Musical Memories

Those who know me outside of work know of my love for music. I grew up in a home where music was all around me every day. I grew up in a baptist church where the singing of hymns was a weekly highlight. Starting in seventh grade, I finally picked up a trumpet, and my life has never been the same. Don't get me wrong - I will never make a living playing music. I love playing at church every chance I get, and still sing (or drum) along with the radio as I drive to work in the morning. However, I'm not like an American Idol wannabe that has dreams of grandeur - I know my limits, and just love to play!

For some reason this week, I've been thinking about the musical highlights in my life. Not all involve my playing; they're just moments in my life where I felt an amazing connection to the music. In writing these out, I am not trying to weave a fascinating tale or share a great story. It's more about me putting my thoughts down on paper (or on screen, as it were). It is by no means an all inclusive list; I'm sure as time goes on, I'll add to it.

Here's a start...

There are a few Conservative Baptist Churches in the Portland Area. When I was in grade school, 3-4 of the churches would arrange an "all-church sing". One church would host the others for a combined Sunday evening service, and spend the entire evening singing. Take a church like Hinson Baptist, which probably holds anywhere from 500-750 people, and pack it full. Add old hymns - you know the ones - Wonderful Grace of Jesus, Leaning on the Everlasting Arms, To God Be The Glory; mix them all in full four part harmony. The sound was amazing - full and rich - enough to make you stop singing and just listen. They don't write them (or sing them) like that anymore!

Organ Grinder - Simply described, a fair to middling pizza joint built around a massive pipe organ. You've never heard the theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey until you've heard it on a hot Friday night with a mouthful of pizza. I seem to remember someone saying that they had some sort of permit to exceed the noise ordinances on Friday nights - by the time the song reached its' peak, everything not nailed down in that place was shaking, including your internal organs. Alas, the restaurant no longer exists, and the mighty Wurlitzer Organ now has been parted out.

Let me start this entry by saying the sacrilegious; I really hated marching band. There's something about trying to play a musical instrument while taking a five mile hike that never really set well with me. One thing I loved though was the indoor music practices. In Jr. High, students were split into four bands, in high school, two bands. Each band had their own music they played, and the separate bands never joined - except in marching band. I always loved the first few practices where we stayed in the band room to work out the music. There was something about switching from a small concert band of 20-30 people to a huge group of over 100. Just the sheer volume - the power when the low brass kicked in, the drum line causing your heart to skip a beat, how full the woodwinds sounded. It just took everything I loved about playing trumpet and brought it to a new level.

If you never were able to see Rich Mullins in concert, you missed a lot. The music may have not been as polished as you'd hear on a CD, but the conversations between songs were amazing. He could go on for 10 minutes about something, but you didn't mind. He would stand there in his bare feet, talking politics, the church, the music industry, whatever - just sharing his passion for God. And musically, every time I read or hear James 2:20, saying that "faith without works in dead", I picture Rich singing "Screendoor on a Submarine" acapella in four part harmony with the band, accompanied by the rhythm of the five of them playing percussion with big plastic cups. Check it out on You-Tube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6lZzp1u1PDQ

Spyro Gyra was one of my favorite jazz groups in the early 80's - I saw them at the Mt. Hood Festival of Jazz in 1983. I recall at one point that the percussionist wanted to make some noise, so instead of picking up one particular piece of percussion, he simply picked up the rack from which all of his percussion instruments were hanging and shook the whole rack. Wow.

Maynard Ferguson is in my top 5 favorite trumpet players of all time. He is not the most technically correct of the horn payers, but he could play in the upper register with such ease and power. That, and he always surrounded himself with a band that killed! I saw him in concert twice - in '83 and '85. One piece he played often was The Beatles "Hey Jude". At the end of the song where the lyrics are simply, "nah, nah, nah, na-na-na-nah, na-na-na-nah, Hey Jude", the trumpet section would leave the stage and spread out through the audience while the rest of the band carried the tune on stage. Once positioned, they would join in - all playing that melody live, but at a range I have only wished to approach. I had Maynard's lead player Stan Mark standing directly behind my seat, legs braced, leaning back, and just nailing it. I couldn't hear right for a week, but boy, was it worth it. Sadly, Maynard passed on a couple of years ago, but he has left behind a legacy of horn players that carry on that same energy today.

