Saying goodbye

Some twenty months after the passing of my parents, we were finally able to close the sale of their home this week, bringing a close to the final chapter of the story of their life. There are still days where I think of them, and take a deep breath, a heavy sigh. But like all things, as you put more space between a heartbreaking loss and your current life, the hurts become less painful. The cloud of grief that once enveloped you now is that occasional cloud in the sky. The memories are still clear, but new memories have joined them in your mental notebook, adding to the story as you continue your journey.

Over the weekend, I had to make one more trip out to the house to pick up the last couple of items. I quickly loaded them into my car, then paused for a second. Knowing that this would be the last time I would stand here at mom and dad’s house, I walked up to the front porch and took a last look in the front window. The house stood empty; with no curtains, the house seemed like a shell, just floors and walls.

The back of the house looks to the west, facing the setting sun. It was late in the evening, so the sun was low in the sky. The sun’s rays poured in the back windows, flooding the entire house with a bright light that spilled through the front windows into the front yard. I stood and looked, thinking about how stark, how empty it all seemed. And yet, in that light, I could see the story of the house, of my parents, of their life. Of my life.

The dining room table, where we shared family dinner every night; hamburgers and homemade potato salad on Saturday nights, ham or roast on Sundays.

The dining room chair where dad always sat – right in the center of it all. I don’t recall him ever sitting in another place. Ever. If you’re a fan of TV’s Big Bang Theory, it was like Sheldon’s spot on the couch. That chair, that spot. It was his and his alone.

The living room, and the piano. And another piano. And an organ. And maybe another piano. Music everywhere. Evenings playing piano/trumpet duets with mom.

The kitchen and mom’s homemade bread.

Seeing through the house to the backyard…the tent pitched for the summer and sleeping outside. Playing frisbee. Grumbling at having to pick up rocks in the garden every spring, but happily eating fresh corn on the cob in the late summer.

I had not considered that this last visit would be an emotional one. The house had been empty for so long. And yet, as it came time to get in the car to head home, I couldn’t move. As Bob Bennett once said in his song Kings of Summer Street, “You think you get away so clean, until the moment that you find memories stick like bubble gum, under your shoe and in your mind, just when you think you won’t get caught, you’ll find it’s you that can’t let go of everything that you’ve been taught, there’s no forgetting what you think you know.” I finally broke loose, got into the car and headed for my home, with tears slowly dripping down my face.

The story of mom and dad’s house does not end there, though. In just a few days, new owners will walk in the front door for the first time in over 60 years. A young couple, set to be married later this summer. Much like my parents did back in the late 50’s, they will excitedly plan where to put their dining room table. Perhaps their house will be filled with music, like ours was for so long. They have plans to put in a garden, and enjoy those late summer evenings with hot fresh ears of corn, with butter dripping. They will begin to build their bank of memories, perhaps even with a child or two. Or maybe four. And maybe someday, that fourth child will stand on the front porch, looking through a house with the setting sun casting a warm glow throughout every room. Perhaps they too will stand, stuck to that front porch, taking it all in, and be thankful.

Pizza, Grief, and Emotional Land Mines

With Ginger working at the school that utilizes our church building, and both of us involved in church activities that occur in the evenings, there’s a night or two each week where I’ll stop and pick up dinner on my way home for Ginger and I. I’ll bring it straight to the church, and we’ll sit in her classroom, rehashing our day, perhaps correcting the last few papers from her class, and then diving into the meeting or activity for church. Last night, I called ahead before leaving work and ordered pizza and salad for the two of us to share. I arrived at the restaurant a few moments early, so I sat and waited as the staff finished preparing our meal. And what do we do when we’re waiting? Pull out the phone and catch up on Facebook and Twitter.

At a table just a few feet away, a family of four was sharing a meal together; Dad, Mom, and two small children. I had my nose buried in my phone and didn’t really pay much attention until the daughter, probably 3 or 4 years old, excitedly piped up in her wee, small, oh-so-cute voice:

“I really like pizza, Mommy!”

The word “Mommy” caught my ear. It wasn’t just the word. It was the childlike voice, the eagerness, and the bond between mother and daughter that was so obvious. I immediately felt a lump rise in my throat, and tears began to form in the corner of my eyes. Mother’s Day was just a few days ago, and this week more than most, I’ve been missing my mom.

