My family is no stranger to tragedies. We know what it's like to hurt.
When my Mother was twenty-five, her husband fell from a silo. She was left with a seven-month-old son, Doug.
Eventually, she married my father. They had four children—Adriel, Brenda, Nathan, and Frances.
Nathan drowned in our pond when he was two. I was six months old. My brother, Doug, died in a tractor accident when I was seven. The last of my grandparents died when I was twenty-two.
Death was a frequent part of our family discussions.
On holidays we visited the graves—memorials to those we lost. I hated standing in the graveyard waiting for my mother to be done visiting each grave. It was uncomfortable.
I watched my mother make it through all of those painful parts of living by praying. She believed in prayer. She prayed about everything.
On less tragedy-stricken days, we’d pray funny prayers (at least I thought they were funny)—such as "Please God, bring the cows back home," when they escaped from the barnyard. Prayer was as much a part of our life as doing the farm chores. Given all of our family experiences, you’d think I could easily write a song about prayer.
When I was asked to sing for a National Day of Prayer event I didn't feel like any of the songs I knew about prayer said what I wanted to say. I wanted my own song to sing.
I could hear a melody (and four simple words) that could be the chorus, but I couldn't seem to write more than these four words...."But I can pray."
I knew that I wanted to show the contrast between life's struggles, the ineptness we feel when someone is hurting, and the power of prayer. I knew the verses would lead me to the chorus...somehow.
I waited for more words to come.
Then we got the news.
A tragic car accident—a young boy and his mother. She was driving him to school...a head-on collision. The boy didn’t survive the crash.
I knew the family. It shook the community.
I pondered the events in my heart, watching the mother struggle with the loss of her son, a sister with the loss of her brother. I knew it would be hard. We all struggled to know what to say.
"Why did you start the show?" [Portraits of White]
"You said you want it to be a personal experience. Why does that matter to you?"
These two questions from a fan of Portraits of White are probably the most special to me of all the questions I've been asked.
Beyond the fancy dresses, wonderful musicians, spotlights and set design, there IS a very passionate longing in my heart when it comes to this beloved Christmas show. Basically...
How we experience Christmas matters to me. We all have a longing to find our "home," especially during the holidays.
"No matter how dreary and gray our homes are, we people of flesh and blood would rather live there than in any other country, be it ever so beautiful. There is no place like home." — L. Frank Baum (The Wonderful Wizard of Oz)
For years, I struggled with the holidays, emotionally. Thankfully, I had a physical home, but there was a sadness that seemed to plague me at Christmas.
In fact, I almost gave up on Christmas. Frankly, I secretly dreaded the holidays. Fortunately, Christmas didn’t give up on me. The more I share my own story, the more I seem to encounter others who have felt this way too…or perhaps, still do. My solution to this “problem” was to create a grand Christmas concert experience where people could come together and enjoy a professional show with a home-town feel.
Portraits of White had its debut in 2014 in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania with a SOLD OUT show. It has become a holiday favorite for many people who return every year for another dose of a meaningful musical experience.
One of the big reasons I had such an aversion to Christmas was because as a young girl, our family tragically lost two brothers and I never learned how to process the grief our family experienced. It always seemed especially tough at Christmas.
My brother, Nathan, drowned in our farm pond a few days after his second birthday, and another brother, Doug, (age 26) was killed in a tractor accident on a farm where he worked. He had a wife, two young daughters and three younger siblings. I was seven when the Pastor came to our farmhouse to tell my mother she lost her first-born son. That front-porch scene is forever etched in my mind.
As I got older, my struggle with sadness during the holidays only grew stronger. So in 1999, I decided to “skip Christmas” and ask God to reveal why I had such a hard time with the holiday season. Where was this “joy” the little baby in a manger was supposed to bring?
Months of quiet reflection that year began to reveal deep-seated, unprocessed grief. As I unwrapped this concealed package of heaviness, I was surprised to discover how far down I could stuff something in my little soul only to have it show up later in life in seemingly unrelated ways. But grief is a root that produces shoots of unwanted growth in so many areas if left unattended.
Through tears, quietness, prayer, and a re-examining of the original Nativity story, I started a healing journey. I found unusual solace in the fact that there were threads of sorrow in the story of the Christ-child. I had never noticed that until I viewed it through my own window of sadness. Once I identified the grief, then it seemed that joy was able to start growing, even if it was as slow as an oak tree.
