Cynthia Clawson: Store

August 2010

In 1976, my husband Ragan sat in Central Park and penned these words—I suppose we find ourselves “homesick” more often than we wish. Maybe it’s just our deep longing for God—our real home. Read these words and think about your heart and your home.

P.S. We are moving back to Houston this month. Yea! Amen! Hallelujah—Pray for us…our tired bodies.

This is the way I feel,
Cynthia

I’m tired of living in some far off, foreign city
I want to go home.
I’m tired of receiving looks of dull pity
I want to go home.
I’m tired of the stares of vacant eyes

I’m tired of the color of alien skies

I’m tired of the same old empty lies
I want to go home.

I’m tired of doing the same old futile things
I want to go home.
I’m tired of hollow bells with silent rings
I want to go home.
I’m tired of hoping for a rest
I’m tired of fighting for a breath
I’m tired of celebrating death
I want to go home
To a place where I belong
To a place where when I’m wronged someone will right me
Where joy abounds and the simple mention
Of love is a prayer,
Love is a prayer.

How long, O Lord, how long
Do I sing an earthly song
About my eternal home?
I’m homesick, Lord,
And I want to go home.
-Ragan Courtney

July 2010

“Stop the world—I wanna get off” was the name of a musical written several years ago—It ran on Broadway for quite some time and it seem to express the sentiment for many of us just in the title. I’m there again. I would like to slow down the pace if not stop the spinning altogether—at least for a moment…maybe just for the length of one song…get my bearings, quiet the noise around, and perhaps go in a different direction. What a wonderful world we live in but as the poet says, sometimes “it is too much with us.” The scripture says, “Be still and know that I am God. Be still?! I want to. I want to know. I want to know that God is real…that I am not alone, that I am forgiven, that I am provided for, that I am comforted and led through life by a presence greater than love itself. I want to know that I can rest as sure as the Psalmist did—in green pastures beside still waters where my soul is restored.

The ancient church ritual of worship was about this need and it still exists today. Bruce Greer and Carlton Dillard stood with me one night in an old cathedral in San Antonio, Texas and we sang to make that worship happen when we recorded “Prayer and Plainsong”. From 8 P.M. to 3 A.M. we sang and prayed and listened, along with a small congregation (audience), several cameramen and R.B. Blackstone’s engineering genius and we created the stillness as best we could. It seemed as though the world had stopped if only for a few hours and we were there to possibly provide the experience for someone else along his or her journey. The men sang the mass in Latin and I sang old familiar hymns over the chant and it felt like the old and the new world came together and we were held quietly, if only for a moment, in the arms of the Bountiful Provider.

The recording that came from that night still soothes me—and I thank God for every remembrance, for every prayer, for every plainsong, and for love and comfort as old as time.

It’s 3 A.M., and that’s the way I feel,

Cynthia

P.S. The recording took place on a Friday and was originally to be my solo voice with an occasional harmony thrown in the mix to create more variety. On the Friday prior to the date, Bruce called and said, “Get us another singer—I’ve got an idea”. On Thursday afternoon before the scheduled date, Bruce, Carlton and I met in our living room to rehearse and learn music; and on Friday we recorded live. They are my favorite singers! They are my friends! They are remarkable!

June 2010

“Mary kept all of those things and pondered them in her heart”—and so did Mother. To our knowledge Mary never wrote a book, and to our amazement, Mother has! The distillation of all our lives through the maternal memories of her heart has endeared her even more to us, her family.

She is one of God’s innocents who, with a childlike faith and trust, have reared her children to love the Lord she so faithfully serves. She is the “virtuous woman” praised in Proverbs 31, and we are all the happier because of her.

She helped us to sing the music God planted in our hearts.

--Cynthia Clawson Courtney and Ragan Courtney

Dear Friends,

My husband Ragan and I wrote these words in 1984 as a forward in the book my Mother, Virginia Clawson wrote called “The Family Symphony”. We recently found several unopened boxes of these books; they’re filled with Mother’s lively stories and a lot of early photos of my growing up years. I thought it would be fun to share these memories with you. These “vintage” books are available for a limited time on my website at cynthiaclawson.com

This is the way I feel,

Cynthia

May 2010

The most creative and joyous experience I ever had was mothering my children. God's most joyous experience is to mother us. Let Him do that!