It’s been just a few months since my parents died; Dad in early August, and Mom in late September. The following months have been filled with business that comes after a loss. Working with my sisters to plan their memorial services, determining what to do with their earthly possessions, and supporting my sister as she carries out their final wishes as executor of the estate, including the selling of the house that had been their home my entire life. Processing the grief has been a daily part of this process. It first, it seemed like a constant effort. However, over time, while the thoughts and memories continue, the pain associated with them grows less severe, less debilitating.

I may go days without feeling the effects of grief, but when it hits, it is sudden, sharp and severe. It can be a simple as a little girl’s exuberance about pizza. I’ve heard many different terms used to describe this sudden twinge of grief. My personal favorite? Emotional Land Mines. As I walk through life, all looks well; the path is clear, the trail well marked. And yet, buried just beneath the surface is all the emotion and pain, just waiting for you. Without warning, you step right into it, and the feelings explode in tears, and a tight chest. In most situations, the stoic part of our human nature kicks in, fighting back those tears and reminding you to breathe. This is especially helpful when you’re sitting in the middle of a restaurant – regaining your composure quickly, rather than having those around you concerned what the guy having the emotional meltdown might be up to.

One thing that has helped me in my processing this grief is a class Ginger and I have been going to – Grief Share. I felt the need to have someone to talk with as I walked through the mine field. Someone not necessarily to help me to avoid the mines, but to give tips for handling events as they came. I had access to grief counselling through Mom and Dad’s hospice team, but I really wanted something that was faith based. A friend at work who was going through a similar loss recommended Grief Share. I went online (griefshare.org), and discovered that Grief Share is a 13-week study that walks through the grief journey, hosted by churches throughout the country. When I saw that there was a church near our house that would be starting a session in just a few weeks, I spoke with Ginger about my wanting to go, and she volunteered to go with me.

The first week, there was a group of about twenty of us, with three leaders facilitating. We each shared our names, and what our loss had been. It seemed overwhelming – some had lost their spouse, some a parent, some a child. Tears flowed as each one there shared a little of their story. We then watched a short video explaining what the series would cover. There was also a workbook that allowed space to take notes during the video, and then a couple of short simple questions for each day of the week to help us take what was shared in the video and apply it to our own situation. It was a hard night, but I was encouraged that I felt like I was taking steps to walk through this season well.

The next week was a shock in that the original group of twenty had dwindled to a small group of five, along with the three leaders. It was explained that some come to the first meeting, then decide they’re just not ready to work through their emotions just yet. As we’ve learned in the weeks since we started, grief does not have a timetable, there’s no specific order to it, and everyone handles in differently; and best of all, that’s OK.

That same group of five has banded together as we meet each week. As we get more comfortable with each other, more of our story has been shared. More tears have been shared, not just for our own plight, but in feeling the hurts of others as well. There is a strength that comes from a shared experience, a comfort in knowing that others are struggling with the same issues, and a peace in knowing you’re not alone in your pain. While the leaders listen compassionately and walk with us through the class, they have also shared their own stories with us as well., and have used their experiences to minister to us. And, because the class is faith-based, there are weekly verses and reminders that God knows and understands our pain and grief as well. The videos and workbook may seem a little simple at times, but as I work through the questions each week, the truths that are covered stick with me. This next week will be our last meeting together, complete with a potluck, which seems fitting: sharing a meal with a group of people once thought strangers, who through our shared grief and tears became a support for each other.

This has been a season where many in my circle of friends and acquaintances have suffered loss. I can honestly recommend Grief Share as a way to process through your emotions in safe place with caring people and others who understand what you are feeling.

So – will there be an end to this portion of my journey? A key phrase I’ve heard is that grief is a something you don’t get over; it’s something you get through. And, while there’s still that occasional emotional land mine that stops me in my tracks for a moment, the pain that it inflicts will lessen over time. God’s word will continue to be a comfort, knowing that he will never leave or forsake. And, most of all, that in him, we have the hope for the future, in a place with no pain or grief. A place where there are no emotional land mines, just the emotion that will come from seeing him face to face.

Do Something

The word resolve, when used as a noun, means “a firm determination to do something”. Maybe that’s my problem when it comes to the topic of New Year’s Resolutions. I can come up with a huge list of things in my life that I should work on, areas that I could or should improve, areas where, as the definition clearly states, I should “do something”. What is lacking is the rest of that same definition – “a firm determination”. In many ways, the goal of my life is to do nothing. So, my goal for 2018? Do something.

