This ordinary fear.

"Literature is the art of discovering something extraordinary about ordinary people, and saying with ordinary words something extraordinary."

Boris Pasternak

If I am honest, this summer, music has failed to mesmerize me. In my youth a melody could tangle up my heart so quickly - a song about headlights, late nights - anything. Now those quick beats seem less genuine, more repetitive and far less interesting than reading Harry Potter. It's been a while since a song stopped me in my tracks. I miss that, but I will tell you a happy thing I have uncovered.

I'm learning what it is that an artist goes through. I am tasting the moments before mesmerizing, and yes they are mediocre. But mediocre, scratched, rebuilt, and stuffed with heart - that makes for something exquisite. And for that song or artist I will wait through the ordinary.

I think the truth is: we are ordinary. Sure there's the occasional prodigy, but why is simple and usual something so terrible? Artists are bystanders of beauty - I think most of them would admit to just being storytellers with lights pointed in their direction. This mindset that we have to say something outstanding is bogus. Some artists have had glittering things to say, but most of us are ordinary.

So instead of fearing the moments of ordinary, I have come to release this ordinary fear: that what I say has to be brand new, laminated, iridescent, on a pedestal. When all this time I have loved music and words for their honesty, their raw and their simple way of breaking down the complexities of the collision of mind and spirit. Beauty is nothing without its' definition. Who created that definition? The ordinary, those who noticed a change from what they knew.

So maybe you've got a terrible case of writer's block, maybe the notes you knew are uninspired, and maybe you are discovering you've got a simple heart. Listen - throughout history the people who created art, inspired movement, and impacted the world wore beat up shoes like you do (or none at all, carelessly barefoot). They cried when they moved out, and they forgot to write thank you cards. They bit their nails, they cried for dreams they did not feel they were strong enough to dream. But there was one thing that made these ordinary people - so perfectly brilliant in my eyes: They refused to believe they needed to be "extraordinary" to do something that mattered.

Instead, they took their quiet hopes and gentle minds and shared them. Not because they hoped to wow an audience or impress, but because they knew something mattered more than their reputation - to improve someone else's reality. This could not be a more important time to understand - as many across the world are being persecuted, as military exercises such as Jade Helm 15 are underway - it is no longer important to be famous or wonderful. What matters now is that ordinary people share their unusual hope.

 It's not easy to be a bystander of grace and try to explain it in these small terms. But I imagine the angels must smile to see us tripping over words trying to untangle the goodness we have been given.

 Speak because it is important to do so. Don't speak to be important.

Speak with intention.

"Mama told me when I was young
"Come sit beside me, my only son
And listen closely to what I say
And if you do this it'll help you some sunny day"

"Oh, take your time, don't live too fast
Troubles will come and they will pass
You'll find a woman and you'll find love
And don't forget, son, there is someone up above"

"And be a simple kind of man
Oh, be something you love and understand
Baby be a simple kind of man
Oh, won't you do this for me, son, if you can"

"Forget your lust for the rich man's gold
All that you need is in your soul
And you can do this, oh baby, if you try
All that I want for you, my son, is to be satisfied."

"Simple Man",  Lynyrd Skynyrd