I recorded the song, "This Is To Mother You" on my album, See Me, God and perform it at almost every concert. I hope that you find comfort in this beautiful lyric by the Irish pop singer, Sinead O'Connor. The Gospel truth is everywhere if you look for it.

This is the way I feel,

Cynthia

This Is To Mother You
Words and Music by Sinead O' Connor

This is to mother you
To comfort you and get you through
Through when your nights are lonely
Through when your dreams are only blue
This is to mother you

This is to be with you
To hold you and to kiss you too
For when you need me I will do
What your own mother didn't do
Which is to mother you

All the pain that you have known
All the violence in your soul
All the 'wrong' things you have done
I will take from you when I am come
All mistakes made in distress
All your unhappiness
I will take away with my kiss, yes
I will give you tenderness

For child I am so glad I've found you
Although my arms have always been around you
Sweet bird although you did not see me
I saw you

And I'm here to mother you
To comfort you and get you through
Through when your nights are lonely
Through when your dreams are only blue
This is to mother you

April 2010

Max Lyall
1939-2010

In 1977, at 8 AM, I went to the studio in Nashville with two friends—producer Buryl Red and consummate piano artist, Max Lyall. Because we had all been raised Baptist and knew the same hymnal (The Broadman Hymnal) we decided to record one that we all cherished. Max provided the accompaniment for us all to soar in and over! He was genius in taking simple and making it profound, creating symphonies from four or five chord progressions. He was born on Valentine’s Day and knew how to love and comfort a whole world of singles and students with his music. This year, a few days after his birthday, Max took flight and left this earth to soar and to take rest in the love that he had dedicated his life’s work to. I play “our” song and I remember—I play our song and I miss him—I play our song and thank God for a life given to art that has comforted many.

Well, done, Max, thou good and faithful servant. I love you.

This is the way I feel,
Cynthia

Flee As a Bird

Lyrics and music by:
Mrs. M.S. B. Dana

Flee as a bird to your mountain,
Thou who art weary of sin;
Go to the clear flowing fountain
Where you may wash and be clean.
Fly, for the Avenger is near thee;
Call, and the Savior will hear thee;
He on His bosom will bear thee;
Thou who art weary of sin,
O thou who art weary of sin.
He is the bountiful giver
Now unto Him draw near.
Peace then shall flow like a river;
Thou shall be saved from thy fear.
Haste, then, the hours are flying,
Spend not the moments in sighing,
Cease from your sorrow and crying:
The Savior will wipe ev’ry tear,
The Savior will wipe ev’ry tear.
Come, then, to Jesus thy Savior,
He will redeem thee from sin.
Blest with a sense of His favor,
Make thee all glorious within.
Call, for the Savior is near thee,
Waiting in mercy to hear thee,
He by His presence will cheer thee,
O thou who art weary of sin,
O thou who art weary of sin.

March 2010

Oh my…How the days are careening past me—How quickly the sands of time are falling through the hourglass. It is late winter and we’ve had some very strange weather in the United States, patterns and temperatures and snowfall not seen in several decades—And, two major earthquakes in other parts of our world meant the loss of too many lives. How many lives are too much or what is the standard for too much loss and confusion? Our world is rocking and rolling and racing by and I’m trying to hold on with you all. This reminds me of Dorothy’s words to Toto: “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore”. Frankly, I feel like we haven’t even landed yet and our little house is still swirling around and around as we try to hold on for dear life—and it is dear.

The music is still beautiful, the sun keeps rising, birds are coming back, and the God of the universe still holds us all, no matter what is going on. I have all the same questions as the rest of the world: Where, why, when, who, what; and I have all the same answers in the quiet place within where the presence of God is found, deep inside at the still point.
Be still and know. Rest and wait patiently. And read this Rilke poem: (Translation by Robert Bly).

