349---I don't belong here

I played a washtub bass today. I have got to get me one of these! 

Love hanging out with Brian and Brianne and Rebecca. Good times and hot soup. I was in the kitchen talking to Brianne about home-buying and across the living room we overhear Brian and Rebecca having the very same conversation.

 So, yeah, about the socks. Keaver and Kat used to joke at rehearsals about naming the group Funky-Socks and the Hotness!

On my left foot, an orange sock with black stripes. On my right foot, a green and brown sock. Not an accident. It's been a while since I wore matching socks. If you catch me wearing matching socks, I've probably procrastinated laundry. 

Here's the story...

My momma did a great job as my home-school instructor. I appreciate that she taught me to treasure the art of learning, which is much more valuable to me than simply learning facts. I took the entrance exam to high school at age 8, and passed it. By the time I graduated from High School at age 13, I was still younger than the freshmen. In the British system they're not called Freshmen. They're Form One students. Sophomores are Form Two and so on up to Form Five. 

I knew when I was 8 that I was designed for music. Even then I knew I had to find a way to follow the muse. My parents really value education. So I told my them that I wanted to go to college in the States.  They said I could go when I finished the highest level of education available on the island. That turned out to be the two year A-level program at IFE (Institute of Further Education). 

So now I'm 15 and there's no higher education at home. Off to Napa Valley, CA, to Pacific Union College. 

While my academic life set off for new shores, my social life remained firmly docked.  I'm told I was an outgoing child, but in this period of academic acceleration, I think I just had no one my age to hang out with. So from about 13 to 20, I just went inside and kept quiet. Didn't really have any friends. All the people in my class were 5 years older--all the people my age were 5 classes behind. 

I remember one day in the college cafeteria considering that human relationship is a subject like anything else. It occurred to me that it can be studied like Chemistry or Biology; it can be learned. There must be rules to this phenomenon and a schema of what works and doesn't. There must be a set of practices that elicit desired responses. I set about to learn this art like any other subject I had tasked my mind to understand. 

I would observe and even take notes. I'd watch how people interacted and see what results they achieved, short-term and long-term. For a while I was too scared to try anything on my own, but I also met some really encouraging people like Charity and Christine and the Graf Girls (if you know them you know, if you don't, never mind) who talked to me even when I had nothing to say in return. 

I was clumsy at first. There was a laughable awkwardness about my early attempts. 

Eventually patterns emerged, understanding began to settle, the skillsets solidified. There came a point I knew how to connect with people deliberately, without manipulations, just a natural expression of curiosity and goodwill. 

 

Today I'm blessed with hundreds, maybe thousands of friends. It's not an escape from intimacy, or a facade of connection. I enjoy a wide range of relationship from casual acquaintance to very deep, close friendship. 

Once upon a time I would have done anything to fit in. Today I weigh choices differently. Now that I have social options, sometimes I choose not to fit in. Fitting in is less important than doing the right thing. 

I wear mismatched socks in solidarity with those who desperately want to fit in, but can't seem to find a crack in the door. I wear mismatched socks to remind me of the days I would have done anything to match. Orange on the left, Green on the right--I fit where I fit. And I don't fit where I don't fit. 

I choose colors at the top of the day with a symbology in mind. Blue, for example, is peace. September 6 I wore purity and peace to Alburn and Kelsy's wedding. 

photo by Alicia Smith

Now my friends support the habit. Jordan mailed me the coolest pair of rainbow colored toe-socks. Thanks, Jordan... Elysabeth, I really loved the blue and black striped ones with the orange toe. 

How does google do that? I'm typing about mis-matched socks and the little sidebar thing brings me this link: http://www.littlemissmatched.com

Here's to misfits. We don't belong here. 

Goodnight, Beautiful...

Goodnight, Strender. 

350---See-through

My waking prayer today:

"Father, please receive my dedication yet again. Receive my life another time. I keep taking it back. I want you to have complete control, I say I'm giving you control, and that lasts a few minutes before I try to take it back again. Forgive me, it's residual. There is still some part of me that thinks I could pilot this thing better than you. There is still some part of me that thinks if I were navigating, I could do all the right things and still have money and power and the woman I crave. And there is still some deceitful part of me that thinks I can give you just enough of me to trick you into giving me all of you, then switch out at the last second. Take all of me, please. We'll probably have to do this again tomorrow, and several more times today. Matthew 6:33 isn't asking me to build your kingdom in exchange for what you supply, but rather in assurance of what you supply. I am not bargaining with you. I'm just going to give you my best and receive what you give with contentment and gratitude. It's not like I could catch up to you. you've already given more than I could comprehend."

Had a one-hour conversation with Tim Sweeney today about ways to build a community of music listeners.  I'm registered for his Music Strategies Workshop next June in Las Vegas. Made a call to Chaplain Sam Leonor hoping I can share some music with Loma Linda University.  

"I Kissed Dating Goodbye," Chapter 4, Counterculture Romance. My friend and I both slacked off on reading over the weekend. I ended up watching spy movies yesterday. Bourne Ultimatum, Eagle Eye, and then about 6 episodes of Alias. 

