God Winks for Music Too

I am a lover of music, all kinds of music.  That's a broad term:  music.  There are sooo many styles, so many genres.  When I mention the word music, however, even in its broadest definition the terms rap and heavy metal are not included.  Not in my broadest definition.  

My music proclivities were diverse from the time I was six years old.  Even now, vivid are my memories of the first classical (a term loosely used here) pieces, among them being  March from The Love of Three Oranges by Prokofiev.   Mary Ellen Owen, my first grade music teacher, will always have a special place in my heart for introducing me to that world of music.  

But not only classical, but jazz, sacred, gospel, popular, Broadway, and more, including mine, a hybrid, mixed-bag of all of the above, music is my drug of choice.  So, where am I going with this?  Well . . . right here:

A lifetime ago when I made large bucks, I had a season subscription to the Houston Grand Opera (another reason Fall is my favorite season of the year) -- a nice orchestra seat, smack dab in the middle of the row.  Facing the necessity of trimming expenditures, my last opera season was 2002-2003.  Since then, it has been hit or miss, and mostly miss.   Still, I am on the HGO's mailing list.  It was a routine matter for me to receive a postcard in my post office box a few days ago, advertising, this time, La Boheme.  Conversation with self:

Man, I wish I could go.  Maybe if I brownbag it I can divert some walking around money and get a decent seat.

Yeah, you could do that, and maybe plant some stash at Gordon's office if you're gonna be there a lot; then you could avoid ordering food to be delivered.

Yeah, I can do that.  

Then, just a few days ago, it became clear that my work station was on its last leg (it's last boot[-up]?).  Next conversation with self:

Well, there goes the opera.

Are you sure?  Can't you just go anyway and deal with the computer later?

Are you kidding?  Next to a vehicle, that computer is a significant work tool!  How're you gonna make a dollar without working technology?  Huh?

So, the decision is made to be an adult (again??) and do the responsible thing (again???).  Yep.  After many hours of hand-wringing a computer is ordered.  Unlike the last time technology purchases were made, there was no air of excitement, just resignation.  It had to be done.  :(

Then, a conversation with my Sweet Pea (Daughter) this afternoon.

The phone rings; it is Sweet Pea.

Hey, Babe.

Hey, Ma.

What's up Sweetie?

Ma, I've got something for you.  What're you doing on the 27th?  [Note to self:  Warning . . . warning . . do you hear that sense of urgency in her voice?]

I don't know, Babe, let me look at my calendar.  Oh . . . I'll be at the United Health Care store on the Southwest Freeway.

What time, Ma?  [Warning . . . warning . . . a tad more intensity here.]

From 9 to 3.

Then what, Ma?

[At this point I'm asking myself:  what is she up to NOW?]

Oh, nothing, Babe.  What's up?  [Admittedly, at this point I'm getting a little wary.  Sweet Pea has a history of pulling stuff . . .nothing bad . . . or negative . . . but she seems to revel in the shock value of stuff.  (No offense, Sweet Pea.)]

I have opera tickets for you . . . it's La Boheme.  

What??!!!??  Wait a minute . . . my heart . . . [At this point my heart is pounding so that I press my hand to my chest.]

Then she says:  I bought 'em in March but I just picked 'em up today.

Wait . . . my heart . . .  It all came back to me:  a routine trip to collect mail from my post office box -- the desire to go to the opera -- the plot to splurge on a really good seat -- the realization that I should use the money for something really necessary -- and the grand tier tickets purchased for me SEVEN MONTHS AGO by my darling Daughter!!!

Life today is more challenging than it has ever been for me as an adult.  Despite that, I have sobered myself from the occasional pity party with the knowledge that however bad it might be for me, millions -- even hundreds of millions -- would gladly exchange places with me.  And even on the very worst days, even to this day, when I cannot not utter a word in prayer, God places a song in my heart that pulls me out of a miserable pit:

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,

When sorrows like sea billows roll;

Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,

It is well, it is well, with my soul.

(Horatio Spafford)

And, God's winks don't stop there; in fact, they never stop.  

They are to be Pitied

Note:  I often mention my Family of God.  This writing, is not about them.  In fact, it is because of some like those described herein that I was compelled to join my FOG.

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Pitiful are the small, inconsequential minds of those who think that they can hurt me because of their offices and self-deluded thinking that they have some kind of authority over me.    


Pitiful is their self-contempt because they see they fall short of what/how/who they really want to be, so they lash out at and try to hurt others, when in fact, in doing so, they hurt themselves more.  


Tragic is that they confess to believe in my God.  


Tragic is that they foolishly forget my God is omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent.  He was there when they lied to themselves and each other.  And He was there when they perpetrated a fraud, calling it worship.  And He was there in the aftermath when they set about their deceitful intentions, justified by their lies.  And He will be there when they stand in my face and try to assert their authority.  In response, I will simply go home, play my piano, and be at peace, at least two out of the three of which they are unable to do.  


