#7: New, And Yet Familiar Currents
I probably should start talking about the songs I’ve written.
After all, there’s an album of my music that’s coming out soon! And a question I’ve been asked, (and honestly asking myself a lot) is ‘how do you write a song?’
I think I’m very under-qualified to answer that question. I didn’t set out to write a song, much less a full album of songs. I don’t think I would have arrived here if I set out to reach this point. That’s how I realized which turns to take. They simply arrived before me without me seeking them out. I had no intention to walk this direction and I don’t think I could have of my own accord.
Since a very early age, I played music. I grew up with a tiny fiddle in my hands, a little girl in a sea of instruments at bluegrass jams. I learn how to listen to music and swim with its currents, figuring out notes and rhythms on an old piano that slowly fell out of tune. I learned guitar in the sweetness of isolation and the richness of gatherings. I was blessed by teachers who showed me the math behind the music and the presence behind the pitch. It’s one of the most cliche things a musician can say, but it’s true: my life has been saturated with music for as long as I can remember.
But songwriting is a new venture. I’m sure better musicians and songwriters can set out to write a song and then make it happen. That has not been the case for me. I was rather blindsided by the event of songwriting.
I was months into a long battle with chronic inflammation, and with that invader came many others enemies that brought destruction and discomfort. With journal in hand and Christian mentors advising, I was trying to sort out spiritual realities and understand what my body, mind, and soul were experiencing.
With that chronic battle came a need to distract from the ongoing pain. Music has been one of the most generous and welcoming outlets to do so. I’d often make pitstops throughout the day to the music room, grabbing a guitar or sitting at the piano to move my mind to a different place.
Thoughts about beauty and suffering were heavy on my mind. I was challenged by Creation, unsure of how to interact with it when its beauty amplified my sadness and longing. I had settled on the notion that it was something to move towards and to settle on, because it echos the groans I was feeling in my soul. And while it heightened my sense of aching, it also was a balm to those aches. In Creation, I see the Creator’s hand. God’s eternal attributes are on display in His handiwork, so no one can claim they are unable to know Him or see Him.
While I feel the heaviness of sin’s curse, I can also see the promise of redemption. It leaves me with a command: come to the garden and walk with the Gardener.
In my music room, with a trusty guitar and a journal laid open, I put down the first lines of my first song. The rest of the song flowed as fast as the rivers that inspired its imagery, and by the end of one sunny afternoon, I had done something I didn’t set out to do. I had written a song.
“Come to the garden, and rest your head.
See all the beauty to be restored in the end.
Come to the river, refresh your soul.
Don’t you know that this old world is not your home?
The darkness lingers, but not for long.
Though night has fallen, it’ll soon be gone.
The picture’s blurry and incomplete,
But one day we will see how it was meant to be.”
The best is yet to come.
Madison Marlyn
9.3.2025