Came out of seclusion once yesterday, for a walk with Vegas. We met this lovely lady with gorgeous red hair. She said I should attach his leash to a harness instead of a collar so I'm not yanking on his neck all the time. Made sense to me, so I did. Maggie at Tailwaggers was awesome helping us figure out the right size of harness and then showing us how to put it on. 

I'm becoming more and more sensitive to violence and sex onscreen. This is sort of a bummer for me, because I like watching this stuff. It feeds my internal savagery and I like it. As I'm talking with my friend this morning about the effect pornography has on mind and spirit, I articulate that I want to not only remove impurity but install purity, and that's a different set of standards. 

We often think about health as the absence of sickness. But health is its own condition. There is a level of purity above "not dirty."  You know what, that's why I don't want to be transparent. If I just think these thoughts privately, no one needs to know that I hold myself to these standards. And when I mess up, I can pretend to be jaded and act like I'm ok with my choices. But if I say it out loud,  people will know when I mess up, when I've disappointed my own standards. It's socially cool to be "not impure." It's not socially cool to be pure.

Will this journey take away every thing I enjoy? Am I gonna find myself a year from now, sitting on a rough-hewn board in a backwoods cabin, chewing raw barley, watching Veggie-Tales? For whatever I lay down, what will I pick up in its stead? Do I get to keep Lord of the Rings? Harry Potter?

Is this just for a season, is it just for this year, or for after that as well? Maybe after living this way a year, I won't have the desire to come back? Am I turning into the Christian I used to make fun of? I think I am. 

Also did a photo-shoot today. Leslie Foster, Photographer.  Julia Alty, Hand Model. It's the shot for "Road Trip," the next single coming out. This song has had so many titles already. Today I was looking at the images Les shot and I'm thinking "The Border?" Maybe this song will just have a different title every so often and that's ok.

We planned to have it out by November first. Might happen, might not. Death visited our family and one of us has to go home and say goodbye to a loved one.  I could go ahead and finish the song on my own--it's far enough along. But I'd rather wait and finish with my team. I don't know--just seems like what I want to do. 

Now I'm going to get food. It's one of my weakest links, not feeding myself. I was doing so well, Cathy would have been proud. Last couple weeks I'm severely slacking. 

What do funky-colored socks have to do with home-schooling? I'll tell you about that tomorrow.

Goodnight, Beautiful

Goodnight, Strender...

351---The Bear

The Bear

Once upon a time, a brave knight set upon a quest to win the heart of his true love. He climbed aboard the valiant green steed Mercury Villager and rode from the fair kingdom of Sheridan toward the faraway southern desert

Long, lonely nights, hot tiring days he pursued his quarry, never once forgetting his promise to lady Marie: “I will bring you a bear, a most fearsome and elusive creature, the likes of which no legend can tell.”

Be at peace, dear lady. I am that bear. 

He did not best me by force of strength

Not by weight of wisdom or will

Not by wit am I persuaded 

He used a weapon so cunning, I was powerless to resist. On his back he carries a guitar, in appearance similar to any other. 

The knight, it seems, once carried a broken heart.

As he wandered the desert of Los Angeles, he came upon a wise one who told him of the deep magic. “If you would heal your heart, it must be given to someone who needs it more than you.” 

“But I love only one,” he said. “How can I give my heart to anyone else?” 

Here the knight’s cunning is best revealed. He took his heart, still beating, from his chest and placed it inside his guitar.

“For,” said he, “a love so big must needs be shared with everyone. And since I cannot give it to the one I love, it will be my gift to all the world.” 

 I bring you tidings of the dark knight. He travels the world, spreading love and peace to all, wielding his guitar with skill and grace and fierce determination. 

Peace be with you, dear lady of the Ronde.

Goodnight, Beautiful...

Goodnight, Strender.

352---Fortress

I heard the sounds before my eyes opened. Horse hooves thundering. Steel on steel, men shouting.

When I came to, the bleeding had stopped. I couldn't see clearly; lingering haze muffled both light and sound. When I could see, I was surprised at how close the battle raged. The sound seemed further away, like slow motion under water. 

Battle has a smell. Bravery. Fear. Uncertainty mixed with Faith. 

I was leaning back against something. I've never felt so calm. 

As my mind cleared, I noticed his arm around me. Right arm. Sword arm. 

Sword arm!

That's it!! 

That's where I've seen that sword before. 

It lay a few feet away on the grass, glittering, fierce, majestic as it has ever been. 

Beyond the shade of the huge tree, his horse grazed quietly, not the least bothered by the dust and yelling up the hill. It was as if this sort of thing happened everyday. 

I didn't recognize the tree. It's roots rose above ground like walls that blocked my vision on both sides.  The trunk was behind us, a fortress rising to heaven. 

I couldn't turn. All I could see was directly in front of me, and about 45 degrees to either side. 

I tried to move, straining against my limbs. A few times I tried, until he said... 

"rest."

I knew that voice. 

I couldn't see him. 