For the last three years, we (my wife, my sisters and I) have been so wrapped up in the care for my mom and dad, beginning with Dad’s first emergency trip to the hospital in late August 2014, and culminating in both parents passing in August and September of this year. There was a desire to finish well with my parents, to know that we had done our best to care for them and make their last days with us as simple as possible.   It gave me an excuse to take those few free moments and just shut down, and in some ways, this was understandable – no one blamed me for wanted to take a moment and rest. I could turn down invitations to hang out, or change plans to go to an event, and everyone understood.

Most days, when I arrive at home after a day’s work, I would love nothing more than to change into shorts and a t-shirt, grab some dinner as I vegetate on the couch, then head off to bed. Yesterday, I told my daughter that you know you’re tired when you don’t even care about dinner – you just want to crawl straight into bed. As an introvert, after a long day of interaction with my wonderful co-workers, my social bank account is pretty well spent, and I am ready for quiet, solitude and space. And yet, I am married to an amazing woman who spends four days a week teaching kindergarten. She’s had an even more intensive social exposure than I have, and yet it’s all been with four to six-year-old children, focusing on teaching them the basics of reading and math, appropriate bathroom habits, and developing the self-control to not slap your neighbor on a daily basis. She comes home tired as well, but aching for adult conversations that revolve around anything else. One of the best quotes I heard in 2017 was from a guest on the daily Focus on the Family radio program. Unfortunately, I can’t remember the gentlemen’s name, but one thing he said has stuck with me. He spoke of a time when he had some very important tasks to complete late in the evening. As he worked to complete them, his wife sat next to him and started to talk about various things. These were unrelated to what he was feverishly trying to finish, and not really a topic that he cared much about. And yet, as he put it, “What she had to say was not important to me, but it was important to her, and she is important to me.” No matter how I feel, my wife is important to me, and listening to her talk about what’s important to her should be a priority to me. So, my goal for 2018? Do something. Listen to her. Understand what’s important to her. Love the fact that she is passionate about the small ones that she has such an impact on. Love her because she chooses to love me. Just love her.

Even though mom and dad been gone for a few months, I still feel and fight that urge to take it easy now. Yes, I know that grief is a process without schedule, a journey without a map, just a path to be taken with virtually no incorrect trail, and that rest is part of that process. And yet, there’s a desire to see this chapter finished, a page turned. Not to forget what is past, but to see where the next chapter leads.  In short, do something.

So where does that leave the introvert in me, who by this time is working from a bone-dry emotional gas tank? I need to invest time in doing things that refill and refuel that tank. For me, that’s music. Listening to music in the car. Listening to live music. Playing music. Writing music. Worshipping with music. Victor Hugo once said, “Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.” I am blessed to be a part of a church where music plays a large part, and where the church has been blessed with an overabundance of talented musicians. While the focus there is on teaching and following God, music plays a huge role in expressing our love for Him. Embracing the opportunity to sing, play, write and serve in this forum gives voice to the emotions that other forms of communication just can’t quite fulfill. In the same way, Northwest Oregon is also extremely blessed when it comes to music. We’re blessed with world-class talent in so many different genres. Come summertime, there’s free music every night of the week somewhere in the Portland area. So, my goal for 2018? Do something. I already participate at church through leading and playing with the music team, but that’s a small part of each month. I can be writing more. Listening more. Singing more. Just inviting music to spend more time in my life.

And yet, as much as music is something that recharges, there are also things in my life that are a drain. You can pour all of the gas you want into the tank, but if there’s a hole in the tank, it never seems to be enough. Social Media is a huge part of that. There is some benefit to staying connected to people through Twitter and Facebook. It’s an introvert’s widest dream – having a wide array of friends, seeing what’s going on in their lives, and sharing what’s going on in mine, all without having to actually have face to face communications. However, there’s an increasing amount of wading through the muck to get to these encouraging posts. You can unfollow those negative influences, but the flow of muck seems to remain regardless. Trudging through this mess, or doing the maintenance to try and keep the mess out, tends to suck the life out of the activity.  So, my goal for 2018? Do something. As author Regina Brett once said, “Sometimes you have to disconnect to stay connected. Remember the old days when you had eye contact during a conversation? When everyone wasn’t looking down at a device in their hands? We’ve become so focused on that tiny screen that we forget the big picture, the people right in front of us.” Drop out of the virtual community and exchange it for real community. Make an effort to get past the trite and go deeper.

