Thank you so much for all of the personal notes of encouragement ....I am inspired to put up new music and am so grateful to hear from people who have enjoyed my songs. It means so much!!!

With Love,
Sydney

So...
I signed up for myspace over a year ago and checked it all the time for a week or two....then it just seemed to be overwhelming to keep up with....so, now I remembered my password and checked back in to find that people had written such amazing notes and things to me. I feel horrible that I haven't responded or even known those kind words were waiting for me. So, I am back and will try to respond as best as I can little by little :)

Thanks for your patience!

My husband and I were newly married and got into one of our first BIG fights. He huffed into the studio and closed the door, and I huffed in front of the computer. I was even more upset when I heard him playing the guitar. I thought how insensitive it was to not even care about our fight. I started typing out a poem and slipped it under the door. He opened the door and read the poem....and started playing the guitar and I started fitting the poem into the music he was playing and creating a melody. We quickly forgot about the fight and were excited and focused on something more important...this cool new song!

The poem was tweaked a bit and became the lyrics for the song New House.

(And we were literally in our new house too)

it's a new house

i haven't figured out all the switches yet

or what's the best route to take to the kitchen

in the bedroom, i will roam

i can see the shadows fall

pull the shades up, pull the shades down,

make it feel like home



it's a new life

i haven't figured out all the triggers yet

what makes you mad and what makes you forget

but i am learning, i am learning

that someday i will find

all the tricks and all the shortcuts

through the paths in your mind



and what can i do to make you feel better?

should i bake you a cake or knit you a sweater?

should i be the strong woman you loved in the beginning?

or be your second mama to keep your heart spinning?



i'm just threading the needle

i don't know what i'm gonna make

i got all the materials, but i don't know what it's gonna look like

some days are hard, some days are easy

and when it gets hard i wonder

if i'm circling around the corner of the

same block again



and what can i do to make you feel better?

should i bake you a cake or knit you a sweater?

should i be the strong woman you loved in the beginning?

or be your second mama to keep your heart spinning?



the world has lived my life a million times

but i still don't know if the seed has the wisdom of the oak?



is there ever a day

when i know everything?

when i sink into my chair and think there's nothing left to learn

but the globe still turns another corner,

it keeps itself in order

without ever getting tired
i should be so inspired

Samuel is someone who I am getting to know and will be working with a lot in the future. He is, among other things, a great singer. When he tells his story to audiences...he often punctuates it with songs like "His Eye is On The Sparrow". My husband and I will be writing a record for him...telling his story through original songs.

Here is his true story (for more info go to www.mission1m.org)

My name is Samuel and I was born in a remote village called Kpor in the southern part of Nigeria. My earliest and most frightening memory is of the day that my uncle brought me to the orphanage, told the matron I had no family and then, in turn, told my mother that I had died on the way. I remember shaking with fear, as I crouched down next to the wall on my tattered makeshift sleeping mat, in a place I was forced to call home. I was four years old at the time and did not know why my mother did not want me anymore. Maybe it was because I was different, crippled with polio and unable to walk. Panic gripped me as I wondered what would happen to me now.

Life at the orphanage turned out to be nothing more than a miserable existence at best. My future was dark and unsure. At times I felt like I was dieing a slow death. Instead of caring for me and nurturing the children entrusted to them, the orphanage strived only to make money. In order to elicit funds and contributions from donors, we were given only one meal a day so we would appear wretched and starved.

On visiting days you would find me hiding again between the wall and my old sleeping mat, watching extended families of the other children come with gifts, hugs and kisses. I could not bear the sight; it was too painful, knowing that the last gift my uncle gave me was separation from my mother and that no one would ever come to visit me. I would have done anything to feel loving arms around me but all I felt was shame, anger and rejection as these feelings grew to become a normal part of my life.