That's probably enough for now - I'm sure more will come to mind.

Green Fruit

My last post focused on wanting to work on my "Fruits of the Spirit". Yes, I know that the intent of the verse is that as my walk with God grows stronger, these fruits will become more and more evident. However, I don't think it's a bad thing to pick a fruit (no pun intended) and focus on putting that trait into every aspect of my life.

Last week was love. Sounds fairly easy, doesn't it? I made an effort to focus more on my wife this week, as well as spending more time talking to the kids and hugging them. In doing that, I realized that it takes a minimal effort to show love to someone that we really do love. Yes, there are times where either the wife or the kids may get on my nerves, but there's a core love there that never goes away, no matter what. The effort this week came in working through those times of irritation without them losing sight of the fact that they are loved. It was a part of my week that made me think a few times, but never really seemed altogether difficult.

The challenge really lies in showing love to those for you are not particularly attached to. My life outside of the home primarily revolves around my work. In my job, I supervise 60+ people. Some I interact with on a daily basis, others I may see only once or twice a week. In retail, there is always more to be done than time to do it in, so the stress level can be high at times. Add to that a steady stream of customers, and it can easily lead to a crankiness that flows over all like a fog. I thought of that first fruit - love - as I went through my week. I tried to focus on listening more and talking less; on being compassionate as they shared their concerns; and reacting to their needs promptly. I'd love to be able to give a glowing report of how I changed my world for the better, but I found my self groaning afterwards as I handled yet another situation with less than a loving attitude. I found that there is a special skill and effort needed in loving those you do not have that emotional attachment to, and that I will need to continue to work on it!

It does make me grateful that "..God put his love on the line for us by offering his Son in sacrificial death while we were of no use whatever to him." (Romans 5:8, The Message). He had no reason to love us, and yet He still gave up his son for us. I have done nothing to deserve His love for me, and nothing to deserve the sacrifice He made for me. And yet, in love He gave of Himself. As Max Lucado has said, no wonder they call Him the Savior.

This week: JOY!

Thoughts While Waking Up

It seems that I do a lot of my best thinking in that small window of time between waking up and getting up. I’m not really sure why that is. I think that God uses that time to speak, because my brain is not engaged enough to interfere with what he’s saying. The other night, I was stressing about the normal trials of life, and as I drifted off to sleep, I prayed for God’s guidance in getting through the week. The next morning, as I shut off the alarm and laid there trying to regain consciousness, a couple of thoughts came to mind.

It started with the Fruits of the Spirit. I think it must have been a song running through my head...love, joy, peace patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness faithfulness and self control…no real rhyme or reason to it – just the song playing on.

Then I thought of with Benjamin Franklin – a very strange segue indeed. I remember learning that at age twenty, he came up with a list of thirteen virtues. They included Temperance, Silence, Order, Resolution, Frugality, Industry, Sincerity, Justice, Moderation, Cleanliness, Tranquility, Chastity and Humility. Franklin spent the rest of his life working to embrace them, focusing on one particular trait each week.

The thought then came to me; what would my life be like if I chose to work on living the Fruits of the Spirit? What if I spent a week focusing on just loving people? What would that look like? How would I practice Gentleness? Faithfulness? As my eyes finally opened and I began to greet the day, I decided to spend this week doing just that. Love people. Love them when I feel crabby. Love them when I feel frustrated. Love them when things are going great. Love them when life gets overwhelming. There’s no scorecard, no tally sheet. Fortunately, we serve a God of grace, who knows that we are imperfect vessels at best. I don’t assume to solve the mysteries of life by doing this, but if it brings growth and a closer walk with God, it’s a great thing. How will this go? Time will tell…

God, Amy Grant and Me

I wrote this a few years ago after my 20th High School Reunion. With this year marking 25 years since graduating, I decided to pull this story out and post it here.

