Britney (Bebo Norman)

(To listen, click here)

Britney, I'm sorry for the lies we told.
We took you into our arms, then left you cold.
Britney, I'm sorry for this cruel, cruel world.
We sell the beauty but destroy the girl.
Britney, I'm sorry for your broken heart.
We stood aside and watched you fall apart.
I'm sorry we told you fame would fill you up,
And money moves the man, so drink the cup.

I know love goes around the world. We know.
And you never see it coming back.
You never see it coming back.
I know love goes around the world. We know.
And you never see it coming back.
But I can see it coming back for you.
Yes, coming back for you.

Britney, I'm sorry for the stones we throw.
We tear you down just so we can watch the show.
Britney, I'm sorry for the words we say.
We point the finger as you fall from grace.

I know love goes around the world. We know.
And you never see it coming back.
You never see it coming back.
I know love goes around the world. We know.
And you never see it coming back.
But I can see it coming back for you.

Britney, I do believe that love has come.
Here for the broken, here for the ones like us

I know love goes around the world. We know.
And you never see it coming back.
You never see it coming back.
I know love goes around the world. We know.
And you never see it coming back.
But I can see it coming back for you.

It's coming back for you.

---

The Story Behind the Song (in Bebo Norman's own words)
(taken from CCMagazine.com)

"Britney" is a song about what our culture says and does to young women these days. It's a collective apology for the struggle girls face growing up too fast in today's overly adult-oriented world. The song confesses, "I’m sorry for the lies we told / We took you into our arms, then left you cold / I'm sorry for this cruel, cruel world / We sell the beauty but destroy the girl." It's about the lies we tell them: about fame, and money, and what’s beautiful, and what will give them life. It's an apology for those lies. But more than that, it's an invitation to the truth about a God who is bigger than the pain this world so often leaves them in."

"I was up late. Couldn’t sleep, watching some news channel when yet another story about Britney Spears came on. My first instinct was to scoff and write it off. But then there was this freeze-frame shot of a look on her face of utter and absolute despair and confusion and brokenness—a look that I recognized. And I remember thinking, "This girl is a child of God." Suddenly I saw her story not as something to mock but as a real-life tragedy that is desperate for redemption and hope—a story not so different from any of our stories. Take away all the lights and cameras and it's really just a narrative of a girl so clearly in need of love, so clearly in need of the redeeming love of our God."

"And suddenly all I wanted to do was just apologize, over and over. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. On behalf of this fallen world. On behalf of our consumerism that so consistently devours what it wants and leaves the remnants in the wake of the search for the next fix. On behalf of believers, like myself, who mock and hurl stones rather than scribbling a message in the sand."

"I think that night I saw her through the eyes of Jesus for the first time. I imagined what Jesus would say to me in my darkest hour and realized that those are the words we should speak to this world, to this culture—and even to Britney Spears—in their darkest hour. "I'm sorry. Hope is here."

Broken (Lifehouse)

The broken clock is a comfort. It helps me sleep tonight.
Maybe it can stop tomorrow from stealing all my time.
And I am here still waiting, though I still have my doubts.
I am damaged, at best—like You've already figured out.

I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing,
With a broken heart that's still beating.
In the pain there is healing,
In Your name I find meaning.

The broken locks were a warning: You got inside my head.
I tried my best to be guarded; I'm an open book instead.
And I still see Your reflection inside of my eyes
That are looking for purpose; they're still looking for life.

I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing,
With a broken heart that's still beating.
In the pain is the healing,
In Your name I find meaning.

So I'm holding on (I'm still holding)
I'm holding on (I'm still holding)
I'm holding on (I'm still holding)
I'm barely holding on to You

I'm hanging on another day,
Just to see what You will throw my way.
I'm hanging on to the words You say.
You said that I will be okay.

The broken lights on the freeway left me here alone.
I may have lost my way now; haven't forgotten my way home.

I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing,
With a broken heart that's still beating.
In the pain there is healing,
In Your name I find meaning.

So I'm holding on (I'm still holding)
I'm holding on (I'm still holding)
I'm holding on (I'm still holding)
I'm barely holding on to You

I'm More Scrooge Than Scrooge

So I just received an email from yet another reader who wanted to wish me a 'Merry Christmas'. Make no mistake, I sincerely appreciate the warm wishes, the fact that these people think of me and take time out of their day to write me such endearing sentiments. That really means a lot to me personally and I am grateful.

But it was another reminder of this wretched holiday. Bah, I deplore it. Christmas. A humbug, that's what Scrooge rightly called it (although he was ultimately weak because he gave in to the nauseous trappings of the 'holiday spirit', along with the equally weak Grinch). I have not held a favorable view of this holiday season since I was a very young boy and still naïve about most everything. So much of the Christmas season has become repugnant to me; through its bloated commercial excess it has lost most of its authentic value. I do appreciate the importance of families getting together and celebrating their love and solidarity. Absolutely and without reservation. But for me that is accomplished at Thanksgiving—which really makes Christmas superfluous on that score.

And, let's be honest, there is nothing Christian about the holiday season. From the decorated tree to the festively wrapped presents to the egg nog and Mandarin oranges to Santa Claus and his reindeer and the stockings hung by the chimney with care, at the end of the day Christ is not to be found anywhere in the truly predominant features of the holiday (ignoring the fact that he was almost certainly not born on the 25th of December). Aside from our nods to nativity scenes and the tradition of recounting the gospel narratives of his birth, what exactly does Christ have to do with Christmas? Nothing, if we can be honest about it. It is a facade impotently concealing the fact that this season and its traditions originate in pagan religions.

When is Thanksgiving? It’s around the middle of October for Canadians and around the end of November for Americans. And then there is New Year’s Eve at the close of December. Those are holidays I genuinely appreciate and can get into the spirit of. But what is this ‘Christmas’ inserted in between them? I could really do without that superfluous holiday.

Misfortunate Friends

Nothing proves who your real friends are quite like misfortune.

When misfortune hits—and what form it takes rarely matters—a real sense of loneliness can envelope me. The perception of that loneliness is not an illusion; I am genuinely alone because, when misfortune befalls me, a number of so-called friends are suddenly nowhere to be found. And that loneliness is palpable because it is precisely in those moments that I need friends the most. Why do so many friends vanish?

Because I was never their friend. That's the dirty little truth. I was nothing more than a notch on their social network belt, whose value was measured by the contribution my acquaintance made to their status quo, which diminishes by the degree to which I am perceived as a liability. When misfortune befalls me, I become 'high maintenance'. I am worthy of their time so long as I don't require anything of them, even more so if I can be of use to them.

But if I am not of use to them or if I have some kind of need, I'm treated like a pariah and soon find myself experiencing a poverty of social contact. So it is in those moments of misfortune that I have to retreat to that small, select group of people who are genuine friends. Misfortunes make demands on my attention and energies, which cannot be wasted on frivolities like self-absorbed ingrates. And that group is small indeed because precious few are those who I consider worthy of my true self. When misfortune hits and causes my social contacts to evaporate, creating that perception of real loneliness, it is then that my true friends stand out in stark contrast. And I look at those who disappeared and I say, 'This has been added against your account.'