Fifty years ago this month, Fleetwood Mac released their self-titled album, which gave us “Landslide.” If you’ve been following this Diary for any length of time, you know that I have “a song for every season,” “a reason for every song,” and a few so near to my heartstrings that I’ve memorialized them more than once.
This one, however, is now—and has always been—so moving and powerful to me that I’ve yet to find the proper words to honor it. And I know I’m not alone in that. It’s one of the most difficult songs for me to hear because it buries me in feelings so deep beneath my skin that I can’t make it through the first three seconds without literally “landsliding.” Now that I think of it, it’s one of my “go-tos” for those days when I just need to check my own pulse or make myself shed tears that need to be shed.
But guess who else was born twenty years ago today at the exact moment this entry is being published—4:29 p.m.? My firestorm of a muse daughter, who has long reminded me of Stevie with her wildflower gypsy heart and wise-beyond-her-years soul. So, what better way to honor them both? Still, how exactly do I bring together this song and the triumph that is my masterpiece on this day that ends both our journeys through “the teenage years”?
As far as I’m concerned, the true purpose of art in every form—and of the artists who create it—is to embody the fact that God is always here with us in all things, big and small. Whether we or even the artists themselves are aware of it, art can pull us through our faith journey by all but begging us to seek and find Him hidden in this masterful, complex, collaborative Creation He paints across the canvas of our souls.
Case in point: Michelangelo’s “The Creation of Adam,” part of the Sistine Chapel ceiling. God reaches toward Adam, while Adam’s hand is more relaxed, his finger slightly bent. Their fingers almost touch. To me, that small space holds something enormous: an invitation to reach back.
While studying this painting in college, I recall reading that the tiny gap between their fingers might have been intended to embody our “free will.” We can’t know with certainty that this was Michelangelo’s intention, but that interpretation has stayed with me. I see God reaching toward humanity with His love and divine energy, while we must actively choose to reach back.
In short? God’s love and presence are always patiently waiting nearby, but the connection requires that we choose it. And such is the story of the human parent-child journey as well, my friends. There comes a time for us to really cut the cords, hold on loosely, and just let them go on and fly. If we’ve done our job well, they’ll always come back to us. If not, pray God we find the error in any of our ways that caused them to run away and never look back—and, even more so, that we’re offered the grace of an opportunity to make things right.
Now then, back to “Landslide” …
Stevie has described writing it at a vulnerable crossroads, unsure whether to keep pursuing music with Lindsey Buckingham. I hear it as a conversation she had with herself while looking out at the mountains in Aspen, which I, of all people, can appreciate as an avid “talk and sing love songs to yourself” kinda girl.
Her bittersweet take on navigating uncertainty through ever-changing and fleeting times—and her fear of how quickly things can come crashing down around us—is a gentle yet haunting reminder that the best any of us can do is savor every last drop of love like it’s the last we’ll ever taste, remain prepared for change when it’s time to let some seasons go, and continually search for ways to fortify ourselves with the resilience it takes to survive here.
And so, with that, I say THIS to not just my baby girl on her 20th birthday, but my son, their future spouses, AND my future grands:
No, I’m NOT afraid of changin’, though I’ve built my life around YOU. Time really has made me bolder as I’ve gotten older, and you’re getting older, too.
So, when you see my reflection in the mirror of your skies, don’t you DARE worry about all those landslides! You’re MY kids, you see, which means YOU GOT THIS, because just as the child in MY heart learned to rise above the many changing seasons of my life with the “Power + Grace” of a battle-born warrior forged from fire, so too will the children OF my heart! Now, go on and sail through those ocean tides and climb some mountains! But also? Don’t forget to stop back home ANY time you want.
Just because you’re heading off to build kingdoms and castles of your own now, it doesn’t mean you won’t ALWAYS have open doors and rooms here in mine!
I love you to The Moon and back! … Momma