It couldn't be, Him? 

I'd only ever seen that horse charging. I'd only ever seen that sword flashing. I'd only ever heard that voice commanding; its tone calls the very elements to submission. 

Words formed in my mind...

I'd seen him on his horse, riding to war. Nothing stood in His way. Something in me always wanted to ride after such a mighty King, such a fearless warrior, this ruler who destroys enemies with the force of his speaking. 

Words formed in my mind...

I remembered the hit. Saw it coming. Never had a chance. I thought I would have died,  I'd even hoped I would. A wound like this is supposed to be fatal. I remember falling, desperation. I remember thinking, "if the fall doesn't kill me, I'll get trampled in the stampede." 

I recognized other soldiers rushing past, intent on following Him. 

All I could think was to whisper his name. Now that's downright stupid. You couldn't hear a herd of trumpets in all this noise. And besides, He was at the head of the column, leading the army to victory. What did I expect? Did I expect him to stop the battle because I had fallen? Because I had whispered? 

I wished I had done him proud. I wished I could have met him. He'd been my hero since I could remember. I wished I could have done more, been more. Maybe someone will tell Him for me. I wonder if anyone knows how much I wanted to be like Him.

How did He hear me? How did He get to me? How did I get here, leaning against his chest, his back against the tree, his sword arm holding me up?

The words formed in my mind...

Somehow I knew the fight wouldn't reach us. The force of His presence prohibited entry. Not only would they not come near, they could not. 

Gradually, movement returned from slow motion to normal, but there was no hurry in the moment. I could stay as long as it took to heal. I knew that I would ride again. My horse had come down the hill to graze beside his. 

I wanted to see His face. They say his eyes are like fire. They say his eyes are the most terrible dismay of His enemies, and the most tender, loving embrace to His friends. 

I tried to turn my head, but I couldn't move.

"rest, Len"

He knew my name? How is that possible?

The words formed in my mind a fourth time, not passing and half-shapen like before, but clear and familiar, and solid. 

"My Captain fights for me" 

Emblazoned upon my memory, assurance you cannot steal:

"My Captain fights for me"

~.~

The scene described above passed in entirety before my mind for about 30 seconds in the winter of 2005, two weeks after my divorce. I saw it one time that day.  I saw it again about 3 times (I have a really horrible memory) in the next week and then I haven't ever seen it again. 

~.~

I rose from that moment assured that He knows my name and my pain.

Whereas I had only ever seen him with a sword in His hand, that same hand was over my heart as he held me frozen in time. Years later I would return to battle and realize no time had passed. 

He wasn't holding a sword--He was holding me. This was my first understanding of Tenderness as a weapon. In matters of extreme need, he set aside his sword, reached for me with Tenderness, and held me until I knew in every echo in every corner of my broken heart...

"My Captain fights for me"

Goodnight, Beautiful...

Goodnight, Strender.

353---Ebenezer

God is silent with me right now. It's been my experience that silence is either a test or He's waiting for me to complete the last assignment. So then I search my memory for what that last instruction was. What does it mean to you when God is silent?

I am notoriously absentminded. That's why I write things down. My journal reminds me what I heard and what I said. That's crucially important to me in the silent times. That's when my mind plays tricks and I begin to wonder if I really did hear something or did I just make it up? 

Faith keeps a record.

Come Thou Fount, great tune. Second verse...Here I raise my Ebenezer.  Here I raise my memory of what the Lord has done.  As Morpheus would say, we are here not because of the road that lies ahead, but because of the road that lies behind. 

Faith builds a monument. 

'Cause eventually the lights will go out. And the voices will quiet. And what's left is the evidence of things not seen. 

These songs are my Ebenezer. They chronicle my encounters with Divine. Many of us do this. Isaac Sturtevant is a brilliant musician. I hold this man in high esteem. Here's a bit off his latest cd jacket: "...So ya, this music is pretty much my journal. Actually, I don't even keep a journal, just this music."

This is, frankly, an inconvenient time for God to be silent. In 81 days (who's counting?) I'm leaving my job and moving somewhere. I don't know where. And when I get there, I also don't know what I'll be doing. 

There's a new life coming at me, that much is obvious. And it's pretty exciting. Always been a person who knew what I wanted. I've heard people say they would do whatever they wanted if only they knew what that was. Do they really not know? Is it just easier to avoid disappointment by saying we want nothing?

I've worked hard at life. I'm not a lazy person, and this isn't some whimsical jaunt to find myself. But for all this working there are questions I haven't faced, some I haven't asked, some I don't know to ask. I don't know what I don't know.

It's been painful watching people process my decision to go. Some pull away now to protect themselves from the pain when I leave. It's like depreciating the cost of a copy machine or something. If they let me go, starting now, and spread it over 3 months, it will hurt less for them. Or maybe it will hurt just as much but not all at once. 

Meanwhile, I'm feeling a couple hundred people withdraw at the same time, even if only a little bit; it's still a little bit times a couple hundred. It's the sort of thing you notice. 

I understand it. At the bottomline, it's because they love me and are hurt that I have to go. 