There are things I have already done in my life that have been a blessing that I want to continue with. Back in September, I began a Read-Through-The-Bible in a year using an app from the Bible Project . Yes, I see the irony in recommending a phone app just after describing the evils of the small screen. I’ve always struggled in reading the Bible from end to end. I usually get bogged down in Leviticus or Deuteronomy, then go back to single books or passages. For some reason, this plan has worked so far for me. Each book starts with a short video outlining the contents, and its place in the Bible as a whole. Sometimes, there’s a video in the middle of a book, just to remind you of the theme, or to show you how the next few chapters relate to future events. Each day gives three to four chapters with the books in chronological order, and a Psalm for each day as well. Currently, I’m working through Isaiah, and after what seems like weeks of Judges and 1 and 2 Kings, reading about the nations continuing to turn their back on God, to read Isaiah this week and to read the promise of the coming Messiah was like a drink of cool water.

I also have prayed more in the last months than I ever have before. I’ve written before about things in your life that don’t really hit you until you have a life experience to hang it on – like love songs that seem horrible until you fall in love, and then they become a masterpiece. I have always prayed and felt the impact of prayer, but something about my parent’s last days have really heightened that desire in me to spend more time before the Lord. I also know how much it meant to me to know that others were praying for me, and have really made the effort to bring others needs and pain to Him.

So what are my goals for 2018? To truly focus on my wife and the people in my life, not the ones in my phone. To fill my life with the things that bring energy and happiness, and to continue to focus on the habits that forge a stronger relationship with the Lord. In short, to do something.

***(Small disclaimer here – this comes just weeks after Willie Taggart left the University of Oregon after less than one year to be the head football coach at Florida State. His theme while with the Ducks? Do Something. This had no bearing on my use of the phrase, but is solely based on the definition above, courtesy of Google.)

Bittersweet Defined

It's been almost five months since we said farewell to my dad. The grief process is a weird thing; most of the time, things are kind of back to normal, but then comes the emotional land mines. From out of the blue, a small random occurrence will trigger a brief tear-burst. Breath comes in and goes out, and then it's back to the routine, until the next time.

I had the privilege of writing dad's eulogy, and presenting it at his funeral. It is not easy to sum up one's life in a few words, but somehow, with help from all three sisters, we were able to put something together that reflected his time here on earth, as well as his love for the Lord that led itself to his new home. I enter it here as a marker, an ebenezer of sorts.

"On behalf of my mom, my sisters and our families, I’d like to thank you all for coming today to honor my dad. I also want to take a moment to publicly thank those who have cared for dad in the past few years. Dad spoke so highly of Dr. Rowena Manalo, Dr. R. Prince Davis and Nurse Practitioner Becky Christensen. We also want to thank the staff from Laurelhurst Village Rehab, Parkview Assisted Living and RN Villa for their care. Thanks also to the team from Kaiser Hospice, who not only provided care for dad, but were a great resource and support for our family as well. Finally, we want to thank the staff and church family here at Open Door Baptist for your kindness in reaching out to our family and opening your doors to us to honor dad in this way.

We’ve been thinking a lot about dad this week as we process his going home. Remembering the totality of who dad was has not been easy – he was a very complex and complicated man on some levels, very simple on others.

He had a strong work ethic; Dad worked hard his whole life. He spent time working at a gas station, driving trucks, as a chemist at Reynolds Metals, driving a tow truck, delivering oil and chemicals and as a mechanic. For a few years, he even ran a piano rental company out of our home. After a hard day’s work, he would eat dinner, then head out to work in the yard or the garden, or do car repairs until it was too dark to see. As his children, we thought dad could fix anything and he usually could. He was a problem solver and very thorough in all he did. He sacrificed things that he may have wanted to make sure his family had what they needed. He once quit a job he enjoyed because the hours didn’t allow him to see his children. Our education was very important to him, and he and mom both worked hard and saved to keep us in a Christian school for a number of years.

Dad loved music, and along with mom, he made sure our lives were filled with it. As a young man, he played trombone and piano, and continued to play and sing in choirs for a number of years. He developed a love for theater pipe organs, and made friends here locally, in various places across the U.S., and a special group of friends in Australia as they listened to a variety of artists. He spent hours reading and researching and days physically crawling through the dimly lit, dusty back rooms of churches, theaters, auditoriums and even an old grocery store learning about how pipe organs work and the nuances of wind chests, ranks and voicings.

Generally, people liked dad - he could be engaging and always had a story (or series of stories) to share no matter the situation. On one particular ICU stay, the staff shared with us that it was like taking care of Santa. Any time we stopped by to talk with dad, the hardest part was always leaving, because something about touching the doorknob triggered another story or conversation.

