kyny: a song to commemorate my first year

This day, last year, I moved to New York. It was a warm evening.

The next morning was unexpectedly cold. I remember meeting my brother and sister-in-law for bagels, teeth-chattering, hugging tight the light jacket that had made me sweat just the day before.

It seems very fitting that I could feel the changing of seasons on the day that I moved. And when the weather shifted again this week, a sense of completeness settled in: this is it. This was year one. And I could feel God gently prompting me to take time and remember.

Scripture repeatedly tells us to remember. The Israelites were told to remember God’s miraculous signs and wonders when He brought them out of Egypt; and then they were told to remember His commands. As they were becoming a nation, God literally ordained annual festivals and celebrations so they wouldn’t forget their story—so that they wouldn’t forget what God had done for them. And when His people eventually fell into idolatry, sinfulness, and war, it was often attributed to forgetfulness: they forgot the Lord their God.

So I took time to remember—to remember what God has done, to remember my story. I remembered how trauma, confusion, and loss had marked so much of my first year. I remembered how I was humbled: I didn’t really know anything. I didn’t even know who I was. And God wasn’t who I thought He was—He stopped fitting into my predetermined boxes.

Grace and forgiveness deepened in costliness. Danger manifested in unexpected ways. Defender, Protector, Advocate, and Judge were lifelines I clung to. He spoke to me in ways I didn’t know He could. His Spirit worked more powerfully than I understood. He loved me more than I knew how to believe.

This year really has been a year of significant loss. I can’t water that down. But it has also been a year of breaking me into pieces so that I could be reassembled, somehow, into something fuller—different, stronger, and healed. There were many things I lost that I never wanted to let go of, but these very same loves were damaging. There were many fears I never wanted to face, but these fears had crippled me, and running straight into fear was necessary for survival and growth. I don’t think I’ve ever defined myself as a courageous person, but now I think I could.

This song was my way of remembering all of that. I am deeply grateful for a God who loves with great tenderness and wise discipline. And I am deeply grateful for a city that teaches you.

Happy one year, New York!

kyny

Country beer and starlit fences.

Worn down couch and birthday dishes.

Did we ever know we could be as close as this?

Did I hear the danger in her promises?

Knick knack home in the attic.                     

Coffee talks and comfy silence.

We had seen the start and end of everything.

Did I smell the dark in all his comforting?

Oh, I lost everything I wanted to keep.

Oh, remake me. I was stolen from me.

Glassy towers, gritty city.

Closet room, the air is petty.

Diners in the night, I’m running for my life.

Did you know that lions prowl in disguise?

Oh, run—don’t sleep. I forgot how to trust anything.

Oh, but in the deep, a safer love is beginning.

Who is my refuge, when I’ve nowhere to hide?

Who is my shield, when I look danger in the eye?

Who keeps the covenant, when mine are broken?

Who knows the horror of injustice unspoken?

Oh, come out of hiding. War is only ever brief.

Oh, peel back skin—a fresher body to be fighting in.

Dazzling light, the smells are heavy.

Subway sings, and I am tiny.

Did you know that facing fears builds fearlessness?

I am not the girl who wore that borrowed dress.