Have to?  Really?

Yes, I have to.  

Suzanne wrote a quote on the wall one time about not going to the grave with life left un-lived in her veins. There's something so Dead-Poets-Society about that. Somewhere out there, my barbaric yawp awaits. 

Goodnight, Beautiful...

Goodnight, Strender.

354---Harbor

"I Kissed Dating Goodbye." Author Joshua Harris. Chapter 1. 

Reading it with a friend. We're supposed to finish the first two chapters and then talk about it tomorrow. 

My mom said yesterday, "It seems like you want to hide yourself away." 

I responded, "yes, I do."

I've often quoted, a ship in the harbor is safe, but that's not what ships are for. At this stage, harbor sounds just fine to me. 

Matthew 6:33 has been ringing in my spirit lately. Seek God's Kingdom first. Before you do anything else, try to find God's Kingdom. This intrigues me. What does it mean?

According to Jazmin Miller, it means complete submission to God to be used solely for His purposes. She tells an amazing story of the inspiration for her one-woman show, "The Journey of Truth." 

This intelligent, articulate beauty says God told her not to pursue a career in the modeling industry, a command to which she submitted, a submission that was tested within 24 hours by an invitation from one of the casting directors of America's Next Top Model. 

I've been hearing a version of the gospel that says, seek the Kingdom, and God will give you what you want. Let me get this straight, Jazzy, are you saying instead, "seek the Kingdom, and God will give you what He wants?" 

When you have the opportunity, go see Ms. Miller in her portrayal of Sojourner Truth.  

Click here for show schedule.

Goodnight, Beautiful...

Goodnight, Strender.

355---Taking a walk

Two years ago when Ryan asked me to lead the church in worship, I was hesitant.

Just because I enjoy worship doesn't mean I want to lead people. I'm perfectly content sitting or standing in the back with my hands outstretched and my eyes closed, having a private God-moment in public. 

There's a difference between singing and leading songs. 

There's a difference between leading songs and worshiping. 

There's a difference between worshiping and leading worship. 

I asked Ryan not to call me the Worship Leader; Lead Worshiper seems more attainable. Either way, it disrupts my worship experience. I don't get to close my eyes and just be with God. I don't get to drift away and bask. I have to keep at least one eye open and think about how to invite someone else into the experience. It's not enough to sing well or even to experience the power and presence of God. The assignment is to lead people into His presence, invite them to be immersed in His power and changed by it. 

 

I didn't care enough to do that. I'm sorry. Guys, I'm really trying to love you the best I know how. I want good things for you. I want you to feel what I feel when I close my eyes and go away. At the end of the worship time, there's a moment when my spirit returns to my body. It's almost like waking up. Sometimes I even wake up wondering "what are all these people doing here?"

I woke up 12 minutes ago from an inadequate night of sleep. My sleep has been troubled for the past few years. I'm the kid who could sleep through anything. Now I fall asleep just fine, as anyone who's watched movies with me can tell you. I fall asleep, but I don't stay asleep. I bring it up because I just read an article about depression on my DivorceCare daily email. It's about disturbed sleep patterns. 

Even though I begin this blog when I wake up, it posts every evening at 11pm. The symbolism for me is that it's the final hour before a new day. Pilgrim asked me what that means. It means I think there is about to be a significant shift in my life, and also I think the world is heading for midnight. 

Back to the worship conversation. In submitting to the call of leading worship, I accepted the responsibility to invite. After all, he who leads and no one follows is simply taking a walk. If worship is supposed to change me, will it make me more of an inviter? Am I becoming a new creature? 

These last few days it's on my heart to not just experience worship in the presence of the community, but to invite the community into that experience for themselves. That's going to require a new skillset. I know how to jump into things. I don't know how to get people to jump in with me. 

OK, that's not entirely true. I know how to get people to jump in--I just lack the compassion. Will this be the story of my life, a man who adventured, but alone?

I'm leading worship at Hollywood Adventist in 3 days. I'm going to invite a community to worship with me. 'Cause if I'm gonna worship alone, then I'm not a worship leader. Let me go to the mountains and sing to the trees. 

O my Lord, please help me. 

Goodnight, Beautiful...

Goodnight, Strender.

356---What are my options?

If I go home to Grenada, I'll have a house and land. I can build a comfortable life and establish a reasonable level of security. And I'd be with my family. 

Yesterday another friend here in the states offered to let me live at his house rent-free for a year and just focus on making music. It's a tempting offer. I was so sure I had narrowed down the options and now they're widening again. 

There are so many options in today's world. Today while John was fixing the internet connection at the office, we needed a 5-port Ethernet switch. Type that in google search and you come up with all kinds of options. 

A few years ago, I was listening to a Chris Rock comedy special. He was hilarious. He was cracking me up. Dude had me rollin'

Then he said it. He was on a roll and then he went and said it. 

"A man is only as faithful as his options."

Wait, hold up. Stop the car. Not funny. Not funny at all. 