As a songwriter, I guess it’s a natural progression to write songs as you process life (and death). So I started writing songs about my journey around the holidays and grief. Later, the story turned into an album—an audio journal of sorts. On the flip side of sadness, I also have a quirky side and a child-like love for snow that shows up in my songwriting. So the title track of my Christmas album, Portraits of White, seemed like the best title for my thoughts reflecting the winter seasons of my life, both the sad and the fun.
In fact, I wrote the title track while I was driving to Shippensburg, PA on Route 997 (yes, I do write while I drive—oops!) The fluffy snow was blowing and drifting across the road and painting “portraits of white” throughout the Cumberland Valley. The playful song reflects my life-time fascination with snow. Just like the dormant seeds that sprout after the blanket of cold winter snow has lifted, life sprung from the long, hard winter of my disenchantment with Christmas, and I found hope. I think this might also be why I loved snow. It always turned the dark barren winters into portraits of white…long before it was ever a song title in my mind.
With a vision to share my story and music with others who may have been touched by loss, I stepped out to follow my dream of putting together a professional concert each December. This year will be the eighth year for this BIG dream and every year is creatively different! In 2020, I had to get REAL creative when we all had to stay home. So I created a DVD and called it Portraits of White—At Home.
Along with other professional musicians from the South Central Pennsylvania region, we always combine humor, stories and inspiring music to offer hope during the holidays. This event has become a highlight of the Christmas season for many people.
Every year, the creative team I put together makes a special effort to ensure that the music for Portraits of White is unique and entertaining; working hard to maintain the nostalgic feel of Christmas while presenting music in a unique way that is new and creative but still leaves you with the warm, fuzzy Christmas feeling you expect during the holidays.
I love offering hope over the holidays by sharing stories, humor and great music. This concert contains all of those elements and more!
Every year, as I prepare for Portraits of White, I'm always amazed by the new theme that emerges. Certain song lyrics call out to me and say, "this is why you are doing the show". This year the phrase is; "give the world a holiday that's bright as can be". That's what I plan to do with the concert this weekend.
It's a crazy, busy world out there and as we get closer to Christmas we all long for a chance to take a deep breath to gear up for the day that is meant to bring joy. But for many people Christmas Day feels pretty empty and lonely. Many folks just "try to make it through" to the New Year. We plan to give folks the breather they are longing for with lots of great music, laughs and even lights, to brighten up the world here in South Central Pennsylvania.
Friday morning I went over to the venue early in the morning to go through the whole concert without all the other players, fancy lights and pretty dresses. I don't know how to turn on the lights in this big auditorium, so I figured I could just walk slowly and let my eyes adjust to the darkness. I made my way to the platform, in the dark, down the center aisle, up the steep steps to the stage and shuffled across the stage (arms extended to buffer myself from objects) toward the grand piano hoping there weren't any mic stands or monitors that were repositioned after rehearsal the night before.
I made it safely to the piano and decided I'd practice the whole show from that stationary position. No need to be walking around in the dark more than necessary. I turned on the little stand lights at the piano and that was all I needed to get started with the show. I couldn't see a thing except for the piano keys and all the EXIT signs in the room. At least I know where the exits are, even if I can't see how to get to them.
The strangest thing happened though. The longer I played the piano and told my stories to the empty room, the more my eyes adjusted to the dark. In fact, I became so used to the dark that within twenty minutes or so, I could see the stage and felt confident enough to actually walk around. It's always good to take some time getting used to the layout of the stage where you're giving a concert. It's like familiarizing yourself with all the controls in a rental car. It makes the trip a lot more relaxing if you "know" where everything is. I went from shuffling around on stage to actually feeling quite comfortable and confident in the dark.
An hour or two into my rehearsal the facility manager arrived and asked if I wanted some lights on. I was so used to the dark that I declined. I kind of like the solitude and quiet before the BIG weekend. I don't know why a dark room feels more quiet, but it just does.
As I stood on the stage looking out over the empty seats, I couldn't help but wonder how many times I've allowed myself to "get used to living in the dark" when it comes to some areas of my life. The things is, in the darkness, objects that could be useful to me actually pose as a threat because I don't bother to turn on the lights or allow someone else to turn the lights on for me. In fact, in the dark, everything can be dangerous. But if you sit there long enough, you'll get used to the dark and think it's normal.
I believe that we've created something special with Portraits of White—and I say "we" because there is a whole team behind this extravagant concert experience. People still say, "It's YOUR show"—meaning, do what YOU want, but there are so many people who have come alongside me to make this dream come true and so I no longer see it as "my show". We plan to really give the world a holiday that's bright as can be, especially for those who might have become accustomed to sitting in the dark.