He had few close friends, but the ones he did lasted a lifetime. He met Mel Beachell back in the late 50’s, and the two bonded over shared work, hunting, fishing and swapping stories. Bill Blunk was a good friend and talented pipe organist, and the two spent many hours working on Bill’s massive pipe organ, moving it twice to new locations. In dad’s later years, he developed a special friendship with Bob Sadjak, where their conversations covered a variety of topics including spiritual matters.

Dad definitely had a mischievous side. When he was young, he picked up the nickname “naughty Jimmy”, but as an adult, he developed a fun-loving sense of humor – limericks, puns, or giving people pet names that he used each time he saw them. As kids, there were times we may have been embarrassed by his occasional goofiness, but as adults, we came to appreciate that fun loving spirit. Even as dad’s health declined, he would answer the question “How do you feel?” by holding up his hands, rubbing his fingers together and saying, “well, usually with my fingers.”

Dad was a unique mixture of thriftiness with a love of quality. His goal was to find something of such quality that he would never have to replace it. Once purchased, he made sure to take care of it so it would last. When it came to food, the same was true. Once he found something he liked, it became a long-term staple. Things like Reese’s Peanut Butter. Nalley’s Sweet Pickle Relish. Bob’s Red Mill Cookies. Chicken Cordon Bleu from the Meat Market. Honey Baked Ham. He saw value in the quality – regardless of price.

Dad grew up in a reserved and stoic era and though he rarely verbalized it or showed outward signs of affection - he loved his family deeply. He may have rarely told us he was proud of us, but we would hear it from others, because he had told someone else about something we had done.

Anybody can read through the facts of his life, but as I’ve been processing over the last few days, I’ve been pondering more about what his legacy is – what were the key traits of his life that have been modeled to his family, passed onto to his grandchildren and great grandchildren, and shared with all of you who knew him? Four key things items rise to the top…
• That hard work ethic. When my sisters and I met with my mom last Friday to view dad’s remains, for some reason I focused on his hands. Even then, you could see that these hands had not led an easy life – and yet he had worked diligently, persistently, consistently to provide for his family.
• The music – the joy that it brought him, the love for it he instilled in all of us, and the joy it brings us today because of it. Later on, as the service closes, you’ll hear one of his favorite Pipe Organ pieces – Bach’s Jig Fugue. This is not a somber piece, a dirge, a piece written to encourage quiet contemplation. It is as Bach intended it to be – a jig. A dance. A celebration of life.
• His deep love and commitment for his family. In just two short weeks, Dad and Mom would have celebrated their 65th Wedding Anniversary. Even in the last few weeks, where conversations came few and far between and the sharpness of mind that was always a trademark was all but gone, he proudly affirmed to one of the nurses’ aides that his 65th anniversary was coming, and named off the date.
• Most of all, his love for Jesus Christ. Of all of the things he could have passed on to us, this was the most important – that he had been redeemed, and was confident in his eternal home. Pastor Mel will talk more about that in just a moment.

In closing, I’ve heard the word bittersweet a great deal over the last few days. Bittersweet is an oxymoron – two words with almost opposite meanings, brought together to form a new word. Yes, losing my dad is definitely bitter – with tears shed, a heavy heart and an overall sense of weariness. And yet, I didn’t really lose him – I know exactly where he is. He is no longer in pain. By God’s grace and mercy, and dad’s belief in Christ, he is breathing in deeply for the first time in years. He is singing praises to God boldly, and maybe even dancing a jig. And that’s the sweetness that counters that bitter."

A Legacy of Music...and Faithfulness

It seems that music has always been a part of my life, and my mom has played a large part in that. Some of my earliest memories revolve around being at church, listening as my mom played for Sunday morning singing, accompanying a choir or soloist, or providing music as the communion or offering was passed. She also taught piano and organ, and that time between school ending and dinner was often filled with mom patiently working with each student; some destined to become fantastic musicians in their own right, others that would rather be anywhere but stuck behind a keyboard.

As a young boy, I always took mom's gift for granted. As I grew older, I paid more attention to the comments others made about her playing. Many commented on her song selections, and how they always seemed to perfectly fit the moment. Music leaders loved her ability to play anything, and shift keys when needed. Soloists and Choir Directors loved her ability to support what they were trying to convey with a great touch of feeling and dynamics. It was said by many that she was their first choice when they needed a piano or organ player.