All they can do is go home.  And most likely the places where they normally bed down for sleep, hang their clothing, prepare their meals and groom their bodies (at least the exterior) are no more than way stations rather than homes.  “Home” is a place of sanctuary, rest, relaxation, restoration, rejuvenation and refuge.  Home is a place of caring, love and acceptance, despite conflicts which may arise.   Whether a 700-square-foot one-bedroom apartment, a row house, a condominium or a three-story new construction, what they call “home” is most likely a way station, a place for them to go and get ready for the next attack on someone else because they refuse to look in a mirror and see the real problem, the real culprit.  And because they have no inner peace, it matters not the quality, size or cost of their dwelling place; there is no place that can really be home for them.


In the meantime, I will go home, a 2/2 apartment that houses both work and living space, and my piano.  It is not the piano I would have if I could have my pick of instruments, but it is the one I own.  It is not even acoustic.  But it has all 88 keys and they are reasonably weighted and the thing, a Kurzweill PC 88 that has served me well for 17 years, never needs tuning.  And on this instrument I played and recorded my very best rendition of Blessed Assurance ever in my life.  I will play my piano, commune with my God, and be at peace.  


I have a home.  I have a piano.  I have peace.  I have my God.  I have wealth beyond measure.  On the other hand, they do not.  They are to be pitied.

Facebook Rantings

This post will probably get me "unfriended" by one or two hundred folks.  That's okay.  I have been unfriended before, and this probably won't be my last time.  It's just another indication that Facebook outgrew "friending" a few million folks ago.  Maybe friending should be renamed "connecting" or "aligning" or some other term that is more suitable to birds who only seek out those of like feathers.  I allowed myself five minutes to vent and came up with this my top ten list of pet peeves -- at least for today:


1.    I REFUSE to LIKE Walmart.  My heart falls and my gut twists into a knot everytime my mom, The Boss, sends me there. Walmart is a vicious, despicable conglomeration of predators.  It preys on and victimizes its suppliers, its employees and its customers.  It gouges its suppliers.  It mistreats its employees.  And it passes off poorly manufactured goods to its customers, like laptop computers with barely enough memory to run operating systems.


2.     I  have NO idea who or what Kim Kardashian is or even if she has any socially redeeming value, which I doubt, based on the circumstances under which I hear her name in popular media (that is, if media has any veracity, which, again, is doubtful), nor do I care to know.


3.     Jesus, the Christ is my Lord and Savior, of Whom I am not ashamed.  Still, I doubt that in the flesh he was the handsome dark-haired, blue-eyed hunk as he has been portrayed.  He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.  (Isaiah 53:2).  


4.     I pray daily, throughout the day, and am uttering one now, asking God the Father to still the hands of folks who think it their mission to shove their beliefs, regardless of the issue, down my throat, by telling me what to LIKE and what to SHARE, and the contingent circumstances upon which I am to do so.


5.     Despite my beliefs and my opinions, they will be mine even if they are not yours.  I may or may not agree with you, but I respect your right to think/believe as you deem appropriate, even if contrary to what I think/believe.  Please allow me the same consideration.  Of course, if you don't that's okay, too.  You will be ignored.  And you will probably unfriend me.  Cool.


6.     I do not believe that SHARING or FORWARDING or LIKING anything in particular, for any specific number of times with a specific number of people, will put me in better stead with the Almighty God.  It rains on the just and the unjust, and we are all some of both.  


7.     God is not a genie.  You don't get three wishes; you get to live your life based on the choices you made, as do I.  Sometimes He will show you an extra measure of unmerited favor -- perhaps you call it grace, or sometimes you will forego the consequences of your actions -- perhaps you call that mercy; that doesn't make you any more highly favored as the next person; we all get that, to some degree, from time to time.


8.     I do not care to see intimate moments of anyone on my Facebook page, whether male/female, male/male, or female/female, or, God forbid, male/other or female/other, where other is something in lieu of homo sapien.


9.     I do not care to see pictures of barely dressed people.  I don't know which is worse, a picture posted to laugh at or ridicule, or a picture posted to tantalize.  Neither are appealing.  Both are offensive.   This being said, I am not a prude; there is simply a time and place for everything.


10.     My "church" clothes are always ready.  I get up on Sunday morning, do the necessary daily grooming, go to my closet and pull out something neatly pressed and clean, generally a dress shirt or twin set and a pair of trousers, occasionally a suit, and appropriate accessories.  I still have to watch those dirty stains that appear on my heart, however.


Looking forward to "friending" new folks as my current roll declines, and

Finally, brethren, Be perfect, be of good comfort,

be of one mind, live in peace;

and the God of love and peace shall be with you.

 II Corinthians 13:11 (KJV)

For T: Soli Deo Gloria

What an absolutely wonderful weekend this is turning out to be -- wonderful and heartwrenching.  This weekend, in my church family, is all about T.  


This weekend we celebrate Thomas Coker's 25 years in ministry at South Main Baptist Church and 50 years in ministry.  That is the wonderfulness of it all.  Then he retires.  That is the heartwrenching part.  


The celebration has been true to South Main's longstanding tradition of doing things well, in excellence, decently  and in order.  Earlier this afternoon we had a concert featuring just about all of our music ministry, and including participation by returning "alumni."  What a joyous time we had.  The music in all respects was top notch, from our kindergarten group to, well, our more seasoned members.  