For tickets to see Portraits of White, click HERE!
It's Thanksgiving Day and I'm enjoying a day of rest. Most of us are starting to gear up for the holidays and after the festivities of the day, will rush right into Black Friday. I have friends who have already decided to put up their christmas tree.
I almost did.
I've been preparing for my Portraits of White concert for so long now that I feel like putting up a tree is too miniscule. My insides have dug so deep into reflection that the little plastic tree I normally put up seems fake and trite. The makeover of my soul through this process seems to call for a complete makeover of my decorations too....but that won't be happening. I wouldn't even know how to express my soul in the way of ornaments and trees.
My decorations will show up in every note, lyric and thought presented on the night of December 12. It will be a festivity of the soul guised in the garb of music.
I've been practicing for months, but mistakes never disappear it seems. They are like little gophers that pop up out of their hole at the most unexpected times. As soon as I get one conquered, another appears. My mode of retaliation is to "hammer down" - a pun that fits the grand piano well.
It always puzzles me how a person can work so hard and long on something and still have it go awry. Like a skater who's jumped perfectly thousands of times but falls during a competition.
I experienced that recently at one of my concerts. In the midst of a piece I've played countless times, I completely lost my way. The only payoff in practicing, in that moment, was that I pulled myself together and kept going. The ability to keep going was my only success in that moment. Or at least it felt like it.
I walked away feeling like a complete failure. One hour of music - lyrics remembered and all, but all I could think about was the 5 seconds of faltering.
I'm reading a book right now that a singer friend recommended. I knew the instant she told me about it that I needed to read it...and SOON. It arrived last week. Today I'm reading it and I feel like I've visited a doctor who has been able to prescribe medicine that will relieve my pain and I thought you might like it too.
It doesn't matter if you are a musician or not - the tendency to remember the ONE mistake you made over any successes you had is common to all of us. The writer tells of a cello student she had who was quick to point out his own mistakes but never mentioned when he did well. He considered any good performance an "accident".
She encouraged him to speak his successes out loud, not just his mistakes. He went on to tell his teacher, "I guess I feel that way about a lot of stuff in my life. I sort of shrug off all my successes but get preoccupied with possible failures. Pretty dumb, isn't it?"
I stopped right at that paragraph and put my book down. I reflected on the recent "failure" where I lost my way in a song. All I could remember from that night was the 5 seconds of disarray. I gave about an hour concert and everything else went very well. In fact, there were moments when I felt like I was giving some of the best delivery ever. But I don't remember those moments now...or at least I didn't until I read of another human being's struggle to remember the successes.
I'm thankful for this reminder to focus in on the good things. The successes, the opportunities, the blessings we have been given. I suppose that's what this day is really all about.
It's the theme that I'm rolling around in my heart for the Christmas show.
The holidays can be full of wonderful memories and moments. They can also be full of disappointment and loneliness. I've experienced both and I've written many of the CD tunes based on those experiences. It's all based around one particular Christmas when I stepped back to "Take Another Look" at the holidays, the Christmas story, and my own expectations. It was a life-changing year for me. Now I want to put my story into an art form for others in the way of a CD and a show.
I need someone with a creative brain to help me put together story boards in order to create a short video that will capture the essence of the show. The video will become part of my crowd funding project with Rocket Hub. I heard a podcast recently from an on-line mentor of mine who used Rocket Hub instead of Kickstarter to fund a creative idea she had. I've done research and have discovered that they seem like a better organization than Kickstarter for what I need.
I made a phone call tonight to someone who I believe could help me put together a video for Rocket Hub to help me raise funds to do this Christmas show.
How will my Christmas CD project make a difference in the world?
Bob Baker (from http://www.thebuzzfactor.com) quoted Seth Godin on the podcast I listened to today and asked that question of us as artists.
It's been the thrust of my thinking ever since I heard it. It's the only chance I've had today to work toward the CD.
Here's my best try at it for now.....certainly much more to process in the days to come:
"I hope that by creating an authentic, meaningful Christmas CD, I can help people who dread the holidays or struggle to find meaning over this time of year experience encouragement and refreshment as they listen to the songs. As I give voice to my own past struggles with the holidays, maybe it will give others permission to express their feelings and all of us can find a new freedom in walking this journey together."
I was even more determined to find a way to make a difference with my music as I talked with a friend who attended a funeral today of her friend who committed suicide this week: A fifty-six year old woman who became grandma to a little boy born the night before she died.
We need each other to make it through the tough times!