My life is not this steeply sloping hour,
In which you see me hurrying.
Much stands behind me; I stand before it like a tree;
I am only one of many mouths
And at that, the one that will be still the soonest.
I am the rest between two notes,
Which are somehow always in discord
Because death’s notes wants to climb over—
But in the dark interval, reconciled,
They stay there trembling.
And the song goes on, beautiful.

Now read it again slowly. And yet again if you wish—like reading truth.
And if this didn’t make you feel better listen to “Trust His Heart” written by Babbie Mason, on my album, Words Will Never Do.

Music will always be the wind for me that will take me to that place I need to go and that is the way I feel…

Cynthia

February 2010

“…And He walks with me
And He talks with me
And He tells me I am His own
And the joy we share as tarry there,
None other has ever known…”

At a women’s conference a few years back, we were singing this song and some of the more LIBERATED ladies and some who were trying to discover God anew, started to sing—“…And she walks with me, and she talks with me…” While the room burst into some bit of laughter.

They were somewhat right in their creating new life for old lyrics—but they were wrong about the song. True. God is neither male nor female, but Spirit and so far beyond our meager bit of comprehension. All we can do is worship, stand amazed and spend a lifetime trying to follow the One who goes before us and behind us and beside us—under, over and within. But this particular lyric was about Mary’s encounter with the one called Jesus, that early morning (Easter) where they were alone and safe and loving one another.

Jesus knows her and she recognized Him, the Christ in her presence. Good work, conference ladies; but this is about personal time with the Resurrected One who shares joy that is intimate and unique and precious—that none has ever known!

It’s almost Easter-time and it feels like this Valentine’s Day can be a part of a combined celebration. Love is alive and singing among us.

I am so happy because my album “In The Garden” has been re-released for the first time in at least 30 years! (Oh my—Do I sound sweet and innocent on this recording?)

February poetry by Miss Emily Dickinson—

That I did always love,
I bring thee proof:
That till I loved
I did not love enough.
That I shall love always—
I offer thee

That love is life,
And life hath immortality.
This—dost thou doubt, sweet?
Then have I Nothing to show But Calvary.

See Cynthia’s re-release of her classic album “In The Garden” available now as an MP3 download at cynthiaclawson.com

January 2010

Happy New Year!

As Rich Mullins said, "Our God is an Awesome God!"

As Ron and Carol Harris said, "The best is yet to come!" I was given the gift of this song to sing on my album You’re Welcome Here and it sums up my feelings for 2010.

I love you all.

Cynthia

The best is yet to come!
Never any day without the sun shining all around us,
Together, forever together,
Living in love.
And I know it will be soon;
Not the slightest doubt it will be soon;
For in my heart I know the best is yet to come!

Now don't get me wrong,
I am doing just fine;
I'll take things the way that they are.
But I have a dream that is not just a dream;
And it doesn't seem to be off very far.

December 2009

Monday morning—10:45 A.M. I am sitting at the Social Security office along with, at least, 100 more humans in all shapes, sizes and ages. No. I am not here to get my share of my benefits-YET-but that is not that far off either. When I married 37 years ago I never took the time to change my Social Security card because I was still Cynthia Clawson to “my public.” Emily Dickinson said: “How public like a frog…” That first card and number gave this frog something to croak about. At the age of 14 I was allowed the magical privilege of WORKING. To be able to go to a job and make some money for my efforts—how wonderful! I was on my way to becoming an adult. Oh, my! What a blessing to work. So why do all these people look so tired, worn down, angry, sad, and hungry? What are these forlorn looks and longing? Is it the end of the year? The economy? The war and rumors of war? Disappointment? Hope-less-ness? Or is it just the waiting? Do we all feel that same opposition to waiting? I think we do and we are always waiting, are we not, for something—or for someone?

Advent is that time of year that we speak of waiting, longing to be free, to be fulfilled, to be changed in one way or another! We all long for hope and peace and joy and love. And, yes, we are humanity that holds the Christ-child in our midst—at the Social Security office, in the parking lot, in the sanctuary, on the ranch—in the stable—

Hope was born

Peace was declared

Joy was heralded

Love was conceived

Our waiting was realized. Someone heard us, saw us, blessed us with the presence of God, and every year we long for it to happen again. The truth I know says “Yes—in spite of everything” God is with us. Incarnation is happening and our need for hope is supplied. It is ours for the taking with no strings attached. Just an open heart to so many possibilities is our only requirement.

