I’ve been writing since I was 9 years old and yet sometimes I hardly know why I do it.

A while back, I had a self-revelation: music speaks to my heart in ways that words cannot. There are some things words alone cannot express. And yet in the ups and downs of life, sometimes raw emotion has felt so vain in light of the consistency of objective truth. Why does my heart falter so often when my head “knows better”? Oddly enough, this writer and musician has often struggled with feeling justified in expressing art in the written or sung form. It has felt fleeting, especially in world now rampant with online amateurs such as myself. I for one could never make a trade of this thing.

And yet in this world of the “information age” where the number of voices we hear every day are in theĀ multitudes, I would be in vain if I did not express. For art in all its forms is, I’m certain, a true reflection of the Creator. He Himself authored poetry as an expression of His heart-churning compassion, His just wrath, His holy and sacred mercy. There are somethings He deemed only fit for expression in mysterious poetic form, or musical liturgy. So too somehow our life experiences, our prayers and heart-cries, our griefs and joys — they fill the world with their grey reflections of the One who is the Perfect Artist. They are images, snap-shots, of moments where our hearts are alive, awakened to the world of hatred and love, where passion moves us to action, and we are not stone-cold in spirit. Art is meant to awaken us or is itself an awakening. These are but simple, initial thoughts from this amateur, reflections from a sermon series on Isaiah at my church, and hours of listening to the lyrics of Switchfoot. Nothing is new under the sun…and yet every day the sun rises and sets in new beautiful creations of beauty, unique to that time and day in history and never to be repeated in its spectacular auras. So too we join in this re-enactment of creation, and paint a glimpse of beauty in a world too full of darkness to last.