The minor key

I have an affinity to the minor key. I can honestly say that if you were going to get me to pick a favourite song of mine, it likely wouldn't be a happy one. At least, not happy sounding. There is something hauntingly beautiful about the minor key; you know, those songs that sound sad or are full of history that may be good or bad. Those songs that maybe bring up memories most would rather bury and never remember. Those are the songs I relish and prefer to soak my soul in. In fact, I purchase, primarily, soundtracks of movies that have so moved me, to bring back those emotions. I don't know why.

Except that I know that there seems to be a correllation between the sadness of life and the truth/reality of life. I don't know what it is, but when I listen and find myself lost in a song that pulls on those emotions that are buried in places I haven't the ability to go myself, I find a harmonic chord between my heart, my God and life as I know it. They all come together. There seems, to me, to be far more honesty, vulnerability and transparency in sadness ... and maybe even anger. It's a point no one of us would choose to end up in, and yet, when we're there, I would challenge you to consider how much more genuine and sincere your life, and the lives of others around you, become.

Recently I was at a funeral for a good friend and mentor of mine: Dan Krestinski. His passing was like the last candle going out in the darkest room ... just before you knew the fireworks were about to go off. It was a reunion of unprecidented account. There were likely 400 people there or so. Many of whom I had not seen for 5, 8 or 10 years. Good friends I will never forget, remembering a man who had helped us all to see more clearly our God and His marvelous purpose and intimacy in our lives. It was so sad to sing a song he taught us all 'The Lord Loves Me' and yet we could have sung no better. I revel in my memory of Dan and weep bitterly over our loss ... and that for a time, we will be without him and Jesus, through Him. And yet, there at that moment, I felt Christ more strongly and intimately than in most of my waking (or sleeping) moments. Why is that? Here at a time of pain, there is joy. In grief I find such peace in the presence of God that I would almost wish I could feel this way more often. Utterly saddened to the point of utter joy. To remember life as it truly is: Sadness and joy mixed like the weaving of an intricate blanket so much that to remove one or the other would destroy what it was always meant to be: life to the full. We would do well to remember, as so many other peoples do, that not all tears are an evil.