I suppose it was the trauma of being hungry all the time, feeling utterly alone and the pain of dealing with my illness that caused me to become a bed wetter. For this crime I was beaten thirty times every morning with a leather whip made for animals. This went on for 8 years of my life and the matron made sure that everyone knew what I had done. I became known as The Bed Wetter and the shame that followed me was unbearable. The disgrace was so great that I could not even lift my head when I spoke. I was afraid to sleep and afraid to wake up, knowing what awaited me in the morning. The beatings never helped me to stop wetting the bed, but the hatred I felt for everything around me seeped deeper and deeper with every lash.

There were times when visitors from churches came with their birthday smiles, endless pats on the head and stories of an amazing God who loved and cared for me. I wanted to believe what they said, but it was too hard because I was always hungry, in pain and buried in my shame. A voice inside me wanted to scream out at them and ask, Where is God and Why has He allowed me to be this way? Sometimes the visitors brought bread, so I kept quiet and listened to their stories because I was so desperate to eat and fill my stomach.

When I was eight, I realized that no one was going to help me and if I was ever going to become somebody, I had to get an education. The challenge, however, was that the school was over two miles away and there was no transportation. At this time in my life the only way I was able to get around was by crawling. When I considered the problem, it seemed insurmountable but I determined then to crawl the two miles there and back. School might have been a pleasant experience except for one thing; the children taunted me, calling me The Bed Wetter and Cripple. Everywhere I turned I could not get away from the embarrassment and the emotional pain in my life.

Although my hands were calloused and my knees cracking and bloody; I crawled to school for three years. My life however started to change the second year of school because of my new teacher Mrs. Fubara. She was a wonderful woman and always treated me with love and compassion. Everyday at lunch, she sat and tried to talk with me, often sharing a kind word. I wanted to like her, but I could not help being skeptical. Why did she want to be a friend to me? No one else wanted anything to do with The Bed Wetter. Although I did not encourage her, Mrs. Fubara came faithfully every day at lunch to sit with me. I did all I could do just to tolerate her because my anger and bitterness towards life would not allow me to do anymore.

In my second year I studied hard and was a very good student, even though the crawling had physically drained me by the time I got back to the orphanage. At the end of the second year I was certain I had done well academically. The final examination would not be hard and I knew I would advance to the third grade.

However, on the day of the final exam I faced a great problem, it began to pour down sheets of thick blinding rain and I knew there was no way I could crawl to school. Sitting at the door looking out at the pouring water, my hope seemed to go with it, crashing on the concrete and splitting into tiny drops. I began to cry in my heart and became very scared: Was this year all for nothing? All the work I did was useless if I did not get a chance to take the final exam. With everything I had suffered, this was one of the most heartbreaking, knowing that I would not be able to advance to the third grade.

Just as I was thinking all hope was lost I looked out at the torrential rains and saw a figure with an umbrella coming toward me. I strained to see who it was and as the figure became clearer I could not believe my eyes. It was Mrs. Fubara, she smiled at me and said softly, Samuel, get on my back. I will carry you to school." She had left her classroom of over thirty students and walked two miles to come just for me. At that moment, in the pouring rain, my bitterness and hatred began to erode away and my heart burst open with love for Mrs. Fubara. I passed my test that day and shared my joy and gratitude with her. She became to me my mother, my sister, and the person that I loved most on earth. She spoke with me about Jesus, but I was not sure I could accept Him yet even after she had shown me Gods great love. Then one night as I lay in bed, I prayed, "Jesus, if You are really there, stop me from wetting the bed and I will worship You forever." From that night on, I never wet the bed again and I have felt God's hand in my life ever since.

The Lord opened a huge door for me at the age of eighteen when I was invited to compete with hundreds of disabled athletes in my country. In that competition, I came out the top athlete in all of Nigeria. Next, after several other competitions, I went to the World Stoke Mandeville Games in England and then in 1994 was named Best Wheelchair Athlete of the Year. Finally in the year 2000, I qualified for the Para-Olympics and was able to come to the United States for training. I realize now that God had been guiding me all along and if I had not pushed my body beyond endurance in those early years, I might not have been strong enough to win these titles. I am presently training to participate in the 2008 Para-Olympics and I am optimistic, with the goal of winning a gold medal. Although I have succeeded in athletics, the driving force behind my life is to bring love and support to needy orphaned children. That is why I have joined Mission One Million so I can make an eternal difference in the lives of children just like me.