With my ten year high school reunion approaching, I felt a small amount of fear and trembling. High School in many ways had been a great experience for me, but it was a time when I definitely did not fit in with the "in" crowd. As long as I stayed within my social circle, life was good; but if I found myself in a crowd of the elite, I felt very rejected and out of place. I debated about reliving those years, but decided to attend the reunion with the same plan in mind - visit with the people that I cared for, those who accepted me for who I was.

I entered the room and began scanning the crowd, looking for those few friends that I wanted to spend time with. I looked...and searched...and frantically scanned the room. It became evident to me that I was not the only one that had second thoughts about coming. As the in-crowd drank to the successes of their post-high school careers, I slunk from corner to corner, desperately hoping that I would see a kindred soul that had just been a little late. After a few hours of meaningless conversations and blending in with the wallpaper, I decided to head for home.

The night seemed dark and dreary as I trudged to the car. Once again, I felt the pain of not belonging - feeling out of place. I slid behind the wheel, and rested my head on the steering wheel as the tears began to sting my eyes. Wanting to put the evening far behind me, I started the engine and began to move through the parking lot,

The stereo coming to life interrupted my silence, and the music played as I drove into the night. It was a tape of Amy Grant singing, "All I Ever Have To Be"...

When the weight of all my dreams is resting heavy on my head,

and the thoughtful words of help and hope have all been nicely said,

Well, I'm still hurting, wondering if I'll ever be the one I think I am.

Then you daily re-remind me that you made me from the first,

and the more I try to be the best, the more I get the worse,

then I realize the good in me is only there because of who you are.

And all I ever have to be is what you've made me,

any more or less would be a step out of your plan.

As you daily recreate me, help me always keep in mind

that I only have to do what I can find,

and all I ever have to be is what you've made me.

Tears began to flow anew as I thanked God for using that song to remind me that it's not what others think that is important - it's what God thinks. He created me - he sent his son to die in my place. He promises me that one day He will take me home to be with Him. I thought back to those days ten years ago, of feeling like I didn't fit in. Now I realized that I fit in
perfectly in the one place where it counted - in God's eyes.

The following years were a roller coaster ride of kids, work, and the usual thirty-something lifestyle. Before I knew it, the invitation for the twenty year reunion arrived. I pondered going for at least part of it, but remembered the pain of my last trip down memory lane, and chose to stay home. As the date approached, I bumped into an old friend, and the topic of the reunion came up. Before I knew what I was saying, I made a pact - one of those 'I'll go if you go' kind of things. I kicked myself later, but decided to make the best of it.

The day finally arrived, and I drove up to the site expecting to meet up with my friend and bravely face the crowd. As with any ill-fated pact, they were nowhere to be found. Once again, I waded through the sea of A-list people, now sporting spouses and children. I endured the same superficial conversations, and carried out that same search for the friends of old. But this time, the attitude was different - it was a feeling of freedom, a knowledge that what these people remembered and thought about me meant nothing. I took a hold of the confidence that salvation through Jesus Christ can bring, a knowledge that I have been accepted by the King himself. I circled the crowd for about 30 minutes, then headed back for real life.

As I got back into my car, I thought back to that night ten years earlier, when a song reminded me of what and who was important. Turning the key in the ignition, I thought to myself - what are the odds? Sure enough, as the stereo came to life, the local christian radio station was playing a song by Amy Grant - only this time, the song was different...

I'm never going to walk away, though the walls come down some day,

All alone and you feel afraid, I'll be there when you call my name.

You can always depend on me, I will be, until forever,

I will be your friend.

Once again, God had used a song to remind me of his care for me, and that he would always be there for me. I rolled down the windows, turned the stereo up to ear-splitting levels, and got onto the freeway singing as loud as I could.

