Mureka had some difficulty pronouncing ‘Unaltered’. The version of the song style settled on the heroic, and here are the notes…
Yes, this is different. And knowing your kids are leaving for college today makes one tension in Unalterable especially visible—not because the septet is about them directly, but because you’re standing in a place where love remains fixed while paths diverge.
I think the title initially tricks us.
I expected Unalterable to mean God’s plan cannot be changed.
But your septet doesn’t say that. It wrestles with choices, responsibility, alignment, direction, limited understanding, and the danger of turning “God led me” into an excuse.
The unalterable thing may ultimately be Who you’re following, not an unalterable itinerary.
That is much more interesting.
“Lead me as You will” is the dangerous line
This:
“If I were to say, ‘Lead me as You will,’ should that not suffice? I cannot blame myself after all.”
made me stop.
Because there’s a seductive version of surrender that actually eliminates responsibility:
Whatever happened must have been God’s will.
Therefore:
My choices don’t really matter.
Your next line rejects that immediately:
“Escaping blame is not my aim, spineless as a serpent and tasteless as porridge.”
Tasteless as porridge absolutely belongs in the 182.
You’re not looking for theological cover.
You’re asking something harder:
How do I surrender direction to God while remaining responsible for every step I actually take?
That’s excellent territory.
And suddenly the living Path makes sense.
Jesus says “I am the way.” The Path isn’t alive because some mystical road has agency.
The Way is alive because Christ is alive.
Yet, as you carefully wrote, you’re not being carried like luggage.
You still walk.
You still choose.
You still turn.
You can misunderstand.
You can stop.
You can probably even take a stupid detour.
And nevertheless:
“Lead me as You will.”
I think there’s a song here that refuses to give us the map
I think that last “Lead me as You will” should remain unresolved.
Because today, particularly, maybe that’s appropriate.
Your children walking onto their own paths doesn’t alter your love for them. But love also can’t walk those paths for them.
And there’s an echo of your relationship with God in that—not equivalence, but an interesting resonance.
Love doesn’t require the beloved to become cargo.
That’s what your opening rejects.
God isn’t operating an escalator on which you’re passively transported to a predetermined destination while calling the ride obedience.
You walk.
That’s why choices matter.
That’s why mistakes matter.
That’s why responsibility remains.
But that’s also why I love the chorus:
My direction isn’t certainty.
My direction is You.
That might be the heart of today’s septet.
You don’t need perfect knowledge of the route to have a fixed orientation.
And perhaps that’s what is genuinely unalterable:
Not the circumstances.
Not the children’s proximity.
Not our plans.
Not even the dreams we once thought God would fulfill exactly as imagined.
The direction of the heart.
Wherever this living Way goes—
I want You.
And on a day when people you love are stepping onto roads you can no longer walk for them, that’s quite a word to have landed on.
Mureka had some difficulty pronouncing ‘Unaltered’. The version of the song style settled on the heroic, and here are the notes…
Yes, this is different. And knowing your kids are leaving for college today makes one tension in Unalterable especially visible—not because the septet is about them directly, but because you’re standing in a place where love remains fixed while paths diverge.
I think the title initially tricks us.
I expected Unalterable to mean God’s plan cannot be changed.
But your septet doesn’t say that. It wrestles with choices, responsibility, alignment, direction, limited understanding, and the danger of turning “God led me” into an excuse.
The unalterable thing may ultimately be Who you’re following, not an unalterable itinerary.
That is much more interesting.
“Lead me as You will” is the dangerous line
This:
“If I were to say, ‘Lead me as You will,’ should that not suffice? I cannot blame myself after all.”
made me stop.
Because there’s a seductive version of surrender that actually eliminates responsibility:
Whatever happened must have been God’s will.
Therefore:
My choices don’t really matter.
Your next line rejects that immediately:
“Escaping blame is not my aim, spineless as a serpent and tasteless as porridge.”
Tasteless as porridge absolutely belongs in the 182.
You’re not looking for theological cover.
You’re asking something harder:
How do I surrender direction to God while remaining responsible for every step I actually take?
That’s excellent territory.
And suddenly the living Path makes sense.
Jesus says “I am the way.” The Path isn’t alive because some mystical road has agency.
The Way is alive because Christ is alive.
Yet, as you carefully wrote, you’re not being carried like luggage.
You still walk.
You still choose.
You still turn.
You can misunderstand.
You can stop.
You can probably even take a stupid detour.
And nevertheless:
“Lead me as You will.”
I think there’s a song here that refuses to give us the map
I think that last “Lead me as You will” should remain unresolved.
Because today, particularly, maybe that’s appropriate.
Your children walking onto their own paths doesn’t alter your love for them. But love also can’t walk those paths for them.
And there’s an echo of your relationship with God in that—not equivalence, but an interesting resonance.
Love doesn’t require the beloved to become cargo.
That’s what your opening rejects.
God isn’t operating an escalator on which you’re passively transported to a predetermined destination while calling the ride obedience.
You walk.
That’s why choices matter.
That’s why mistakes matter.
That’s why responsibility remains.
But that’s also why I love the chorus:
My direction isn’t certainty.
My direction is You.
That might be the heart of today’s septet.
You don’t need perfect knowledge of the route to have a fixed orientation.
And perhaps that’s what is genuinely unalterable:
Not the circumstances.
Not the children’s proximity.
Not our plans.
Not even the dreams we once thought God would fulfill exactly as imagined.
The direction of the heart.
Wherever this living Way goes—
I want You.
And on a day when people you love are stepping onto roads you can no longer walk for them, that’s quite a word to have landed on.