She did try a few times to teach me to play the piano, but never was able to pass that gift on. When I had the opportunity to learn another instrument, she encouraged me, and took me to pick out my first trumpet. As my skill level grew, she continued to support me. Occasionally after dinner, I'd pull out my horn and she would play. We'd journey through the hymnbook, old favorites and ones that seemed obscure. She'd pull out music from her teaching: pop songs that her students had learned, trumpet solos that I had picked up along the way. We'd play until my lips grew tired.

Once Ginger and I married and our lives moved on, the opportunities to hear mom play were few and far between. She continued to teach for a number of years, and played the piano and organ at a number of churches, continuing to share the gift that God had given her. However, as she and dad's health has declined over the years, the time came for them to move to a place where they could receive more hands-on care. We felt fortunate that we were able to find a place where she could still keep her baby grand piano with her. Soon she was blessing the other residents with her music. One day this past winter, the power went out for a number of hours. She opened the door to her room, and played for a while, letting the music ring up and down the halls - continuing to bless others.

In the last few weeks, her health has brought us to the point where she needs to be in a place where she can receive more specialized and constant care. Sadly, this means leaving the baby grand piano behind. Today, I am meeting with professional piano movers as they pack it up and take it to her church, where hopefully it can continue to be used to bless others as they worship the Lord.

When the day came for mom to transition to her new living space, my sister asked if mom would like to sit down at her piano one last time to play. She hesitated, but then sat down and played one last song from memory...

My apologies for the shakiness of the video, but it's hard to hold your phone steady as the tears roll down your cheeks. Similar those that see their life flash before their eyes in the face of oncoming disaster, a flood of memories washed over me as I watched mom play. Memories of a life using the gifts and talents God had given her, giving them back to him in service. Knowing that my desire to do the same comes in great deal from her. Her quiet way of service to Him has taught me more than a thousand lessons or lectures ever could. Great Is Thy Faithfulness, indeed.

Life is Hard, but God is Good

Life is Hard, But God is Good

We all have troubles. Ask any one person, and there’s bound to be something in their life that troubles them. Jesus basically predicts it in John 16:33: “In this world you will have trouble…”. For some, the troubles may be small and somewhat trivial, easily dealt with during the course of the day. For others, the troubles surround and envelop them as if they were in a leaky lifeboat in the middle of the Pacific; no sign of land, no sign of rescue, no sign of hope. I had a day recently where my own troubles rapidly slid from the manageable level to the swirling level.

Two main issues were the cause of the heaviness I felt, both involving family members. For the most part, I knew my role in dealing with these issues, and was able to process through the emotions of each, offer help where I could be of use, and gave each situation up to God with prayer and the belief that he would carry us through the journey. It was not easy, but I kept telling myself “we all have troubles – I can deal with this”.

One Friday, while at work, I received a call that one of the situations had taken a sharp turn for the worse. I am fortunate that there is a storage room just two steps away from my desk, so I was able to step inside to carry on the conversation and process the news I had been given. I then called my wife to relay the news, and grieve with her. After twenty minutes, I stepped out of the room feeling a bit shaky and emotional. I sat at my desk, feeling numb and at a loss of words. Sitting in silence, I thought “Now what? Where do we go from here?” Suddenly a phrase I had heard many times before popped into my head…

Life is Hard, but God is Good.

 Looking for a way to break through the clouds, I pulled up Google and typed that phrase, longing for a bit of hope and encouragement. The top result? Lamentations 3.

Lamentations is a book that is frequently overlooked. It tells the tale of woe and despair that came after Jerusalem was overrun and destroyed by Babylon. The temples were destroyed, thousands were killed, with the remaining inhabitants taken captive and hauled to Babylon. Chapter three begins with a vivid description of his anguish as he laments over the loss of life, the destruction of God’s temple, and God’s abandonment of his chose people.

I am the one who has seen the afflictions that come from the rod of the Lord’s anger.
He has led me into darkness, shutting out all light.
He has turned his hand against me again and again, all day long.

He has made my skin and flesh grow old. He has broken my bones.
He has besieged and surrounded me with anguish and distress.
He has buried me in a dark place, like those long dead.

 He has walled me in, and I cannot escape.

He has bound me in heavy chains.
And though I cry and shout, he has shut out my prayers.
He has blocked my way with a high stone wall; he has made my road crooked.

He has hidden like a bear or a lion, waiting to attack me.
He has dragged me off the path and torn me in pieces, leaving me helpless and devastated.
He has drawn his bow and made me the target for his arrows.

He shot his arrows deep into my heart.
My own people laugh at me.
All day long they sing their mocking songs.
He has filled me with bitterness and given me a bitter cup of sorrow to drink.