Let's digress for a moment, for just a little "TC" background:  Thomas has pursued an excellence in music at South Main Baptist that sets our music ministry apart from what people normally expect of a church choir.  We have done (and done well) sacred works like King David, Elijah, Messiah, Requiem (Brahms & Rutter), Mass in G (V. Williams) and more; and we have done (and, again, done well) Broadway shows, including Hello Dolly, The Wizard of Oz, Man of LaMancha, Into the Woods, and even more.  It is difficult for someone who thinks she has a decently-rounded background to be hit in the face with "stuff I've never even thought about doing."  He has had to drag this writer out of her box, sometimes kicking and screaming.  Often inwardly questioning his song selection, she was reminded of telling the choirs she directed, It's not about what you want or even like, it's about helping worshipers make a connection to God, reinforcing the theme of worship through music.  Being whipped by the sermon she had so often preached to others, she had to swallow hard, dig in, and yield to T's directions.  In learning that song, whichever one, she learned to love what she had previously professed to loathe.


Near the end of the concert, Pastor Steve Wells asked us to show our appreciation for Thomas, and there erupted a standing ovation like none I had ever witnessed!  Thomas, in the style of a true minister, would not, could not take a bow.  Obviously moved by this outpouring of  love and appreciation, he stood with right hand over heart.  It seemed that he may have even been a bit uncomfortable by the demonstration.  At one point he raised his hands, both index fingers pointing upward.  Had we been at a baseball, football or basketball game, the raised fingers would most likely be followed by a chant:  WE'RE NUMBER ONE!  WE'RE NUMBER ONE!  


Not so in the instant case.  When I saw the ascending fingers, I knew instantaneously Thomas was thinking soli deo gloria -- to God alone be the glory.   Soli deo gloria has been T's tagline since before I knew him.  And from my observations, it is the way he has lived his life of ministry.  Time and again, whether Bach to Broadway or King David or Elijah or My Eternal King -- going over and over . . .  and over and over . . . and over . . . whatever section of music, pesky phrase, or that single vowel that is just not right . . . over and over . . . it was not about getting it just right to justify it being dubbed excellent, but getting in just right to give glory and honor to God by giving Him our very best.  


T's got things in proper perspective:  God gave us His very best, and we should give Him no less.


Thank you, Thomas, for knowing, and showing the real importance of music ministry done well.


Soli deo gloria. 
To God -- and God alone -- be the glory.

Great Is His Faithfulness

I was just browsing through my Facebook page and came across a post requesting most meaningful and inspiring passages from the Bible to be read when someone I hold in high regard travels to Israel in the near future.  How can one choose, one most meaning and inspiring passage?  That is a tough assignment, at least for me.  I thought of many, and the one that I kept coming back to me is Lamentations 3:22-24.


Lamentations, an Old Testament book, was written during the years Judah was in exile in Babylon.  It  shares the torment of the Jews, having been ripped from their homeland and separated from the temple which had been destroyed, because of their rebelliousness and many sins.

Fast forward a few thousand years, and those verses resonate even today.


         22      Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.
         23      They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
         24      I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.”

Lamentations 3:22-24

The Holy Bible: New International Version.

 I often feel as if I am exiled in a strange land, out of touch with the culture and mindsets that currently prevail, and especially alienated by the divisiveness of my own country.  (Of course, some may still argue in this the 21st century, that I, and people like me, have no right to be here in the first place; but that is for another day.)  Just a minor example:  someone else posted a picture of a very large woman wearing a top that sported so many horizontal back straps that I saw more flesh than fabric, and shorts cut so high that they were more like denim panties than shorts, revealing more than 50% of her buttocks.  And that was a lot of flesh.  While I don't consider myself a prude (at least not the last time I checked), the need for anyone, male or female, to display her (or his) body in that fashion, and the need for someone else to share a picture of that to the rest of the world, are both beyond my sensibilities.  We celebrate and glorify the ridiculous and outlandish, and scoff at just about anything of redeeming value.  And, unfortunately, who constitutes the "We" includes people who profess to believe in the One who is The Word . .  and The Way.  That, indeed, is scary.  

Am I saying that I am perfect and am sitting in judgment on the rest of the world?  Absolutely not!  I cannot help but think, however, that some of the We forge ahead with frolicking, funky fashions and frivolities without considering the long-term effects or broader implications.  Those pictures are all over the place and will come back to haunt someone . . . someday.   I'm just saying . . .  

Just one more "for instance" -- just one more:  My daughter and I discussed the recent Time magazine cover featuring a young boy at his mother's breast.  Are we against breast feeding?  Absolutely not!  We merely discussed the long-term effects that kind of exposure will have on the boy as he gets older:  "Dear mom of the little boy:  what will your son be confronted with in the future because of that cover?   Was it worth it?"

Now, back to Lamentations.  This passage is also the basis of one of my favorite, favorite songs:

Great is thy faithfulness, O God my Father;

there is no shadow of turning with thee;

thou changest not, thy compassions, they fail not;

as thou hast been thou forever will be.

Great is thy faithfulness! Great is thy faithfulness!

Morning by morning new mercies I see;

all I have needed thy hand hath provided;

great is thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

Words: Thomas O. Chisholm

So what is the big deal?  

