Credits: Written and Produced by Tiffany Thompson. All vocals by Tiffany Thompson. Piano and organ by Michael Anderson. All guitars by Eric Montgomery. Drums by Chaisaray Schenck. Strings and Bass by Matt Laird. Arranged by Tiffany Thompson, Eric Montgomery, and Michael Anderson. Engineered and mixed by Ethan Gingerich. Mastered by Terry Watson.
Morning at my window
Memory wakes me up
Artifacts of dreaming
Are filling up my favorite cup
Mother in my mind
And religion close behind
All I want, all I ask
Is to find myself alone
Daylight turns to dusk and
I tell my heart to close that door
The pale pink of my silk dress
Bloodied by my own civil war
Society’s been whispering
Promising so much more
But all I want, all I know
Is what my only heart adores
Dancing in the twilight
Secrets only my mind
Ever really understand
With me for my whole life
Be my ride or die like
Tinkerbell and Peter Pan
When I seen the whole thing
From the beginning to the end
Hold every pain and every joy
In the palm of my hand
I’d choose every sting and kiss over again
And the last time I close my eyes
I know just what I’ll do
I know just what I’ll do
Chorus
Me and the Muse
Me and the Muse
Chorus
A Walk in the Rain in Winter
I was sitting at a table with the wife of my dear friend, who passed away in 2021. She began to sing to me, “Who do you love even when they walk away?” I could hear her voice clearer than my own thoughts, stirring me just enough out of sleep to sing her melody into my phone. Broken and raspy with morning phlegm, the notes and lyrics were almost unintelligible, but the spirit of the song blazed. I began to weep gentle tears, the kind that pool in the corner of your eye and tumble out over the edge, leaving tiny marks on your cheeks like the trail of a snail.
When this happens, there is only one thing to do: get up. Rise from slumber and sit at the piano, honoring the dream by opening a vein to bring forth a song.
So that's what I did. Tears welling in my eyes, I listened to the sleepy 3-minute voice note. Something in it was begging to be set free, a sacred request. I dug in the dark for the lyrics, finding this poem:
Who do you send good to
Even when they walk away?
Where do you send light
Even on your darkest day?
What does your heart cry for
That’s a million miles away?
When do you go the distance
Without spotlights or fame?
When do you cause a scandal by letting go?
Where do you seize the mic and cry for justice to be known?
That’s where love is
That’s what love is
That’s where love is
That’s what love is
You can give it all away
And even more remains
That’s what love is
That’s where love is
When they break your heart
And you let them back in.
When a dream is lost
And you choose to start again.
When nailed to a cross,
You cry Father forgive…
Seven—no seventy times seven
That’s where love is
That’s what love is
That’s where love is
That’s what love is
You can give it all away
And even more remains
That’s what love is
That’s where love is
I didn’t like the song, it wasn’t what I was searching for. It came from some deep place, a cocktail of my past and present realities.
As the daughter of a preacher, the story of the Gospel is anchored deep in my psyche. I’ve tried walking away from the bible and from faith, but the love of Jesus always pulls me back. I’m not talking about flowers, sunshine, and unicorn love, but a deep, transcendent love. The kind that demands dialogue with God. The kind that gives up its life for a friend and walks an extra mile with those who ask for too much. The kind that is the opposite of a pushover and in lock step with the outcast. The kind that welcomes the laughter of a child and the kiss of a mother. The kind of love that Jesus is.
I sat with the song, letting this spin in my mind. Unsure of the words that came from me, I wondered what my friend's wife would think of a song like this, on the verge of spiritual cliché. I needed to walk it off.
Walking is how I breathe, how I reconnect with reality. I walk a lot (my Oura ring and neighbors will testify to that). But it's cold outside today, dreary like December in London. So, I suited up, grabbed coffee at my local spot, and began listening to a prayer app that I use regularly. The familiarity of the guided meditation frees my mind, allowing me to pay closer attention to the changing landscape both around me and within me.
As I began to walk and pray, the dreariness turned into a drizzle - a cold, biting drip that felt like ice picks on my skin. But the calmness of music led me forward as I walked cautiously over slippery patches and mud heaps.
I had dressed for the cold, not for the rain, with my long, box-dyed brown hair beginning to twist together like twigs. I could feel my fingers and toes turning blue. But the voice of the prayer guide asked me to pay attention: What do you see? What do you feel? What do you smell? What do you hear?
Slowly, a single phrase appeared in my mind: a walk in the rain in winter.
Because sometimes, that’s where you are: on a walk in the rain in winter. You might wish it were sunny. You might wish flowers were blooming and birds were singing. You might know that spring is coming and pray the groundhog doesn't see his shadow.
But right now - today - you are on a walk in the rain in winter. And that is ok. That is reality. That is the moment you are in. So be there, learn from it, accept it, fight with it, and know that the only way to move past it is through it.
Back in the warmth of my house, I noticed a collection of watercolor cards growing damp, my detailed circles and dots bleeding into each other. It was as if the cloud's tears had mimicked my own, ruining my art in the process. I gathered the little papers together.
Why had I forgotten to bring them inside? Why did they have to suffer in the rain? Should I just throw them away?
No.
Perhaps when they are dry, with a bit of mending, I can do something with them. But for today, I set them aside. Today, I'll just warm my toes, my fingers, and my heart. Today, I wrote this story. Because it is a moment, like all moments, that I can learn from and contemplate.
