CFAMC

Yesterday I returned from Marion, IN from the Christian Fellowship of Art Music Composers (CFAMC) conference.  It was a long trip that sat right in the middle of finishing an analysis paper and finishing the piece to be performed on the concert for the festival!  So it's been a stressful time the last few weeks.  Last year felt like a cakewalk compared to this semester.  I'm trying to be effective with my time, but it just slips away from me.

But that's neither here nor there, this post is about the trip.  It was interesting to go back to Marion.  I went to this same conference at this same place two years ago.  It was a striking reminder of how much God has changed me.  It was an emotional few days, which for the most part I suppressed, but was able to articulate to a brother that I really connected with.

First off, it's fall up there.  Legit fall.  Yellow trees, cool mornings and evenings.  It's the perfect setting for a specific type of nostalgia that only can occur in the fall.  It's the type that feels bittersweet yet hopeful.  The natural slowing down of nature, the hastening days.  The days where I only but desire to sit in my apartment, open the windows, drink warm coffee, and think.

I know that I live too much in the past.  It has been a plague to me and my walk with God for my whole existence.  Luckily, I've been delivered to Texas where 'fall' happens in a single day where all the leaves turn brown and fall off in one giant swoop.  It's not a nostalgic place which does me some good.

So when I got to Indiana, I could instantly feel the change.  The want of being alone.  Of wanting to think, to feel, to live in my brain.  Again, God would provide a way out though my sister's family.  I got to see them on Thursday all afternoon and evening which kept me sane and happy.

Friday morning out the door on the open road at 7 am.  Just me.  Just the road.  It was 47 degrees and no major highways between Valparaiso and Marion.  Two and a half hours of silence, winding roads, and pretty trees.  It was a nice ride.  It was some sweet time with God.

I got to the campus and joined the group an hour late (I didn't account for the time change) but was glad to see familiar faces from two years ago.  They all remembered me too and things were off to a good start.  The guys were great.  The festival was great.  Busy all day.  Got my piece worked up in the afternoon and had to miss one talking session to do it.  After the evening concert we went out for a beer and had some great discussions.

The came along Saturday morning.  I drove to Indiana Wesleyan and today parked on the other side of campus than the previous day.  I pulled in, put the car in park, and when I looked up waves of memory washed over me.  This was it.  This was the spot two years ago that I lost it.  Almost the exact parking spot.  I remembered vividly the buildings, the signs around, the trees, the anger, the bitterness.  It was all so overwhelming that I got out of the car quickly and walked into the student center.

Here's a little back story about the CFAMC conference.  I went there two years ago presenting a vocal piece.  It was a time in my life I was struggling with God and wrestling with my life.  At the conference, two things happened: 1) I got a reprieve from my life and was able to fellowship with some strong men, 2) This festival was the main reason I went on to grad school.

Unfortunately, at the end of last year's conference I came home early, back to my life.  I wasn't happy about this.  I drove three hours home in the middle of the night, furious at God.  I gave him every ounce of distain, anger, and bitterness I could muster.  I was literally tapped out physically, and spiritually bankrupt.  I said things to and about God that I've regretted for a long time.  It was one of those fights.  It left an otherwise great experience tinged with badness.  This is what washed over me in that parking lot.

After the festival, it was time for me to drive home.  Out to the car.  Half an hour before sundown.  I went out and looked around sitting in that car.  I prayed.  I prayed over that place, over that time, over my anger, my bitterness.  I prayed to be released from that horrible night, for all the wrong I said, for all the hate I felt.  I know I was forgiven for that night, well that night, but I wanted in that moment for God to know how sorry I was and that I love him.

More importantly I wanted to know he loves me.  He does.  I drove the next hour with the windows down, thankful for how far God has brought me over the last year.  How I'm thankful for what Jesus did for me on the cross and how there's nothing I can do to add to that.  How he's placed me in this great community where I can be broken and be sustained.  I go to a church that cares about each person and loves on all.  I live in a city that is unique and full of interesting people.  I live in a country that allows me to say what I want and believe what I want to believe.  That I live on an earth that was created by God simply speaking.  That I am made from dust and the only thing that separates me from that dust is the the breath of God.

It was a bittersweet trip, but one full of hope.