Unto My Lord Jehovah Said

This brief interlude was included last minute as a nod to Irish hymnody. Though I have some Irish heritage, I mostly chose to include a stanza from this hymn as a means to further the effect of "Sweet Hour of Prayer" and because I love the droning qualities of ethnic music. As a bonus, it allowed me another opportunity to attempt vocalization in a differing genre and style, which I found challenging, to say the least.

For the production heads out there: the droning sounds were created by layering bowed electric guitar sounds. A cello bow with dark rosin was used.

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FBR on Boundless - Lisa Anderson Interview

Listen to the entire interview with the Boundless podcast host, Lisa Anderson .

Inner View

In the midst of economic woes, I have a personal and vested interest in utilizing my creative gifts to earn a living. Recently, I had an opportunity that looked promising towards such an end. Within a 24 hour window, I had: 1. An email in my inbox asking me to contact the interested company as soon as possible regarding an interview, 2. The phone interview, 3. The physical interview, 4. The job offer, and most importantly of all 5. An opportunity to trust in Grace. My attitude initially was very poor. I did not expect to be offered employment, and as a matter of fact, I had actually planned on such a contingency, so as not to be disappointed. Thus far, I had chosen to disregard the Savior's provision and lovingkindness in favor of another attempt at control. Having not interviewed for several years, my skills were quite rusty. Thankfully, the hiring manager was not overly seasoned, and God brought me favor during the interview process. In what seemed like a dizzying blur, the int

Keep it to Yourself

Once upon a time, I heard that if I didn't have anything nice to say, then I shouldn't say anything at all. It seemed logical enough. I certainly appreciated, I thought, living in a realm of silence rather than negativity. What I couldn't see, however, was the seeping, wispy black cloud sneaking steadily through a crack in the door. I bought into the idea and it allowed a slow yet constant stream of grossness to flow into my space. With silent darkness as their incubator, the lies began to take shape and grow. Though their development was subtle, there were several points along the way when I was startled by the inundation. Spores gave way to ground cover, which gave way to small foliage, which eventually became a forest so thick that I could barely distinguish what was right in front of me. The problem, you see, was not that I wasn't saying anything nice. Rather, it was that I had become confused as to what nice was. That word had gotten thrown into a tumultuous sp

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