I quit laughing. I knew I'd just encountered truth in the raw. Took me a half-day to admit why his words pissed me off so much: It wasn't just true...it was true about me. 

I've struggled with Lust since my teen years. I was about 33 when I received those serious words from a funny man. It put something in perspective for me. Lust is a form of Greed. 

You may not, but I believe in the one-man-one-woman ideal. Lust is wanting more than my portion. I hear it's natural for a man to want more. It's just part of being a man. It's in our nature. In fact, the way I hear it, it's more manly the greater your greed. We don't say it that way, but the more options a man collects, the more respect we afford him.

And let's face it, it's great to have options among women. Why? Cause when this one is crying for no fathomable reason, I got options. Cause when this one is mad at me for not keeping my word, I got options. When I'm bored with this one, I've got options.  I'm not stuck. I don't have to rely on relationship. I can take care of myself. 

I can fantasize my way to self-sufficiency. At the heart of it, collecting options is my way of saving for a rainy day, of preparing for the end of abundance, of not trusting Papa to provide. 

 Options are the enemy of choice. Confounded by options, I lost hold of the real, and, for not choosing one, chose all, receiving none. 

I don't need 17 ethernet switches, or printouts of the other 16, just the right one. That's the one John picked. I trust John because he knows computers.

In a sea of counterfeit, there is one real option. When it comes to it, even the right woman is not my portion. God is my portion. I raise my hand to the Almighty. Whatever He gives me, that is my portion. 

Today it is clear that this year is about deeper education in worship. I observe the convergence of worship leaders to one location and recognize my portion among the options. There's a rainy day coming. 

An opportunity is not a reason. "Just 'cause I can steer a car with my feet don't make it a good idea"--that's Chris Rock, too.  There is a place I'm drawn to dwell. The options narrow to one.

Matthew 4:8-10 ...So then the devil takes Jesus to an elevated location and shows him options. "You can have them all." ...Jesus says to him, "you better pack up. I'm gonna worship."  

Obedience is better than options.

Goodnight, Beautiful...

Goodnight, Strender.

357---Babies and Washtubs

Spent a couple hours with Keaver yesterday. She just got back from Atlanta, performing music from her new album, LullaBaby.  Inspirational Children's Lullaby Collection. 

She told me about a young girl she met at this event, traded in sex traffic since age 12, finally able to find escape that life at age 16 with the assistance of of Living Water and GEMS (Girls Educational and Mentoring Services). 

I listened, saddened, wanting to be horrified, but numb instead. How do we do these things to one another? Why are humans so inhumane? How can we treat our daughters and sisters this way? How do I ignore these things? 

As I listened to the story Keaver told me, I flashed back to page 38 of Redeeming Love, by Francine Rivers. I remember how important it was to Tanja that I encounter that story. That came at a time I felt the Lord had instructed me to re-read the book of Hosea, which I did, and had just completed when Tanja presented this book to me as a gift. I cried my way through the last page. 

You know its funny how things just happen. I love the saying that Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous. Carlos, one of the valets at the sports bar across the street, bought me lunch today at a Columbian restaurant on Melrose. It was so good. It was sooooo good.  

I haven't known Carlos very long--just a few months. As we talked, I learned that he's currently doing exactly what I'm planning. He left a good stable, practical job with a reputable bank, to live his life simply. I admire a man who takes chances like that. What is there to lose, really? If I'm wrong about this, I can always do something practical again. If I don't do this now, by the time I get the nerve, I'll have lost the energy. 

Speaking of energy, did the Tabata workout again today and finished it, thank you very much. Hurting, but finished. Can't walk straight, but finished.  Loving the satisfaction. I'm gonna get to the point where I can do this easily and add more reps to the workout. I'm gonna push myself and see how far I can go. 

Today my mom emailed me this: Promise me that you will look for a job that will give you the means to live comfortably . It hurts to think that you are so lonely and then to wonder how your needs are being met. You can spend evenings and weekends with the music. I am sure God has something speciaL FOR YOU TO DO with all the other abilities and gifts He gave you.

My mom loves me. I know it hurts her to watch me apparently flounder. And even my most heart-felt assurance that I choose this road in full view of the possible consequences...well, let's be real, that does nothing to ease a mother's pain at watching her son's discomfort. 

I think the music in me is coming from somewhere else. I'm just the vessel that gets to house it, but my charge as steward is to get it out of me. I don't worry about what happens to it after that. Maybe no one wants to hear what I've been given to say, but I'm going to say it.

This morning someone offered me to stay with their family and live rent-free for a year and simply work on music there. I had narrowed my options for moving and now they seem to be widening again. Where shall I go? What best serves my prime directive?

These last six months or so, I've been really enjoying my new friend Brian Lauritzen, radio producer, Cellist. He and his wife have undertaken the antidote to my horrible lack of culture. Which is how we came to sit in a 4 by 4 box at Hollywood Bowl a few weeks ago, mesmerized by Jean Thibaudet playing Liszt along with the Los Angeles Philharmonic. 