Whispering hope, O how welcome thy voice

Making my heart in its sorrow rejoice…

Well what do you know? They have called my number and I only waited a little over an hour. I’m very hopeful for the others.

This is the Way I Feel,

Cynthia

P.S. Check out the new FREE song download, “If All I Know Is Love” . The song was written by dear Rich Mullins who knows better than we do as his hope was realized.

November 2009

Nashville, Tennessee-Woodland Studio: February 3, 1979.
Producer: Buryl Red
Engineer: David McKinley
Singer: Cynthia Clawson
Piano: Steinway
Song: “You Have Loved Me Through It All” by George Gagliardi

As always, with Mr. Red, we were trying to get several things done at one time. So much music, so little time. We were recording a musical called ACTS, we were doing another solo album with Buryl, winter was in full swing with the threat of another snow, and I was having a baby. All of these have something in common-a birthing—the approaching snow would just top off the experience.

About 8:30 that evening I was singing and playing piano and trying so hard to communicate the phrase: “And when I found a dream to run to, tho’ they say it’s not in style-all the while you gave me comfort- helping me to meet the morning…” (George is great with long sentences and inner rhymes!) Buryl came into the studio and asked, “Are you alright?” I answered, “Yeah, why?” “Well, I don’t know, you seem strange” to which I responded, “Thanks. What’s new? I’m o.k. Let’s do one more take”. I pushed the piano stool back a little more because I suddenly felt very pregnant and full of wonder. “I’ll get it this time”. The wonder intensified. “Rolling” said David, and I heard him laugh like he so often did, just out of joy, aided sometimes by an unknown substance-or O’Charley’s steak biscuits! I once again began the song and realized there was a feeling in the air akin to Christmas Eve… “How silently the wondrous gift is given…”

And there was Buryl again, back by the piano, “Are you sure you’re alright?” You seem…different…or something…”

“I am alright, but something is happening, I think I’m in labor,” said the birthing class graduate. And 28 or so hours later, Buryl and his wife, Mama and Daddy, Ragan, Tommy and Rubynelle, Linda and Raymer, and Buryl’s son Eric stood just outside the labor room door and welcomed Will Courtney into the world. And David McKinley was there too, laughing for joy.

Comfort and joy! (That’s what the album turned out to be. It Was His Love).

Cynthia

October 2009

The first day of fall was yesterday and the heat in Austin closed, and it almost feels NORMAL. Autumn is one of my four favorite seasons! It must be something about “the letting go.” I tend to let go of my summer’s yellow spirit and adopt the gold of the aspens in Santa Fe-those little dangling medallions signaling the close of another year of growth.

At times when I feel I’m overwhelmed with the dross from the purification process, I find myself seeking a BROWNER space, a quiet place to meditate in--to ruminate in--to hesitate in momentarily until a colder wind comes to push me in another direction. See? I’m waxing poetic…So, I thought that this season I would share some of my favorite words, poems and lyrics. They surface automatically when I’m searching for answers or raising questions.

Here are Mary Dawson’s words:

Seasons of the soul come like seasons of the year
They quickly come and go, leaving only memories here.
Some are bright with joy-
Some are drenched with tears
Relentlessly they roll, with heaven as their goal
The seasons of the soul…

And, here is my dearest Rilke…

Praising is what matters!
He was summoned for that,
And came to us like the ore from a stone’s silence.
His mortal heart presses out
A deathless, inexhaustible wine.
Whenever he feels the god’s paradigm grip
His throat, the voice does not die in his mouth.
All becomes vineyard, all becomes grape,
Ripened on the hills of his sensuous South.
Neither the decay in the sepulcher of kings
Nor any shadow fallen from the gods
Can ever detract from his glorious praising.
For he is a herald who is with us always,
Holding far into the doors of the dead
A bowl of ripe fruit worthy of praise.