The big deal is this:  Things can look pretty, pretty bad sometimes.  Trust me on that, 'tis very true.  Yet, things can also be a lot worse than what they are.  And, take it from someone who awakens some mornings and has no clue about the course of her day:  all that I have ever needed, He has provided.  All that you will ever need, He will provide.  Today was a day like that.  As far as I knew, I had three things on my "to-do" list, none of which constituted billable activities:  1) scan documents for my archives; 2) assist my nonagenarian mother, The Boss, at the polls; 3) look in on my Sweet Pea who has an internship with a District Judge.  Yet, while parking my car in the most unlikely spot that was just be vacated as I turned a corner, a woman in a wheelchair stopped and asked me if I would talk to her about Medicare.  Out of nowhere, after agonizing over 1) having to dress (I don't care what folks say, when one enters a courtroom, proper attire should not be optional.  Hint -- hint to you trendy lawyers and social workers who look as if you're going out to party hard) in a suit, and 2) driving across town to help The Boss, I gave up my resistance to honor my commitments to the two most important women in my life.  And still, He was looking out for me.

He is always keeping me, cheering me, ever guiding me. He is always with me -- even when things look pretty, pretty bad.   So, how about you?  If He gave you another day, it is not too late to turn to Him, and you will find that He has been, is now, and will be faithful.

Just a Grain of Sand, a/k/a Running Out of Gas in Houston, Texas

It seems lately that this writer has worn out words like glorious, wonderful, awesome, and, still, this blog entry must begin thusly: 


This has been a glorious day!  First, there was wonderful worship, then Sunday School (some people call that Sunday morning session where folks go into "classes" and talk about Bible stuff Bible Study, but I am of the other ilk.  It was Sunday School when I was a kid, and for me it is still Sunday School.)  After a few stops along the route to home, I prepared myself a decent meal, using Italian turkey sans pasta, awesome garlic bread from Barry's Pizza, fresh asparagus and an antipasta salad, chased with two dark chocolate chip cookies made with whole wheat flour and blended oatmeal.  Perhaps now I can get to the heart of this writing without repeating the words glorious, wonderful and awesome.


Getting distracted by a favorite word game this afternoon, I was 15 minutes late to leave for the final master's recital of a wonderful (oops) young lady with a glorious (oops again) soprano voice.  The car's information center indicated my DTE to be 22, meaning I could drive a distance of 22 miles before the gas tank was empty.  Surely, I thought, it's only 7 or 8 miles -- I'll be okay and will get gas after the recital.   Just as I arrived on the campus of the University of St. Thomas, the car stopped.  I tried to start it  Nothing happened.  I began to fret, but the thought that I probably had no gas danced into my head to haunt and taunt.  For someone with a "half tank" rule, running out of gas simply should never be an option.  Well, I blew it.  So there.


My options were simple:  1)  walk two blocks to the nearest gas station, purchase a gas can and gas, walk back to the car to dispense the gas, probably not without sloshing some on my hand for good measure.  After all, since I had run out of gas, it could be argued that I was already in my slapstick mode; or 2) call roadside assistance.   My body made the decision for me, reminding me that even on this beautiful, sunny, Sunday, it would give me grief if I walked even that far in the heat of the day.  Yes, for someone who lives with Sarcoidosis, even this wondrously, gloriously, awesomely beautiful day with a temperature less than 90 degrees, is HOT!  The fact is, I knew better than to try to make that walk, so I opted for number 2. 


I escaped the sun pouring into the car and took refuge under a tree that shaded me well.  As I stood there, enjoying the light breeze that assured my comfort, a couple of campus police, a guy on a bicycle, a couple in a van and a guy on his afternoon run (he offered to push the car out of the street while I steered!) stopped and offered to assist me.  I was reminded that His goodness and mercy are forever following me.  Even as I thought of this, relating to Pastor Steve Wells's sermon, yet another stopped to offer his help.  Then a woman stopped.  Then another woman.  In all, nine people stopped, asked if I was okay and what could they do to help.  Nine.  In just a few minutes.  Nine.


So, what's the big deal?  Simply, no one had to stop, including the nine who did.  They were a mixed bag of folks of all sizes, ages and colors.  And the nine were willing to stop, just for me.  In each of those nine folks I saw a little bit of my God.  He loved the world so much that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life.  And He sent His Son, not to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved.  (see John 3:16-17).  


This deal is big.  It is huge.  You see, the world is a big, big picture -- God's creation.  And on just one beach of humanity I am but one grain of sand.  In the big, big picture, I am but one dot of paint.  And even in my foolish negligence of ignoring my own "half-tank" rule, He sent nine of his folks to see about me.  Because He loves me.  Just as He loves you -- like there  is only one to love.  He showers us with His joy and peace each and every day.   His goodness and mercy follow me each and every moment.  Even when I foolishly turned my back on Him, He never left me.  He never leaves, nor forsakes me.  And why is that?  Because He loves me -- this single, solitary grain of sand on just one beach of many beaches of humanity -- this one miniscule dot of paint -- me. And, trust me, it is not that I am so special -- but that He is so loving.