They'll be taking me to the Disney Concert Hall downtown soon and I can't wait. I'm told the acoustics in there are amazing. You really might hear a pin drop, if anyone happens to drop a pin. So far my only experiences of that space are admiring the architecture from outside as I drive by, and the scenes of it in the movie The Soloist. Great movie. I was sad the rest of the day from watching that. Come to think of it, I was sad the rest of the weekend. 

So, logically, and by way of punctuation between classical ventures, Brian and Brianne just made a washtub bass inspired by the bluegrass band they saw at Pike's Peak in Seattle about a month ago. There are pictures of the washtub birth on Brian's Facebook. 

For the record, Thibaudet also had a red sock phase. Look mom, I'm getting cultured. 

I'll tell you about the sock thing soon.

Goodnight, Beautiful...

Goodnight, Strender.

358--- To be or not to be

I don't exist on Sundays. I turn off my phone and my computer and my schedule, and we all know that without schedules none of us exist.  

I stay in bed late. Do whatever the day brings. Sometimes I make it to the end of the day without changing out of my pjs. 

 

Some Sundays I hang out with Sean and make pancakes and potatoes and eggs, and then we sit around and watch Looney Tunes with MariaNoel and her family. 

It's a TV day. I don't watch TV much. For a few years I didn't watch any at all. Recently I found out about TV on DVD, and online. Hmmmmmm....

I found out I don't like cliffhangers. I hate having to wait to see what's going to happen next. TV on DVD solves that problem. I won't watch a show that's not finished yet. I hear "Lost" is really good, but I'm gonna wait until the show is all done before I start watching it. Alburn and Kelsy turned me on to "BattleStar Galactica" earlier this year. That was the jam--borderline addiction. How many late nights was I up watching one more episode, then one more? 

I don't have any TV lined up for today. I'm just gonna hang out at Lucy's. She's having a backyard potluck and guava harvesting. She's even got Gandoles, what we call pigeon-peas back home. I love to garden. It's a memory from childhood. 

Corn was my favorite. I used to rush outside in the morning to see if the corn had sprouted yet. 

Nothing beats picking the ripe ears and starting a charcoal fire on the front porch to roast corn with the family. 

I love growing tomatoes, too. I just helped Penny can tomatoes a couple weeks ago. That was a blast. Even made some of my tomato soup for her and Jim. I only make that for people I really love. It's a mark of relationship. If I haven't made that soup for you yet, we're not that serious. 

Wow, I act like I came up with this recipe. I didn't. Jesse's mom made it while we were on a video shoot. My very first music video about 10 years ago with Jesse Griffith, director. His mom fed us that soup and I just had to have the recipe. Now look at me lording it over people with my special soup. 

I love putting my hands in the dirt. I love the magic of putting a seed in the ground, knowing the next time I see it, it will have died and been resurrected as something even more impressive. I love that the elements work together to compile the goodness of earth into these convenient care packages.

Sunday is for TV and gardening... 

Sunday I don't exist... 

Everyday should be Sunday...

So say we all...

Goodnight, Beautiful...

Goodnight, Strender.

359---Road Trip

I think of that time driving to Phoenix to share music at Thunderbird Adventist Academy. Listening to David Crowder off Scott's Ipod, and those two girls with the sweet Hebrew reggae harmonies. What was their name? I love their music. 

That was the trip I met Nichole, and Dexter, and Kaitlin, and Kim, and Warren and Isaiah. That's something I love about road trips--you meet more of the amazing people that fill this world. It's like finding money you didn't even know you had. 

This song began on a different trip, 2001, solo travel, the 17-hour drive from Los Angeles to my favorite part of Oregon. 

I just love the majesty of snow-capped Mt. Shasta going by on my right. There's an excitement that surges through me as I drive past the sign that lets me know I'm now in Oregon and I'm welcome here. I love the gradual encroach of greenery until all desert memories recede and I am enveloped in the lushness of Rogue valley. 

I don't know why my mind went there, but it occurred to me: what if there was a state called Compromise? Ever since I was a kid, I hear people talking about the state of compromise. Suppose I was on a Road Trip and went past a sign that said "Compromise Welcomes You!"

I was in a great mood. I'd been listening to music the last 12 hours and basking in the anticipation of new environments. If I was entering the State of Compromise, I'd probably drive right past the sign and not even notice with my tunes cranked and my mood so light.

I'm thinking of the choices I've made along my life journey. Some of them, many of them, are not choices I justify. I plead the grace God affords each of us, but I certainly won't try to make a case for lust and greed in any of their subtle or other guises.  

Thing is, I didn't set out for that destination.  Wrong turn somewhere.  I thought I was following the map. I must have gotten distracted and somehow ended up in the wrong place. 

It was a passing thought. I noted it as a 'maybe' idea for a song, and went back to enjoying the journey home. The song downloaded a little at a time over the year that followed. I initially titled it "State of Compromise." Then "Welcome Sign," then finally "Road Trip."

I have a different relationship with each song. Catching this one was like reeling in a fish. It's funny that I use the analogy, since I've never gone fishing. It's just that this one was beyond my reach for a while, now closer, now far, until finally with a fair bit of exhaustion, I was ready to invite the other musicians in. 