Amen. Amen, Amen. This is the way I feel,

Cynthia

P.S. Oh, Wait!!! One more—maybe the best—

Put out my eyes, and I can see you still,
Slam my ears to, and I can hear you yet;
And without any feet can go to you;
And tongueless, I can conjure you at will.
Break off my arms, I shall take hold of you
And grasp you with my heart as with a hand;
Arrest my heart, my brain will beat as true;
And if you set this brain of mine afire
Upon my blood I then will carry you.

Rainer Maria Rilke 1875-1926

August 2009

I am close to heaven. I am in Santa Fe, New Mexico where earth and heaven come together for me. Ragan and I have come to this holy land to visit and refresh with my sister, and last night we soaked in arsenic. Yes. Several miles away in O’Keefe country, near Abiquiu there are ancient hot springs where people go to soak and be healed, and one of the pools contains arsenic and very hot water.

Until recently, all I knew of arsenic was the humorous play of “…old lace” and old ladies. I was aware that it could be a deadly substance and that the wrong dosage of heat could also cause considerable damage—but hey, I’m now an older lady and this could be fun—so we soaked for two hours in a feeling that once again felt like heaven, or at least “out-of-body.” I am so grateful.

Now as you know, people have survived heat and mineral and chemical and intense out-of-body experiences for years. I have never been a drug user, but am very acquainted with mind-altering changes that can come from the heat of suffering, the unexpected sight of sheer beauty, and the chemical changes from the feelings of being loved and cared for and wrapped up in comfort. Last night, when the waters were too hot, I was able to slip out for a few moments. Oh, that all our sufferings were that way—within our control. But that is not always the case.

I suppose I’m experiencing a little guilt along with my gratitude for this time of pleasure, so I keep reminding myself of the “heat” in the lives of my loved ones--105˚ in Austin, Texas; drought in San Antonio and South Texas; Ragan’s relatives in Louisiana, suffering from a car accident; hunger in Sudan; war in Iraq; Anger in Washington; loneliness in Baltimore; poverty in Miami; distress in Las Vegas and on and on…

Our text from last Sunday morning service at church said, “When Jesus saw them they were like sheep with no shepherd, and his heart broke.” He saw the suffering. The Christ who knew the coming together of heaven and earth, and who showed us the beauty of life that can bring you to you knees, this one leads us in and out of the water, across the river to the safer side, and could possibly help us to walk on water if necessary.

So be of good courage today.

Open your eyes to the beauty around you.

And don’t be afraid to plunge into the pool. It could be very healing for you.

I am grateful. This is the way I feel.

Cynthia.

P.S. Why do I always end up preaching?! Thanks, Daddy.

July 2009

I have been somewhat haunted this week by a question I was asked. I answered very quickly but have been plagued by the other answers. I was given three choices, and to show my intelligence and self-knowledge I let the table full of friends and family know how sure I was of myself and my purpose in this life.

Question:Why do you sing, act, speak? Why do you do what you do, basically?

Answers: a. To spread the message or my message

b. To make money, a living, to prosper monetarily

c. For yourself, creating for your own pleasure

I immediately answered c and I added very quickly: "I am happiest when I am at my piano playing and singing and no one is listening". It's true. But, as I ponder, muse, "keep being haunted" by our conversation I now wonder...As I prepare to sing a concert for my church, a concert of song and dance with my friend Marie Gustin, I plan very carefully the order, the timing, the color and texture of each musical rendering, to present our gifts in the best possible light--for what? To spread the message of redemption and unfailing acceptance? To do a service for Sunday morning for the listener's hearts to be touched, lives changed, bodies healed? To make sure that we carve out space for the morning offerings to support the church duties? Or, to play as children at the feet of friend Jesus--to show God our things we made at school this week hoping they get stuck up on the refrigerator for examination? Is it joy that makes us create? Is it joy we long for? Or, is it always God we live for? Perhaps somewhere there was still another choice to answer that question of WHY do we do what we do?

My favorite sufi poet Hafiz, wrote:

Birds initally had no desire to fly

Until, one day God sat beside them on a limb and

Played the flute-and then He left and

Out of their great longing

They sprouted wings to search the sky...