The Marketed, Manipulated God :(

God is going to do a new thing!  Get ready to be blessed!
"LIKE" if you love God.
"RESHARE" if you love God, in 120 seconds He will do you a favor.


It was the last one that was the straw that broke my back.


If you believe what I believe, God, the One Whose name we cannot even properly articulate, is the creator everything.  The earth is His, and everything in it.  He created mankind (I refuse to write awkwardly just to be politically correct, but for the sake of the PC police, know that I man all humans without regard to gender when I say mankind), out of His love, giving  us dominion over the earth.  And what did we do???  We messed it up -- and we messed us up -- and quite thoroughly, I might add.   


Now, fast-forward a few millennia.  Here we are in the 21st century.  One would think that by now we would have figured out a few things, for instance:

1. It rains on the just and the unjust (see Matthew 5:45).  Just because you're having a good time, that does not mean you are king (and yes, queen also) of one-upmanship over those of us who aren't.
2. Your illness is not necessarily a satanic visitation.  Have you considered His servant, Job?  Or, have you considered that the white bread, hormone-enhanced fried food, Bluebell ice cream with 12% butter fat, processed meats extruded from some machine that makes perfectly formed loaves of God only knows what (and don't forget the pink slime), the fruits and vegetables you refused to eat, the 4-pack-a-day cigarette habit, the booze you boozed or all of those cookies and candy bars finally caught up with you?  
3. Those prayers in which we thank God that we are on top of the ground and the ground is not on top of us . . . what's that all about?  Then we turn around and sing I've got my mind made up and I won't turn back because I want to see my Jesus some day.  I suppose we all just want to wait around for other the second coming -- and that would be some day.  No one is ready to die.  
4. We are not guaranteed a huge house.  If Jesus didn't even have a fixed place of residence, what makes us so special?  (see Luke 9:58)
5. AND . . . if we do have a huge house, that does not necessarily mean we are blessed and highly favored (consider the rich fool, Luke 12:13-21).  Of course, it doesn't mean that we are lousy people either.  The point is that your huge may be inconsequential.  
6. Your clothes do not make you or set you apart as a child of God.  How many suits did John the Baptist have?  Jesus?  I'm just asking ...

I'm a big proponent of the KISS principal.  Considering how lame-brained mankind can be, there is something to be said for KISS.  Keeping it simple would relieve us of the hype, pomp and circumstance that folks buy into, trying to reach God through all machinations of catch phrases, conventions, programs and paraphernalia that do nothing but perpetuate mindless consumption of tapes, books and stuff, looking for an answer other than THE answer which was handed down -- well -- at least a couple of millennia ago.  We are forever using religion to reach God, when the religion pales in significance to the relationship God prescribes for us.    


So, why does God have to do a NEW thing?  He is eternal.  He was before there was a was.  He is here and now.  And He is in the future that perhaps our children's children's children will see.  He stands with one foot at the beginning of . . . well . . . the beginning -- and the other at the end of infinity.  Well, where is that?  How long is infinity?  How far can you go?   God is incalculable, unquantifiable.  If one is able to define God within human parameters, why bother believing in Him?  He would be no more potent or powerful than the one who can define Him.  


So, now, enter the Social Network.  There are great things about Facebook, most likely the premiere and dominant social network of the worldwide web.  This writer happens to appreciate Facebook.  It allows her to connect with people she knew in her childhood and grade school, distant relatives, people who share that dread disease Sarcoidosis, people who like word games like Words With Friends, people with whom she shares common interests -- like insurance, current events, the practice of law, writing, performing (especially music) and visual arts, and worship.  Yes, Facebook is great.  Then again . . . 


Why do you suppose that this omnipresent, omnipotent, omniscient, all-seeing, all-knowing, all-powerful God, needs to be marketed and manipulated on Facebook?  Why must we LIKE Him to get a blessing in 120 seconds?  His blessings are perpetual, ongoing, never-ending.  From before we were expelled from her mother's womb, we were blessed with a place to gestate, be nurtured and grow.  Even as we read He is blessing us -- we are breathing, touching, seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling, feeling.  Even in our literate, quasi-sentient, semi-intelligent, idiosyncratic ways, He still blesses us.  Even while we grasp at straws, looking for some magic formula while denying the simplicity of His Gospel, He blesses us.  Even as we embark on greedy quests to amass the trappings of tangible and financial-but-long-run-worthless wealth and be the best at things that don't even matter in the big picture, He blesses us.  So . . . why the HECK do we need to click LIKE and be blessed in 120 seconds?  Do you think He is looking down to count His LIKES?   Is He your genie in a bottle, waiting for you to rub it and say the magic words?  Will He move at your command -- or should you move at His?


Alright, I'm just asking . . . .


Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, 20 and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.  -- Matthew 18:20

You may say click LIKE and He will do you a favor.  He said "go . . . and I will be with you."

I'm just saying . . .

