Life’s rhythm is a fascinating thing, isn’t it? It pulses with periods of intense activity and then, just as you get accustomed to the hustle, it softens into quietude. That lyric, “Life’s busy then it’s quiet again,” truly encapsulates this ebb and flow. It’s those transitions into quiet seasons that often catch me off guard, particularly when the shift is unexpected.
I remember vividly when I transitioned to being a stay-at-home mom. Suddenly, my days were filled with the demands of a crying infant – a kind of beautiful chaos, but a far cry from the professional world I knew. Paradoxically, amidst the baby’s cries, a different kind of quiet settled in. The constant adult conversations, the easy camaraderie with coworkers, those were replaced with a silence that, while peaceful in moments, also felt isolating. I missed those connections, those daily interactions that had defined my sense of place for so long.
Then came the move across the country. Another seismic shift, another plunge into quiet. Familiar faces vanished, replaced by the anonymity of a new place. Social calendars, once brimming, became sparse. Navigating these quieter phases has been a recurring challenge. My natural inclination is to seek connection, to re-establish my footing in a world that suddenly feels less defined. It’s almost as if the busyness of life serves as a comforting blanket, masking underlying issues and allowing us to believe, however falsely, that everything is fundamentally “okay.”
But stripping away the busyness reveals a starker reality. The truth is, so much in this world is profoundly not okay. And it’s in this very acknowledgment of brokenness that the power of the gospel emerges. It doesn’t shy away from the pain; it confronts it head-on. It speaks to the loss of loved ones, the unfairness of untimely deaths, the pervasive sorrow that seems woven into the fabric of even our most joyous moments. The good news, the truly transformative news, is that this brokenness is not the final word. The gospel promises a future where everything will be set right. A future, and this thought resonates deeply with me, where there will be no more goodbyes in Heaven.
It’s in this space of grappling with life’s quiet moments and the world’s inherent brokenness that music becomes such a vital companion. And that brings me to a song, “Miss You Like Crazy,” a track that’s become deeply personal to me. I had the privilege of collaborating with my talented friend, Cliff Preston, a fellow musician from The Band Table, to bring this song to completion. Cliff’s contribution was invaluable, particularly given his personal experience with loss. Having lost his father, he infused the lyrics with an undeniable authenticity, articulating the raw pain of missing someone with a depth that only lived experience can provide. Our shared intention was for this song to be a touchstone, a source of resonance for anyone navigating the often-turbulent waters of grief and loss. We wanted to create something genuinely relatable, a song that speaks to the heart of those moments when life feels overwhelmingly quiet because of someone’s absence.
As we journey onward, carrying our earthly experiences with us, always with our hearts pointed toward the hope of Heaven – a place where tears and sorrow will be relics of a former life – songs like “Miss You Like Crazy” serve as anchors. They are more than just melodies and lyrics; they are tools for processing the complex tapestry of earthly challenges. They grant us permission to pause amidst the noise, to truly feel the weight of our emotions, and to find solace in the understanding that we are not alone in our experiences of missing someone, or something. These are, in a way, the crazy songs – the intensely emotional, deeply relatable tracks that understand the quiet seasons of our lives and offer a soundtrack to our journey through them.
