The hardest part of every day should just be getting up and getting at 'em. It should get easier as the hours age, but it's just not the way it works. Getting up is difficult, but we're typically met with such opposition, by everything we want to do and by everyone who wants us to do it differently, to better suit the things they want to do and how they want them to be done, that we get caught in a sizeable vise, a headache that doesn't wane until we lie ourselves back down with minty mouths and empty bladders.
Nashville musician W.B. Givens writes songs that touch on tiny particles of salvation, all of which might add up to greater salvation. He brings to the forefront his little hymns about getting by. There are the sweet magnolia trees standing tall, the freight trains hooting their hot and bothered calls off in the distance and these feelings of it all sliding away like snakes or filthy rainwater. He sings about angels - whole ones and broken ones - and has thoughts about the right and wrong times to dance, the appropriate times to cry and the times to keep it inside until you're more alone than you find yourself when the sensation strikes.
There's rust on the wind in "Family Stone," as people are waiting on the weather and there are babies crying in "Back To Church," not to mention someone off getting higher than a coyote's howl. There's a preacher there as well and he sees the burned frames and bodies and just tries to give them the hope that they need to get by. He serves them that muddy water as if it were wine and they drink it like it was wine since it's from him. They believe that it's good for them, that it will make the getting up and getting on tomorrow a little easier. They have no idea what they're telling themselves, but that's just part of the salvation they're getting.