On this one, Young Professor on the drums. He plays some good stuff on this track--some o' that good 'n tasty. I've heard a piano track from his Boston keyboard guy--haven't heard the organ track yet. Dan Pearson on upright bass. Still putting it together. I was thinking of having a little mandolin, but I don't know. We're working on getting it out by November 1st.

I thought about what it means to be a citizen of the state of compromise. I wondered how many of us end up there by accident. I wandered what state propaganda we might have believed. You know, those tourism brochures always photograph the state from it's best side. 

I see the scenery changing as I drive by. I find more and more gray areas, less and fewer convictions. I wonder what we stand for, and how we decided. 

I hear how important it is to keep an open mind. I hear how dangerously intolerant it is to maintain standards. I hear us waxing eloquent in philosophical discourse on the cultural relevance of the Bible in today's society. I hear it's every person's prerogative to distill their own truth.  

I remember the kingdom where my citizenship resides, but only faintly, as a whisper in the fog. How does one exit the state of compromise? Will googlemaps plot me a course for home? 

I compromise all day, every day. One simply cannot enjoy the fullness of relationship without meeting in the middle on matters of taste and color. But there are some things I won't mix. Not anymore. I've chosen a map. I believe in absolutes. 

Here's the lyric:

I dreamed I took a ride

Upon a road 

It was paved with good intention

Over a mountain made of circumstances 

Through a valley called Decision

I came upon a border

Seemed to me it was a line of separation

And there a sign that bore these words of warning

In flaming gold inscription:

We are not sure what we believe

But we are glad that you've come

If you brought principles, please check them at the gate

And welcome to the State of Compromise

You are leaving what is real for whatever feels nice. 

We might be a little wrong or just a little right 

But welcome to the State of Compromise

There are no absolutes

And if there were

Well only God could really know

But living here you'll quickly learn

That anything goes

Thou shalt not murder means thou shalt not make thy brother dead

But it's alright to tear him down with hurtful words instead

We are not sure what we believe

But we are glad that you've come

If you brought principles, please check them at the gate

And welcome to the State of Compromise

You are leaving what is real for whatever feels nice. 

We might be a little wrong or just a little right 

But welcome to the State of Compromise

Goodnight, Beautiful...

Goodnight, Strender.

360---Technology

I love what's possible with technology. 

Me and the Daves are working on a song called Road Trip. David Cowan, producer, drummer. David Williams, Engineer, Guitarist, Mandolin...ist? 

On Smoke and Alcohol, the song we just finished at the beginning of September, there was this killer harmonica player. That dude blows a fierce harp! 

Some of you know that back in June I was seriously too tired in my spirit to play music and wasn't even trying to think about recording anything. David Cowan, AKA  The Young Professor (YP) really stepped up for me. He kinda got me back on my feet and having fun. 

So while we're planning for recording that song, he's like, 

"this should have a harmonica in it."

And I'm like, "cool, I don't know any players."

So YP is like, "don't sweat it, I got a dude for this"

July 19th at the studio I met Jimmy Powers for the first time. This guy can blow his face off. I mean, for real. I didn't even know a harmonica could do what he makes it do. And the nicest guy you could ever want to meet. I really enjoyed him. 

Score one for the YP. 

But now we go further afield. Which brings me back to what I was saying about technology. 

YP is in Japan. He's been there a couple months, playing gigs, being on radio shows, learning Shamisen. You know, regular stuff. 

Well the goal we've set for completing the next song, Road Trip, is November 1st. So we've been working on it even while he's over there. The other night at midnight here (3pm in Japan) I'm on Ichat with him planning how to get the keyboard tracks for this song from Andrew, who lives in Boston. I love it! Another musician I haven't met, but I trust he's good if YP says he's good, and I'm on Ichat to Japan figuring out how to get music files from Boston so I can take them to Dave at the studio on Melrose. 

Next up, I gotta figure out how to use my external hard drive to keep these files. I'm gonna be learning some crazy stuff this year, right? Bring it. 

So yeah, about this song Road Trip, I'll tell you about that tomorrow. 

Goodnight, Beautiful...

Goodnight, Strender. 

361---Faith and Journalism

"I know without a doubt in my mind that God will reward you greatly with a woman that will surpass all your wildest expectations. She will blow you away, walk the path with you, and honor you as a Godly man.  Prepare yourself for her, learn what God will teach you about love, and look forward to the day...."

That's a quote from a friend who wanted to go on record as having made that prediction. He knows how lonely I am and wants to reassure me that the Lord will provide a companion. 

I have faith in my Father to meet my needs. I guess this is as good a time as any to explain my choice. I chose to wait for my wife in full knowledge she may never come back, and I've made peace with being alone for the rest of my life. 

I know I'm free to go. I get it. God told me that years ago at the beginning of this conversation. 

There are a couple different ways of questioning in regards to divorce and reconciliation. One is, what is the least I have to do? Translation, what can I get away with? What's my minimum? When have I fulfilled the requirements of law? When am I done, free to go?