What to Do After a Wreck

I. PREFACE


A. Do You Know What it Is like to Wear Many Hats?   


For most, our lives are an entanglement of titles, roles, labels, tasks, obligations and responsibilities, each of which command some modicum of our time and attention.  For most who work, there is but one job; sometimes two; rarer, but still a reality, sometimes more.  This writer does not have a job per se.  She works in the confines of her office, the first floor of her town  home, doing any number of things:  sometimes editing, researching or writing for lawyers; sometimes preparing to make presentations about Medicare and other senior issues; sometimes helping contentious folks wade through and resolve their conflicts; sometimes restoring a damaged computer, the victim of a virus; sometimes teaching a class to process servers (or wannabes); sometimes helping folks insure their property.  The list could go on, but probably should have been stopped a sometime or two ago.  The point is this:  Andrea wears LOTS of hats.   Keep this in mind as she continues.


B. Which Hat to Wear?


In the process of getting dressed, do you sometimes contemplate which hat is the right hat?  If rain is forecast, perhaps something water proof would be the way to go; or if it’s cold, a nice wool felt would be better.   And if you’re playing tennis, a cap or visor.  Would a woman wear a baseball cap for worship, or one of those meaningless froo-froo things I saw last week at a sorority tea be a better choice?   In other words, wear the hat that suits the purpose, conditions and occasion.  Remember this also.  


C. Writing Can Be Wonderfully Rewarding and Wonderfully Wearying – Simultaneously


This writer will never be an Ayn Rand or an Alex Hailey, or a Robert Ludlum.  Still, this writer finds it therapeutic to record her thoughts, draining though the activity is.  Writing is a little like labor.  Every complete thought that is developed is a contraction.  The closer the contractions come together, the more intense the labor, and, the closer to the reward, a baby, a new life, a completed work.  Whether writing for a lawyer, a preacher, a teacher, or this little blog, writing is labor.  Yep – keep this in mind.


D. So, What if You Don the Wrong Hat?


Well, if it’s raining and one is sporting a nice wool fedora, things will probably not be as one would want.  Similarly, if writing, say, a motion for summary judgment for a breach of contract lawsuit, one would not go tipping around research for a trial in probate court.  Not on point.  So, what if the subject is – well, sensational, controversial, offensive, egregious, shameful, disgraceful to a family of faith, and – well — you get the picture.  And the answer is:  well, it depends.  


E. One More Thing 


A little more than a quarter century ago (yesterday for me, ancient history for some), a young woman had a business alliance with a man of the cloth.  They marketed their services and products to churches.  One day, the man suggested to the woman that they engage in certain acts, to which the woman replied, You know we can’t do anything like that; we’re not married, to which the man responded, It’s okay; we’re under grace.  The woman stood her ground.  Nothing happened.  Some time later, the woman suffered food poisoning after visiting the wrong Chinese buffet.  Bedridden, it was all she could do to make her way to the porcelain god, to which she gave up offerings frequently.  Her best friend was with her.  When that man came, saying that he would sit with the woman for a while, the best friend left to do errands.  When they were alone, the man proceeded to do to the woman what she previously refused.  She was so weak, she could not protect herself or stop him.  When finished, the man said You act like you didn’t like it.


The woman never told anyone.  She assumed no one would believe her accusations against this well-known and highly regarded man of the cloth.


By now you’re asking What does that have to do with anything?  Well, bear with me; this is not easy; it is labor.


II. INTRODUCTION


After viewing an excerpt from a video, apparently a sermon by a nationally known (if not internationally known, but what’s a few hundred million more people, or a billion or two?) pastor, I confess my knee-jerk reaction was to delve into the mess.  I knew nothing of the details of the underlying sordid mess, the accusations of four (I believe that is the number) young men against another widely known pastor.  In fact, when the news first surfaced months ago, I refused to devote any brain cells to the story.  I ignored broadcast news, internet news, Facebook comments and Twitter Tweets.  And I refused to discuss it, even after one person made several attempts, all unsuccessful, to draw me into dialogue.  Nope.  Not me.  I’m not going there.  And suddenly, here I am on a lazy Saturday afternoon, recovering from a wonderful morning, first with my mom, The Boss, then with former church members (at a visitation for one who has graduated to a better life), then a group of my Fabulous Family of God at South Main Baptist, then with my Sweet Pea, and I view this video – a lame attempt to analogize the alleged abuse of youths at the hands of a spiritual and community leader as a wreck – and I am now hot to trot.


Off I go, donning my paralegal hat, pumped as if preparing for a trial.  Newspapers.  Yahoo.  Binging.   Googling.  Trying to get the gist of what happened (as if I could via the Internet) – and then the light came on:


Me: Wait a minute!  What are you doing?  What  - do - you - THINK - you - are - doing? 


Me: I dunno.  


Me. Well, if you DUNNO, just stop it!  Take that silly hat off!


Me: Oh, I have on the WRONG hat???  Sorry  :(


Me: Well, you should be.   Just stop, dang-it!


III. THE RIGHT HAT


For this, there is no right hat.  However, there is a right posture  – that of  standing naked before God.  He knows each of us in more detail than any of us want to be known.  Before you stop reading because I’m not jumping on the bandwagon to hang the other pastor in effigy (alongside the one who perpetrated the mess in the first place), stay with me a little while longer.  I must first remind myself that I am not the one to cast judgment.  Frankly, I’m too busy trying to keep my own closet door shut.  Just because the title of my blog is “Coming Out of the Closet – Keeping it Real,” does not mean I intend to leave the closet door open.  