If you would like Samuel Nehemiah to share his triumph and victory with your church or group, please call 1-866-HELP-MIM. Or e-mail us at info@mission1m.org

The 'Enola Gay' was the name of the plane that dropped the 1st atomic bomb on Hiroshima. It was named after the pilot's mother, Enola Gay. The main pilot's name was Paul Tibbetts. He is still alive and makes very rare appearances. He wrote a book that is out of print about his experiences.

The bomb was dropped at 8:15am in the morning.

I always thought how strange it must have felt to have your son honor you by naming his plane after you, and also having the knowledge and weight of what the purpose of the plane was...it's mission and legacy. Bittersweet. I feel for Paul Tibbetts who was following orders. How strange to carry out such a transforming mission and trust in the decision makers. I am not interested in making a political statement about atomic bombs...i am more interested in exploring the humanity and emotions of those who were in the strangest of all postitions.

The only historical mistake I think I made in writing this song is that I found out Paul only had two kids...and I sang "He brought back 3 kids, and a wife". If I ever re-record it, maybe I'll change it? Or maybe I'll wait to see who even notices.

Sydney


Lyrics for "Miss Enola Gay"
Come take the boots off your feet
Would you like something to eat?
Unlace the thoughts in your head
I've fixed up your childhood bed

Do you remember when you were a boy?
On the first day of school they took your favorite toy
And I wiped all the tears from your face
And said a good little soldier must be strong and brave

My little boy dropped off on the corner at 8:15
The school bus picked up my son all neat and clean
I took you to church and taught you to behave
And they all said, you've done a fine job
Miss Enola Gay

Seems when you came back home that afternoon
You had graduated college and left all too soon
And you brought back three kids and a wife
And carried their pictures with a familiar pride

And you grew into big soldiers clothes
And followed the leader into the unknown
You believed in the U.S. of A.
And you always would call on Christmas day

My little boy dropped off on the corner at 8:15
The school bus picked up my son all neat and clean
I took you to church and taught you to behave
They all said, you've a fine boy
Miss Enola Gay

But you cried mama, mama please...
Help me decide
Mama, please help me
Mama, please help me
Be a good little soldier

Saw your name in the paper today
You looking more like your father with that slight touch of gray
They said you're a hero and put a medal on your chest
But I still remember when you fit underneath my breast

So I unlaced the shoes on my feet
And fixed my self something to eat
And I sat in my chair for a while
And I closed my eyes with a half-hearted smile
It's been a hard day
Miss Enola Gay

I have been asked about the artwork found in the 'pictures' section. Yes, those are my drawings.

I go through phases of writing and phases of drawing/painting. Sometimes years have gone by without drawing. I find that when the feelings run deep and there are no words to say...and I have an overwhelming need to express them...I tend to draw.
Although...sometimes I just do it for fun. I don't think you have to live in 'dark' places to be a true 'artist'.

I have never taken a class or anything. I don't even know if I could draw something the way it actually looks? I started drawing with some sharpies that I happen to have at the time...on cheap paper. Usually eyes and faces. When I got into it more, I went out and bought expensive paper and expensive, fancy art pens. I was too inhibited by the cost and burden of 'wasting' this expensive paper. I went back to sharpies and cheap paper. I also like watercoler pencils and sometimes pastels. I have used paint on occasion, but it takes far more pre-planning.

I have always loved trees and I can see that the twistedness in my drawings is probably inspired by the love I have for twisty trees.

:)
Sydney

I feel like I can tell the world anything I want... and i don't know what to say.

I have been slightly reluctant to post a page on myspace, but I was surprised to find two other pages on myself...and I decided to put something up from the 'official' me.

I hope I can discover how to use this myspace page well & wisely!

Bless you who find me!
Syd