There's another line of questions we might pursue, one we choose less often. What is the most that I could do? Translation, what would make my Father smile? What would represent Him best?  What's my maximum? How far can I go? Free to go, also means free to stay. 

If Jesus had asked the first set of questions, we'd all be screwed. 

Choice. He chose to stay. 

I chose to stay, to hope for reconciliation. My reason isn't an idealistic, romanticized ignorance of reality. This is what I believe marriage to be--a commitment that lasts as long as life. No matter what. Unconditionally. 

Over 50% of marriages in the US are ending in divorce anyway. And I wonder if we're asking the right questions. 

I hear Christians raising our voices about the terms and definitions of marriage. We want to protect this sacred institution from being usurped. We band together with printed banners decrying what we know marriage is not. I would agree, but I am not worthy to raise my voice. I am still being taught what marriage is. 

I believe God is preparing me to be a better husband. I believe I will have a loving wife, just like the one described in my friend's prediction. There's just a slight catch. I'm already married. The only woman I would believe God sent me is the woman I'm already committed to. 

To this another friend responds, 

"but you're limiting God." 

Seems to me that we replace the impossible with a more likely outcome because we're afraid to believe He can do impossible things. So it would seem easier to just pick someone else and start over. But isn't that limiting God? Isn't that our own limited belief causing us to rush in and help Him? Give Him something easier than impossible to work on? I mean, we all know dead means dead. Maybe we should find someone more compatible for Him to perform the miracle on.  

Here's the thing. To believe that Jesus actually died and was raised to life, is to believe an impossibility. It's flat out impossible to reverse death. But if, and I say IF, if I believe that it actually happened, then why should I have trouble believing this same God can be trusted at His promise to restore a dead marriage? 

I know He can, and if He chooses to, great. If He does not, I'm not going to pretend it isn't what I wanted. And I'm not going to say He didn't promise or that it was all in my imagination. All that would accomplish is a clearer shot at the ever-desirable happy ending. I'm looking for real, and I'll take happy too, if it comes. But I won't sacrifice real to get happy. 

To report a thing that's already happened is an act of journalism. To report a thing that is not yet done is an act of faith. I believe He asked me to speak it now, before my eyes can see it, so that this impossible thing will be known as His doing. 

Even as I type this I'm in conversation with a rejected husband who is about to throw in the towel. I have nothing to say but that I pray healing for your heart and strength for your spirit, my brother, my friend. It's a lonely road, and painful. I don't wish it on anyone. 

My dear friend, I am so grateful for your offering of goodwill. I know my pain hurts people who care about me. I am sorry for making a choice that perpetuates that. But there is more at stake here than our comfort. 

Please consider that I've valued the cost, and I'll pay, as the Lord strengthens me and gives grace. 

Nobody made me take the red pill. I chose my questions. 

This year is about something different. Let's talk about music. Music seems to be where the Captain is taking me next..

Goodnight, Beautiful...

Goodnight, Strender.

362--Another Shot

Adam teaches PE at a local school. Today I joined his class for a Tabata workout from 2pm to 2:24.  Crazy intense workout. I made it to 2:13. 

When my vision started whiting out I figured it was a good stopping point. I could not pick my head up off the table. Meanwhile the rest of the class just carried on without me. This is not good for male ego. 

Earlier this morning I posted on Facebook: I want another shot at that...

That post was several hours before the workout, but it's seems like a theme for today. 

Dana asked me what the post was about. 

"Another shot at what?" 

I said, "whatever I missed." 

She said, "that could take a while." 

I said, "yeah"

Ever want a do-over? I would love a do-over on a few things. Sometimes you think, I could do that better. I can do that with more style. Well, what's stopping you?

I've been trying to capture a sound that I hear in my head and I've not been able to get it out and hear it in the "real"world. Not for lack of trying.  Not for lack of failing. 

We're getting close now. I can feel it. I've been saying that for years. I know my wife got tired of hearing me say it would happen any minute now. Any minute now I'm going to create a masterpiece of art that the whole world will love and they'll all buy two each, one for them and one for a friend.  

I keep thinking of Thomas Edison working toward success with that light bulb. Failure after failure, still he tries again. What is that? Is that passion? Obsession? What drives a person to keep on taking another shot? How many times am I willing to fail, for a taste of success? Are we still talking about music?

There's a tattoo on my right shoulder, a quarter note. I got it over 10 years ago, the day I promised myself I'd follow the music wherever it goes. Suzanne made me get it, actually. Her idea. See how she corrupted me? 

Just released a single two weeks ago. We're getting closer. It's starting to sound like I hear in my head. It's simple and bluesy and kind of dusty, like walking home across the desert. 

Sooner or later, I might upset you. Sooner or later, I might let you down. But I'm going to keep trying. I don't know why. 

Tomorrow, at 2pm, I am going to that Tabata class and I am going to...

well, I'm gonna try not to pass out. 

Don't worry--there's still Friday. I'll get another shot at it. 

Good night, Beautiful...

Good night, Strender.