IV. IT’S NOT JUST ABOUT THE WRECK


This is not to judge either of these fellas – the one who, according to the other, had a wreck – or the other, with all of his education and eloquence, could not do anything better than chide folks:  I can't believe that people would leave their preacher because he had a wreck.  It is a problem that EL had a wreck.  The even bigger problem is what happened after the wreck.  


A.   David Had a Wreck


You remember that Bible story – how David took Bathsheba, the wife of his faithful soldier, Uriah?  How David had Uriah positioned in battled to assure he would be killed?  How Nathan had to tell David about his hit-and-run?  Yes.  David had a wreck.  And when Nathan confronted David about his wreck, what did he do?   Did he put on his royal robes and crown and sit on his throne?  No.  He prostrated himself before God and confessed:


Psalm 51:1-13 (KJV)-------------------------------


Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions.


Wash me throughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin.


For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me.


Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight: that thou mightest be justified when thou speakest, and be clear when thou judgest.


Behold, I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive me.


Behold, thou desirest truth in the inward parts: and in the hidden part thou shalt make me to know wisdom.


Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.


Make me to hear joy and gladness; that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice.


Hide thy face from my sins, and blot out all mine iniquities.


Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.


Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me.


Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation; and uphold me with thy free spirit.


Then will I teach transgressors thy ways; and sinners shall be converted unto thee.


B. But That Was Way Back in Bible Days.  


So, you need something more contemporary?  How about this:


A requirement of one of my seminary courses was to read a book that was based on the true, twentieth-century story of a well-known man who was much sought after, and actively engaged in speaking and teaching all of the country.  When his obsession with pornography was revealed, he confessed his wrongdoing to his wife, discontinued all public appearances, and sought counseling.  It was recognized that this man had some healing to do, personally, spiritually and in his relationships.  Notice that relationships is plural.  He not only hurt himself and his wife, but his children, other family members, friends, colleagues, fellow members of the clergy, and let us not forget his God.  There is no “Band-aid” for this kind of rift.   The process for him to return to “public” life was a couple of years, not a couple of days or weeks.  


C. Was There a Wreck?


Well, according to CD, is friend HAD A WRECK.  A logical deduction is that his friend, EL, fell off the straight and narrow path and into a ditch.  Without belaboring the nasty details, CD sounded as if he was speaking of EL’s guilt –  culpability – liability – whatever the heck else one might label it.  Now, folks, we all have committed acts, or left something undone, that provoked most justly God’s wrath and indignation against us.  All of us have had wrecks.  Sometimes we caused them, and sometimes we were in the wrong place at the wrong time.  (See paragraph I.E,  “One More Thing” above.)  And sometimes both parties were at fault, but let us not digress to issues of contributory negligence.  For purposes of this now-too-long note (sorry, it’s the preacher in me), let us just say that EL caused the wreck.  


D. So, What Should Happen after EL‘s Wreck?


There must be an assessment of damages.  If EL had a wreck, something is misaligned, crumpled, dented, chipped, cracked, smashed or otherwise not as it should be.  He needs to be restored to serviceable condition.  He needs to be put back where he belongs.  And when one causes a wreck, one must pay the deductible.  That might set EL back a few months — or years.  Even though he settled with his complainants in mediation and paid some damages, those damages were paid to the complainant.  He still has to deal with his own damages – and pay the deductible.  Yes, as all other believers, EL has insurance, and the premiums may have been paid by Jesus the Christ, but just as EL would most likely counsel one of his congregation to take some time off – for healing and restoration – EL should do likewise – and more.  That is paying the deductible.   


E. If the Bus Is “Broke Down” from a Wreck, Hail a Taxi


CD chides folks who “left their preacher” because he had a wreck.  Has CD considered that folks would rather not trust a damaged vehicle?   Now, we all have our issues, but we still have to be able to function in our assignments.  How can a shepherd function in his assignment if he has been abusing the sheep?  


Recently, at the window of a drive-thru, I became frustrated when I made a simple inquiry:


Q. What kind of orange juice do you have?
A. Orange.
Q. Well, who makes it?
A. Is orange juice.
Q. Well, what brand is it?
A. Orange.


There was an obvious inability to articulate the answer to my query in English.  In my frustration I backed out of the drive-thru lane, and thinking I had cleared the curb, threw the car in “drive” and proceeded forward, only to go over the curb.  Well, I had a wreck.  I rigged the bumper with two very long cable ties and went home.  However, the very next morning, I was at Apollo Paint & Body (http://www.apollopaintandbody.com [these are simply the nicest auto service  folks I have ever encountered]) to have the damage appraised and repaired.  Sure, I could have left the bumper dangling from the cable ties, but the vehicle would not be restored to how it was before the wreck – nor would it have been in better condition.  In fact, over time, with driving the uneven streets of Houston, the damage to the bumper would have worsened.


So, I would ask CD:  If you were riding in EL’s vehicle and he had a wreck, sustaining significant damage to the body, frame, tires, wheels, windows and steering  wheel, would you jump back in the car and continue riding that road with EL, or would you hail a taxi?  Or catch a bus?  Or call someone else with a car?  Or hitchhike?