Nothing evolves us like love.

This is The Way I Feel,

Cynthia

June 2009

There is an old song that starts:
“I just got back from a lovely trip
Along the milky way…”

I just got back from lovely Yoakum, Texas, which was like a trip to another time and place, the place that still feels like HOME.

The last trip to this beautiful ranch country in South Texas was eleven years ago and Mama was still alive. Our family was there for a reunion and celebration of my father’s former pastorate-Progress Baptist Church. As usual in most evangelical meetings, we ate and sang and ate some more, but mostly we loved each other and gave each other those loving touches that say, “I remember you”…”I know you and you know me”-We are a part of each other”.

So was this last trip. This time we sang at Austin Street Baptist Church. My brother and sister and son accompanied me in concert, along with Todd Pertll on steel guitar. We each had a turn at soloing and “showing off”. And, we all had a time for tearing up and recalling moments that guided us, helped us to flourish, and become the adults we are today. When we lived in Yoakum we were children. Mere babes. We were innocents. We were dependent on the wiser community, the ones who were caretakers, the larger community who would meet our needs for food and shelter, for protection and play, for inspiration and love…that would take us far on our journeys.

What I found when I came back to Yoakum was HOME-after the trip to “the far country”. Some faces were gone but their spirits remained. Some faces were wrinkled but their beauty remained. Some faces seemed to be looking upon us from beyond-but their footprints were there, deep in the earth, deep in my heart where we all shared the ground of our being, the Solid Rock that never moves and remains as the terrain for all our comings and goings until we are home at last. God bless Yoakum!

From episodes:
…Lookin’ for the kingdom ` Searchin’ for freedom
Longin’ for the sweet bye and bye
But I touched the ground you walked on
Felt love around me
Thought I saw heaven and earth in your eyes…

Whoa! Before I ride into the sunset or at least, another pasture, I need to say
“Thank You” for all of the recent orders of episodes and Always, our newest cd’s.
Besides the fact that my son Will helped out producing the music, I love these offerings to the world of spirit and grace. Yoakum was honored on episodes and my parents were honored on Always. My heritage and my future are there on those albums! Thank you for taking the time to listen to my heart, which was heard a long time ago by Sally and Mike Clark, my dear friends and angels that made Always possible. Their generosity is overwhelming as was their intuition when Mike asked me last year to make “the jazz album” and to go with my heart. Sally had already heard my heart for years in those late night sessions where we played and sang of our longings and dreams as only close “girlfriends” could do.

From Shadow of Your Smile:
“Now when I remember spring
And all the joy that love can bring
I will be remembering…”

My friends and all you lovers of heaven and earth!

This is-The Way I Feel,
Cynthia

May 2009

It’s spring again-
And the buds on the wing, again
Start to sing again
That old melody- I love you
The Song of Songs…

If you were to call my home phone, at first you would hear me singing that song, and then the official “you have reached…” It seems to me it is always appropriate to begin and end with a song. Birds do, so why shouldn’t we?

I love this time of renewal of the earth every year. Spring is a time to start again, to see new birth, stretch, grow, --to be resurrected! As you can see, we are celebrating a time of renewal with our newly designed website! Thank you for stopping by!

Our Sunday church services on Easter began and ended with song and a SHOUT- “He is Alive!” if we could only remember to try for that every day-

Morning has broken
Like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken…

Speaking of black, gaze with me on the beautiful CD cover for Always (my newest release from Calla Lily). My longest friend-since college days-Barbara Murrell painted the picture with the masses of red hair. She’s a wonderful artist who is residing in Austin and we are thankful to have her at our church, The Sanctuary. It’s wonderful to be a part of a church that gives us the freedom to create beauty through art and music. I believe God means for us to dwell in beauty and in truth…in song and spirit…in light and color. What a gift He has given us…Life…with a capital “L”! Jesus said: “I have come that you might have abundant life…

Days may not be fair, always
That’s when I’ll be there, always
Not for just an hour- not for just a day
Not for just a year but
Always

Cynthia