Night and exhaustion combined turn me into a sort of half-crazed lunatic who says whatever comes to her mind in whatever order it may come. I think I’ve demonstrated that by now.
But there have been several things bouncing about in my mind that I’ve wanted to share, and so tonight I’m going to strive to accomplish just that.
Which may be difficult based on the way I keep spelling things.
Since the last time I dropped in to say that life was going well, life has continued to…well…go well.
Thursday, in particular, was one of those days that show me why people can preach a ‘health, wealth, and prosperity’ gospel, because it was so fabulous and it was super easy to connect the dots and think, ‘I’ve been doing my devotions and praying and talking to people about my faith and so now I’m being rewarded and why didn’t I start checking all the little boxes of ought-tos earlier so life would quit being so dadgum difficult?’
Except God’s blessings aren’t dependent on our level of surface-level perfection.
And God’s blessings are every bit as present on the days when I don’t get out of class early, find out that I did indeed manage to test out of a class, learn about a concert that my dad buys me and my friends tickets to, get a call from my mom saying that she gets to fly out to see me in the play Hay Fever (which everyone should come see…) and enjoy three full, nearly-healthy meals.
But yeah, that was my glorious Thursday that my suite mate and roommate and I spent quite a while squealing over.
And then Friday was, by all accounts, a fair day.
And then Saturday I had to get my hair cut…which is stated in a rather displeased mumble and accompanied by a face that communicates that this is not a matter that I am exceptionally pleased about and no, I would not like to discuss it further. I miss my hair but am grateful for the opportunity to be in a show even if it requires sacrificing my hair. I keep telling myself that.
BUT Saturday night my roommate, suite mate, and I all got to go see the concert that we found out about on Thursday.
A while ago I gave y’all my rather unimpressed/confused thoughts about seeing the Newsboys in concert.
Tonight I want to (briefly, because I fear I’m getting loopy) share with you my thoughts about seeing Tenth Avenue North in concert.
First off, I adore Tenth Avenue North, and have since my dad introduced the band to me long before they were immensely popular.
Of course, Dad couldn’t remember the numerical value of their name at first, or even which direction they claimed, so for a time I thought the band was Ninth Avenue West. But life goes on and muddles get sorted out, and the sound of Dad singing along to their Over and Underneath album while we detailed the van beside our rental house in Carthage, North Carolina sticks with me.
Also, I’m pretty sure that there’s no other band whose songs I have cried to as often.
And I’m not talking about those hideous ballads, like where the kid’s dying and his family pulls together so that he can celebrate one last Christmas in September before he dies. I detest songs like those. Because I know that life is depressing. I see it all around me and it breaks my heart on a daily basis. But can’t we fill the airwaves with songs about how great God is in that tragedy instead of singing about how tragical the tragedy is?
Sorry if I just insulted your genre. Maybe I shouldn’t post offensive things on the internet. But…yeah, moving on.
The type of crying I’m talking about is in those moments where I’m feeling lost or alone or broken, and I turn on my ‘shuffle all’ playlist and all of a sudden I hear someone singing right to where I am, whispering the words of God over me or murmuring the silent plea of my heart.
Like, seriously, when you find yourself in a place of spiritual desperation, listen through an album or two of these guys’ and you’ll almost without fail find a song that’ll let you breathe, ‘That, that is what I’m feeling.’
So that’s the basis of my thoughts on Tenth Avenue North. I already love them as singers, song writers, and musicians.
But I like Newsboys as singers, song writers and musicians, too.
Tenth Avenue North (gah, I love the band but I’m getting really sick of a three word long band name to type out all the time with no logical abbreviation that doesn’t strike me as totally tacky…TAN…?…10AN…?…yeah…no) last night won me over as performers.
Unpacking that idea:
The first song played, as the lights came up and the audience shouted for joy, was their latest hit from their latest album. Everybody knew it. Everybody sang. It was great.
(Side note: I get a tremendous emotional rush from being surrounded by like-minded believers joining their voices in worship. Church sometimes makes me tear up for this reason, and there’s always at least one moment like this at a Christian concert. Just the beauty of being together, of being free to worship, of being the collective Bride of Christ—loved more than we could ever begin to imagine…mmm…it’s just so beautiful.)
From there the band jumped around from album to album, playing new hits and old favorites, and constantly constantly engaging the crowd in family.
At one point, we were all instructed to put our arms over the shoulders of the people beside us. Because we were family. We are family.
It made me insanely happy to watch each of the rows of people in front of us in the theater (there had to be about ten) start to sway to the music. As a group. A body. (Like I said, emotional rush.)
We danced together—except for the people who didn’t believe in dancing and just did ‘choreographed movement.’
Mike (the lead singer) talked about the symbolism of raising our hands in worship: that it’s not a holier-than-thou position at all, but it’s a reaching up and echoing the words of his daughter when she cries out, ‘Daddy, hold you!’ I love that picture. And I loved being surrounded by hands lifted in surrender and desperation and adoration.
I guess what I’m trying to impress upon you was that it was a night of family.
Not family and a band.
Broken individuals united by our desperate need for a savior.
I paid to go to a concert.
Instead I got to be part of a worship service/party.
With impressive lighting effects and a bunch of normal guys who happen to be well-known for their worship lyrics.
And that normality? It just made them all the more impressive.
I still ache to have a platform, to get to make a difference like that.
And Tenth Avenue North is an amazing reminder to me that what I’ve visualized is actually possible.
God can be given all the glory through flashing lights and microphones and platforms.
So anyway, it’s pretty late now and I’m not in bed the way I told myself by the time I told myself I was going to be. I’m still pretty giddy from last night (obviously, I think) and all I can really leave you with is an invitation to check out the music of Tenth Avenue North if you never have, and a reminder just how great it is if you are familiar with it but haven’t played it in a while.
We’re not meant to live this life alone.
No Man Is An Island by Tenth Avenue North