughts and the way I see myself. It is tough for me to recognize and name them because they are sneaky:
“It’s a lot of work with little payoff to release music in the streaming era,”
“120,000 new songs are released daily - what’s the point? Why add to the sonic chaos?”
“I’m not willing to hustle every day on the socials, so there’s no way for people to know about what I’m creating.”
“I’m 40 now - maybe I’ve missed my chance.”
-or the big one-
“I never succeed at any of my goals - maybe I should just stop trying.”
Ugh. NOT a helpful way to live a creative, whole-hearted life.
Thankfully, part of my journey of 2023 was beginning to learn that simply naming the scripts - recognizing them for what they are - is kindness to myself. I’m slowly learning to put to death those negative scripts by naming what is true:
“The arbitrary deadlines I tend to give myself are just that - arbitrary.”
“I DID finish the record - we just have a new release schedule that enables me to tell the stories behind these songs in a more effective way.”
“I released a couple of singles with Middlebrook Music in 2023 that I’m so proud of, with much more to come this year.”
“Gentle Gardener (the first single from the album and my most personal release so far) hit streaming services in October.”
“I’m releasing a new song that I am so excited about in just a few weeks.”
-and the one I’m still learning to believe-
“My worth is not defined by what I accomplish.”
All this to say - my resolution this year is more abstract than ever before. Continuing to uncover and name the negative scripts isn’t easy, but the freedom and joy I know it will bring is worth it.
Cheers to 2024, friends. Blessings to all of you as you do the deep, hard, and holy work of healing and growing.