Icebreakers

A good friend of ours has a gift of engaging people in conversation. No matter who you are, she can start talking with you, and in a matter of minutes, it's as if you've known each other for years. One icebreaker she likes to ask couples is to have them tell the story of how they met. I believe every married couple has a story to tell - that first look, that amazing coincidence, that snapshot in time where there was a spark that fanned into flame. Our friend tells us that we have a good story, so I will share ours with you.

A prerequisite for all college freshman is a writing class, or series of classes. I enjoyed writing, and had received an A in my first writing class, so as winter term approached, I looked forward to Writing 122. One of my good friends in high school recommended a particular teacher to me - he had grown up next to the teacher, and thought she was a nice lady. He of course used the equation (nice lady+old neighbor+used to babysit me)= easy A. I hadn't taken a class with my friend in a few years, and the class was required for my course of studies, so I chose to sign up for an 8 am writing class. In hindsight, 8 am is WAY too early to do any real thinking, but without that class, the story of my life would be very different.

As my friend and I discovered, his equation for an easy A was flawed from the start. He had remembered the nice older lady next door that babysat him from time to time, baked him cookies, and told him stories. When she entered the classroom, her persona changed. I don't recall her being all too mean. However, she was extremely critical of everyone's writing. At the end of each class, she assigned a writing assignment that was due at the next class. We would arrive at the next class with assignments in hand. She would select 3-4 students to read their assignments for the class, then open up a discussion about that person's work. The discussion was mostly her telling us what was wrong with the person's writing. To make matters worse, in the front row was an older student who agreed with everything the teacher said, adding his own unique outlook to the discussion. Looking back, the critique was probably a useful thing - it forced us to dig deeper and write more clearly. However, at the time, it was a lot for an 18 year old college freshman (who thought he was already pretty good) to take.

Many of the students in the class soon discovered that she seemed to pick on those who sat anywhere from the center of the room to the front - rarely selecting people that sat near the back. Because of this, within a few weeks, the back of the room was packed with people, while the front rows were sparsely populated. The room had two rows of six foot tables, each seating three people. My friend and I made a point of getting there at least 15 minutes early, and taking the very back table for ourselves. With this spot secured, our assignments were still raked over the coals on paper, but at least not shredded in a public forum.

Soon, I noticed that one particular student was always just a little late. Because of this, she had to make her way through the crowd at the back to that dreaded section, where she became a target of the teacher and her cohort. After a few classes, I began to feel a little bad for her. No one should have to suffer like that. As my friend and I arrived for the next class, I left an open seat between us, and left my coat and books in the middle of the table. When I saw her come through the door, I very casually slid over, leaving an aisle seat in the back row open. Being the smart person that she was, she saw the opening and grabbed it gratefully, saving herself from another day of abuse. So began a daily ritual - the open seat, spreading out my belongings, and the casual slide over when she walked in the door. She always quickly saw the opening and took it.

As the term went on, we began to talk. She was sure that she knew me from somewhere, but couldn't quite place it. We started to compare notes - what high school did you go to? What activities were you in? We soon discovered that we were both Christians, so we began to compare church backgrounds, camps, activities. Nothing seemed to fit, but at the same time, we were finding out a lot about each other, and a friendship was building.

A few weeks later, I was at work and needed to get something from another department. Who would I find working in that area? The same beautiful woman I had been saving my seat for all these weeks. As it turns out, we had been working in the same large retail store, but in different departments. I'm sure that had I bumped into her at work, we may not have spoken past a few pleasantries. However, God knew that she was the one for me. He brought me into that 8 am class. He slowed her down enough so that she was a little late every day. And He made sure that I was able to leave that seat open each day, knowing exactly who He wanted to fill it.

Starting Out

I can't say that this first post to my new blog will have any pearls of wisdom. In fact, I may go months between pearls! My main reason for this is to provide an outlet to get my thoughts written down. I've always enjoyed writing, but have never been much of a journal-keeper. This will mostly be just what the title implies - my ramblings. It may be stories from days gone by, venting from the issues of today, or just random thoughts about nothing in particular. I have always been better at written communication than verbal, so hopefully in doing this, more of the real me will show. If you're taking the time to read it, thank you - and feel free to comment!