He has made me chew on gravel.
He has rolled me in the dust.
Peace has been stripped away, and I have forgotten what prosperity is.
I cry out, “My splendor is gone! Everything I had hoped for from the Lord is lost!”

The thought of my suffering and homelessness is bitter beyond words.
I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss.

While my troubles in no way equaled his, I could identify with the emotions as I read, especially the last line:

 I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss.

Like a love song that seems trite until you’ve fallen madly in love, this line seemed to sum up my feelings perfectly as I wallowed in the pit of despair. And yet, the next line began to bring that encouragement that I was seeking…

Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this:

In the midst of his despair, he dares to hope. And what is that hope?

The faithful love of the Lord never ends!

His mercies never cease.
Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning.
I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in him!

I read the passage over and over again, struck by the utter chaos and destruction that he had witnessed and the great loss that he felt, and the small but steady beacon that lit his darkness.

Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the Lord never ends!

His mercies never cease.
Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning.
I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in him!

As I mentioned before, John 16:33 says that “In the world you will have trouble…”, but the verse does not end there.

“In the world you will have trouble…but take heart, for I have overcome the world.”

Did this solve my troubles? No, not hardly. One situation is taking a slow and painful journey toward an end I don’t want to see. The other has taken a new turn for the worse. Both still bring a heaviness that can be hard to bear at times, and the subject of many deep conversations at night with Ginger and deep prayers with God. And yet, these words lift me up in those dark times:

Take heart.

Dare to hope.

Life is hard,

But God is good.

   

Those Guys

One of my early posts dealt with a recap of some of my favorite music memories, most dating back 30 years or more. Once I was married and the family started to grow, I tried to keep up with music, but time and opportunities were few and far between. However, as the kids grew and my work schedule allowed me to be in church on Sunday morning, I began participating in the music team. I simply played along with the songs on my trumpet, and at some point added congas to the mix. My experiences with the team could be a whole post by itself, but what it led me to was most likely THE musical highlight of my life – Those Guys.

Those Guys began simply enough. The story begins with John Taylor, a fellow member of the worship team. A neighbor of his was part owner of a wine storage facility in Vancouver called Cellar 55. This was a small warehouse with oak lockers for rent. People would store their wine collections here, with the entire warehouse kept at a nippy 55 degrees. They also had an open area for people to host events. John’s neighbor asked him if he could provide some music for one of these events. John called upon his former brother-in-law and fellow worship team member / guitarist Barry LaDuke to help him, and the two played for a few hours as patrons wined and dined. They had known each other for years, and had played together countless times, but soon ran out of music and started repeating songs. They were a great hit, and were asked to come back again. They knew that they would need to expand their team and song list to fill the time, as well as surviving the chill as they played. They asked Michael Beirwagen (keyboards) and me (trumpet and percussion) to join in. We filled in the hours with everything we could think of – songs from church, songs from John and Barry’s history, or just jamming to a 12 bar blues. We had a great time, as did the crowd.

Attending the festivities that day was Gary and Bonnie Gouger. Gary was a winemaker, and had just opened his own winery (Gouger Cellars) in the Cellar 55 building. To build business, he featured live music during wine tasting events. This included a weekend celebration that was held in conjunction with holidays – Valentines, Memorial Day, Labor Day and Thanksgiving. Gary asked if we would be willing to come play for his next event, which was the Saturday of Valentines Day Weekend. We added Bryan Martindale on bass and Greg Shewbert on drums, also both members of the worship team at church. The gig went well, and we were asked back for Memorial Day. This continued on for a little over two years, during which time we were unofficially known as the Gouger House Band, but more officially came to be known as Those Guys.

While playing the gigs at Gouger, we also stayed true to our roots and looked for ways perform as a worship band. We were able to share our music with Transitional Youth in Downtown Portland, and had an amazing set with Michael Workentine at the LifeChange Program at Union Gospel Mission. We even traveled down to Barry’s hometown of Oakridge, OR to play for a citywide prayer group. We also continued to serve in our home church, either leading worship, playing, and running sound. It was an amazing time – bonding together as a group, both as friends and as musicians.

So what were the highlights of that time?

