“Again, We Don’t Know. But We Show Up.”

As promised I’m back with more thoughts on songs from Amy Grant’s first album in more than a decade, The Me That Remains. Since I have a long history with Amy, I trust her enough to drop my guard on first listen to new music from her. As a result, I found myself shedding some tears to a few songs during a walk with my dogs around the neighborhood. These are good cries… cleansing cries, I’ve heard them called.

The first one that hit me in the heart was “The Saint.” I imagine this one came from Amy’s work with Thistle Farms, but I know that Amy is no stranger to the story of addiction. You can’t have worked in the field of music as long as she has and not see its effects. Like my music community, my sobriety community is still mostly based in Nashville. I got 10 years sober last month, and I can honestly say I wouldn’t have the spiritual life I have now if it hadn’t been for the desperation of addiction. It was the surrender that led me to seek out a power greater than myself and find my people in the recovery community. This one is deep, and I’m grateful for all of the saints I see showing up everyday to help me stay connected and keep moving forward.

So, I was already in my feels when the next track,“Beautiful Lone Companion,” started to play. This one really gets at the mystery of God, or Higher Power, or Spirit, or Universe, or whatever you want to call it.

Amy and her co-writer Mike Reid capture here the essence or feeling of being guided day to day by something. Call it synchronicity, call it the Holy Spirit part of the Trinity — whatever. It’s the beauty of the mystery, because no one knows and no one has seen this force that lives and moves among us. Yet it’s been there for me. This is the shading and nuance that is nowhere to be found in the all-or-nothing, moving target of Christian Nationalism. It’s the looking back over time at evidence of what I’ve gone through and am still able to stand and find inner peace sitting here writing this — at this moment. Just for today. It’s an awareness and a presence — both of myself and of a path forward I can’t fully plan or control.

The last song on the album, “The Other Side of Goodbye” — my God. Amy describes seeing her mother smile as she crosses over. My cousin Janan reported a similar sign with my Aunt Lora, who died two years ago. I’m grateful to still have my parents, but I am grateful to Amy for sharing her experience here. Once again, Amy is like the older sister telling me what it’s going to be like…

Again, we don’t know. But we show up.