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Christopher Jamison. See the highway sign Where the sages grow The tumbleweeds they tumble And the dust clouds roll. I want to gather them all up Follow the threads of their soul To the end Where it all feels like home. Gillon aka Tommy Scott, M. Well, the only thing that moves Is the laundry on the line And a dusty dog that bites Just to kill the time.

I prefer hell to nowhere at all It stops and the whole thing falls Wake me now or make me stay Inside this empty weight This empty weight. Darkest Day L. They turn their backs And they put me out They build me up Just to bring me down Like pieces of pages and scattered shreds Tattered thoughts and worn-out threads Torn up words and loose change Burnt up bits of cellophane Everywhere, everywhere I go Everywhere, everywhere I go.

Oooh codeine arms, Wrap around me safe and warm Under the light of your sweet charms Save me, save me codeine arms. Oooh codeine arms, Wrap around me safe and warm Under the light of your sweet charms Save me, save me codeine arms Save me, save me codeine arms. A hollow log, a hollow log Sleeping in a hollow log A hollow log, a hollow log Sleeping in a hollow log.

The echo of his footsteps in the street And the drip-drop of tears on my cheeks Were the only sounds on that sad dark night When my loving baby said goodbye.

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Come on over and see me sometime The jukebox plays on and the losers are fine Oh how the whiskey flows and it works like a charm Here on Heartache Boulevard. How long, not long because the truth is marching on How long, not long because this hour will soon be gone Though our aching legs are weary the truth is marching on The truth is marching on, The truth is marching on and on and on and on How long How long.

Somewhere out west a freighter rides by You used to watch them pass with their grit in your eye And the wild dogs under darkening sky Still listen for your lonesome lullaby. The patch of ground where they found you that day Is godforsaken, a barren place Why did you have to go this way Why did you go this way. Have you ever seen peaches growing wild on a vine Have you ever seen peaches growing wild on a vine Well just climb in my orchard and get a taste of mine.

My money comes and goes, My money comes and goes My money comes and goes and rolls and flows Through the holes in the pockets of my clothes. Endless nights of one eye open and one ear to the ground You promised me eternity but you never even come around Well all my worries came flooding in the day you said hello If you care to know what I think of that, honey step outside your door.

I was raised in that country So pure and so fair But I took too hard to the whiskey And I wandered away from there. You will walk it all alone, You will walk it all alone None will save your weary soul Till you lay down your heavy load. Seasons come and seasons go Seasons come and seasons go Still so little any will know Till we lay down our heavy load. To look at certain decisions or beliefs or experiences and feel regret. Wishing that a certain chapter ended differently. Wishing I could re-write history.

Rewind the tape. He interrupted with compassion and reassurance to tell me that all of it mattered. All of it…all the pain, the tears, every long night staring at the ceiling, the questions and struggle and confusion, brought me to this place, a place where I could finally be honest before God as I am, not as I wish I was. God reminded me that He uses everything. None of it is wasted as we journey closer to who we were meant to be and who God intends for us be. These songs have given me permission, and I hope you too, to silence the voices of regret.

To recognize that every part your journey, every broken place, have all been part of the story God is writing in your life. Lessons we had to learn. Tears that had to fall. Chapters that had to be written and then closed, to find ourselves in a bigger, more beautiful story. A lot of people work super hard to pull this off…the artists love connecting personally with fans and there are performances galore. Today, I was at my designated booth at my designated time to sign autographs.

Probably the most honest, too. There was a time, years ago, when I would have really looked forward to meeting fans, signing autographs, and taking pictures. I cringe remembering that girl, at times. I am making new music that I am really proud of out in July , God is carving out beautiful paths for me to lead in local ministry for the first time in years. Leading local worship. Mentoring younger writers…I feel so energized by the new doors the Lord is opening for me, in this season.

But today I warned you about real talk I sat there at that autograph booth and felt…old. And maybe slightly uncool and irrelevant. Weighing more than I want to weigh. I battled all morning not to allow myself to spin into this self esteem spiral. But truth? Feeling a little small in spirit today, because I let ego sit in the drivers seat. I should know better. About halfway through the autograph line I met a big, tattooed, burly guy named Michael and his lovely wife Darla. I signed their stuff. Took the picture. And then he tells me that they run a non profit ministry that speaks to kids all over the country about sexual abuse.

About finding a courageous voice if they themselves, are victims. Immediately I feel small tears sting my eyes. Then he tells me about a certain girl who was molested by her stepdad from age , and that it was my song that helped her finally find her own shaky voice and tell someone. He was just convicted and is serving 7 years. A song did that. God used a song to stop her abuse and help her healing begin.

I needed to hear this. Certain songs have utterly changed my life over the years, in just the right moment. Something unlocks. Spirit shifts. And today I was reminded again that is why I do what I do, and what an astonishingly sweet privilege it is. Unattached if it ever fades. Easier said than done, let me tell you. And it was timely. Yanked me firmly out of my slow descent into insecurity and self loathing. Halted my orbit around Planet Nichole. As I child, I recognized that musical things came easily, so I sang a lot.

Played my piano, constantly. I knew intuitively what to do with electric mixers and spatulas, coloring pencils or a needle and thread. I have always been a creator. Most of my childhood memories are washed in these warm watercolors.

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Women are so prone to nurture and protect. Moms are never the first ones to push us out on a branch and let our legs shake uncontrollably. His list always includes far away, wonderful places. I say. I want you to fly and dream and explore …at the local community college. I want you to STAY. Go allllll the way up to the tree at the end of the street. Pedal hard and then make a big wide turn and ride back to me.

Go out on that court and play defense like we practice in the driveway every night. Stop apologizing. Go hard. Go tell the coach tomorrow that basketball is not really your thing. You want to go to Los Angeles to try and pursue a music career instead of using the college degree I just paid for? The broken marriage is not going to survive? Go gather up those pieces and bring that shattered heart over here, this minute.

Or ties. How relieved I am to know you have my back, always. That I can lean hard into your quiet strength. I know whose heart I can trust. Dig out old photographs. Tell him why they are your favorites. And sure, give him a new apron for the grill, but stand out there in the heat with him and tell him who you are because of who he is. For booking and management inquiries: The Chandy Group cgillespie chandygroup.

Now That Im Here Can I Stay?

Sorry, no shows currently. Click RSVP below to be notified when new tour dates are announced. No Longer Listen- are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life? I think the same could be said of my spiritual life. Straight into the wind, maybe get hurt. I thought living safe meant living stronger.

No longer. Stepping out of the safe shadows and letting love shape me. Slow Down I bought a house last year. Write all you can, in the wet cement. And David knew a thing or two about running. Why do we imagine we are any different?

Now That I'm Here Can I Stay? by Deborah A Mitchell | Waterstones

Dear Me… When I was in high school, I had a teacher who asked us to write a letter to our future selves in ten years. What would it feel like, now, to write a letter to my younger self, instead? But I wanted to tell her much more than that. How about you? What would you tell your younger self? But now is all you really have. And all you really need.