• Practices – each practice, we would all talk about songs we’d like to play. Some would actually come prepared with music. Other times, we would just listen to the song and start to play along, then after three of four times, we’d turn off the recording and just play. Each guy in the group had a great ear, and we could put together two or three new songs each time we played. It was a great time of learning to listen to each other, to pick out the harmonies, to add little touches that would spice it up.
• Backgrounds – musically, we had all come from different backgrounds – jazz, blues, pop, rock, with a little touch of country, classical, and anything else you could think of. This really shone through in our music, both in the selections and the styles we played in. We mostly stuck to original versions of songs, but loved to tweak them as well. Case in point? The well-known Kansas song “Dust in the Wind”. We played it as an instrumental, and held to the same traditional acoustic treatment as the original. However, as we entered the solo break, we started picking up the intensity, and launched into a Spanish-tinged beat. When it reached its peak, we slowly backed into the familiar acoustic flow that we started with.
• Originals – truth be told, we were mostly a cover band, but John has written a couple of originals that we performed as well. Down the road, Bryan brought in one of his own, and I added a couple as well. It was fun to flesh out these songs into full band format, and share them with everybody
• Special Guests – we loved to invite friends to come and sit in with us and share in the fun. Once they got used to the frigid temperatures, they jumped in and played their hearts out! These included:
• Dave Calhoun – harmonica
• Daniel Crommie – jazz flute (make that amazing jazz flute)
• Amy Hubbard – vocals
• Jean Laduke – vocals
• Barry Andrews – sat in on drums for a whole six hour set!
• Henry Hohn – sat in on bass and keyboards for a six hour set as well – he also has a great jazz background, so we spent time during the breaks playing through some old jazz standards – very fun.
• Karla Harris – my favorite performance as Those Guys was when we asked Karla if she would come sit in with us. We had met Karla when she and her family moved to Portland and began attending our church. We heard early on that she was a good singer, and after hearing her sing a few times, we were blown away with just how good she was – not just good, but world-class good. As word got around Portland of her arrival, she became an in-demand jazz singer throughout the area. We would get to accompany her whenever she sang for church, and it really stretched us out as musicians. John and Barry asked if she’d like to sit in with us for a set at Gouger, and she graciously accepted. We worked with her to pick out a five song set, and then went to work, ensuring that our musicianship was up to playing with someone with her talent. We arrived at the gig, letting Gary and Bonnie know that we were bringing a special guest for part of the day. They didn’t know who she was, but took our word that they wouldn’t be sorry. Karla arrived, and after a few minutes, began the set. Now, normally in this environment, there’s a little chatter that goes on as we play – we’re not there as the stars – we’re just there to provide ambiance. However, when Karla began to sing, the entire room stopped and focused on Karla. I remember the look on Bonnie’s face – utter shock! The next twenty minutes is probably the best that any of us have played together as a group in our lives – it was totally magical – every note in place and in tune. Amazing, amazing, amazing.
• Special numbers – there were a couple of times that we found out that Bonnie liked a song, so we’d take the time to learn it, and then surprise her with it at the next gig.”Smile” by Uncle Cracker was played at their wedding, so we learned and played it for them; the song became part of the regular rotation. I can’t say that our cover of U2’s “With or Without You” was fantastic, but it wasn’t bad. It was just the joy of preparing something special for someone, and watching them as you played it for them. We also added a special 4^th verse to the Georgia Satellites “Keep Your Hands To Yourself”, which featured the protagonist of the song taking his gal to Gouger for a glass of Merlot. That one stayed in the rotation as well.
• Other favorite Those Guys memories?
• Stopping for lunch at the downtown Vancouver Burgerville between the set-up and the gig.
• Mustang Sally – the one song we could pretty much count on audience participation.
• Playing “Besame Mucho” while a pair of trained dancers performed a beautiful rhumba.
• Playing outdoors for a client appreciation dinner – a warm summer evening, with one of those sunsets where the sun is the size of a basketball in sky, and flaming red as it sets – playing Besame Mucho as the clients leaned how to dance the rhumba. We played it for about 20 minutes, and since we finished the song, we went back and just played with the song, different instrumentation, improvising solos over the same rhythm so the dancers could keep moving.
• The first time we performed “It’s Alright” acapella in public – we worked hard on that one, and it came out great

Like any good thing, there is a time to start and a time to end. After two years, three of us in the group were having a difficult time balancing the needs of our families and jobs with the fun we were having in the band, and we stepped away to focus on the these priorities. The remaining three members have gone on to form a new band, “Rockit Scienzz”, which is continuing to play throughout Portland. Those Guys technically aren’t dead and gone – many of us still participate in the Sunday morning worship at church, and we occasionally are able to get together and play for fun. The experiences I had as ‘one of ‘Those Guys’’ will last for a lifetime, as will the friendships formed.