You haven’t been you for awhile. Because the you that you were is gone from yesterday, replaced by a different collection of atoms, thoughts, and experiences that’s never existed before in the history of the world. In just a short 7 years from now, not a single cell in your body will exist that exists now. And yet we all expect ourselves to never change. We’re immutable, solid as the sphinx and unmoving, impervious to our own transient nature.

In C.S. Lewis’ book “A Grief Observed” about the death of his wife, Lewis points out that “reality never repeats. The exact same thing is never taken away and given back.” He later concludes that remembering a his wife as she was when she died was inadequate, simply preserving her memory like a scientist preserves a cadaver in formaldehyde.

We must learn to embrace this idea of the rebirth, the slap-you-in-your-face newness of each moment we exist. And as musicians, we’ve got to capture it with the vivacity of crazed lunatic and the solemnity of a ascetic monk.

We can’t settle for assuming we are who we’ve been, but must be constantly be celebrating who we’re becoming in each moment. God’s shaking our bizarre collection of atoms so we can become more like Him as we rocket through this strange universe. It’s a wild ride through the sieve, and I don’t expect I’ll end up looking the same when they pull me out of the oven. At least, that’s what I’m praying for.

Here’s to the infinitesimal change, to the insignificant cell and thought that sputters and dies to make room for another. Here’s to being alive, to embracing it, and to following Him.