The arrow hovered over Send, and fear surged upward again, leaving my palms sweaty. The attachments were all there, along with a brief note, but suddenly it seemed too risky. This is ridiculous. What am I doing? It’s a waste of time and effort. Seconds later, the email containing my songs was on its way to the recipients, and tears of familiar self doubt formed. Will my work be good enough? Will I be good enough?

* * * * *

I sat glued to the chair beside the piano as my co-writer passed time by playing one song after another. Laughter passed my lips at “The Pink Panther Theme,” and my mind recalled long-ago evenings at “The Entertainer.”

I blinked hard and fast for a few seconds trying to gain control over the heartache that threatened to spill from my eyes with the first few notes of “Revelation Song.” I hadn’t expected that one, and the memories of singing it rushed back without warning. Even as I waited on five brand-spankin’-new songs I’d finished recording vocals on just hours earlier to be completed, the sting of being a discarded church singer, of being not good enough in any way, swelled once more.

* * * * *

Maybe I’m naive to believe God is big enough to speak in any way or form he chooses, including what many would classify as “secular” music. I tend to agree with the Madeleine L’Engle quote: “There is nothing so secular that it cannot be sacred, and that is one of the deepest messages of the Incarnation.”

* * * * *

I poured my heart and soul and energy into the five songs that are now ready and waiting for the world. Yet I want to hold them close to my chest like a newborn baby, protecting them from the harshness of the world . . . and from the cruelty {or, more likely, indifference} of the church.

* * * * *

I’ve never been a part of a church that fully embraced the arts without censure. Of course, there were the pretty paintings of Jesus and hearts and such. And there were books and movies galore, but only those that supported the church’s theology or behavior/sin management. And music always filled the air, but only if the lyrics contained God or Jesus or cross. Please hear me when I say I love many of those paintings and books and movies and songs! But they are not the consummation of art.

* * * * *

Several weeks ago, my Facebook feed was filled with warnings not to watch the recently-released film, Noah. So Mark and I went to see it. I couldn’t make sense of the church’s outcry and controversy over it. Writer and director Darren Aronofsky painted a vividly imaginative picture of the story, weaving creation and redemption throughout the film, moving me to moments of tears of sadness, joy and thankfulness. I wondered again, as I often have over the last several years, why Christians are so eager to censor art.

* * * * *

I now have a stake in the dilemma. My newest creations will be considered secular. The irony is these songs were written in the wilderness, in the moments when only God could supply the words. They are sacred to me. They are Holy Spirit moving in me. They are the representation of life and death and redemption in me. They are gritty and real and passionate. They are pieces of my art and my heart.