V. MEDIATION MAY BE A WIN-WIN, BUT IT CAN CAST A CLOUD OF SERIOUS DOUBT


The dreaded “L” word.  Everyone wants to sue somebody.  What makes them come forward?  Is it about justice?  Equity?  Greed?  Revenge?  Just asking.  Why now did these young men come forward?  Why did EL swear to fight the lawsuit and then settle at mediation?   Was he speaking from a perceived position of strength when he vowed to fight?  Why did he change his mind?


Even though my specialty is civil trial law, I believe that most lawsuits should never have been filed in the first place.  I am very fond of mediation, though it has devolved to a good-old-boy cottage industry and mediators like me rarely get appointed to mediate lawsuits, unless, of course, one of their good-old boys is a judge or lawyer.  They toss some wet-noodle (I really want to say “limp-#!#?” but that would not be appropriate) notion about non-lawyers not being well-versed in legal issues and theories.  Tell that to the lawyers for whom I write!   What hogwash!  Okay, I’ve said it; I dare you to prove me wrong.  [rant paused to continue this note].


The deal is this with mediation:  the Plaintiffs go in speculating about what they’re going to walk away with, as if they deserve something simply because they filed the suit, and the Defendants (at least the ones who know they are liable – they’ve caused a wreck) go in with the intent of giving up only what is absolutely necessary to make the Plaintiffs go away.  There is persuasion on each side, especially for volatile subject matter as the instant case.  There's not supposed to be persuasion per se, but just trust me on that.  And there is the airing of dirty (vile, filthy, whatever you want to say here) laundry, some of which is probably so befouled it should be taken out a burned – despite any imposed burn bans due to drought.


For the culpable defendant, it comes down to which will hurt worse:  settling now or the risk of losing at trial?  Is it less painful for CD to toss a perception of his friend’s liability to the world, while his friend pays off his accusers?  Does the world, then, assume that EL was in the wrong?  


VI. ABOVE THE LAW?


Sometimes folks think they can do whatever they want; they are beyond rules and above the law.  Or, worse, no one would dare accuse me!  Right.  Tell that to John Edwards.  Jim & Tammy Bakker.  Arnold Schwartzenegger.  Jimmy Swaggert.  Bill Clinton.  Tiger Woods and lots of other folks.  Tell that to the guy in paragraph I-E above.  Just because he got by in this life does not mean he will get away with it in the next.  Perhaps he will make it to one of the many rooms in the Savior’s mansion, but rather than an upgrade he will be relegated to the basement.  That simply is not our call.


But, come on, Pastors, yes, we fall down and we get up.  But while we’re down we get dirty.  Sometimes we tear (or lose) our pants, scrape our knees, break a leg, sprain an ankle, bump our heads, get a concussion.  Sometimes we need a little Neosporin and one of those cool Band-Aids that, if you’re a member of the paler nation, blends right into your skin and can barely be detected.  Sometimes we just need to run to one of those 24-hour emergency centers and get our ankle wrapped.  And sometimes we need major surgery, a couple of months at TIRR (a great place), and then outpatient rehabilitation before returning to work PART-TIME.


VII. THERE IS BUT ONE GOD


Having a wreck is something to which we are all susceptible.  What matters is what we do after the wreck.  Do we pretend that all is well?  As if we are not injured?  Or damaged?  After a wreck should one ascend the throne of his pulpit as if he is Almighty God, Father of our Lord, Jesus the Christ, Maker of all things and Judge of all men???   I think not.  There is but one God.  When one assumes the posture of unblemished perfection by not tending to one’s wounds and repairing the damage one sustains in a wreck, the message one sends is “There is absolutely nothing wrong with me.”   While folks should not try to assess the damage – that is between the wrecker and his Maker – folks should avoid the damaged vehicle until it is back where it belongs – or better.

Evocations: Random Thoughts From Daryl's Robinson's Senior Recital

DO YOU LIKE WINE?  


I do, even though I know very little about wines:  the varieties and origins of grapes, which ones are right for which foods (other than the basic white for chicken and fish and red for beef -- after that I'm lost), which ones come in contact with the grape skins longer (other than this seems to be a trait of the really dark reds), and other bits of minutiae of which genuine wine aficionados make subjects of serious conversations, blogs, newsletters, magazine articles, and perhaps even a livelihood or two -- or more.  I drink red wine occasionally because my doctor suggested it is beneficial for my health; however, I really don't care for red wine, at least not the ones I have purchased so far.  Still, I drink it for the purpose heretofore stated.  What I do like are Riesling and Gewurtztraminer.  They are light and sweet, and feel heavenly going down.  Unfortunately, I rarely enjoy either, since I save most of my imbibing moments for the medicinal crap of the red once or twice a week -- and turning into a wino or a lush is not on my to-do list.  The bottom line is if I like the taste, nothing else matters -- whether the wine is a Burgundy or Beaujolais, Grenache or Gewurtztraminer, 1927 or 2007.  When it comes to wine, two things matter to this writer:  1) The taste; and  2) Its effect when  trickling over her taste buds and down her esophagus.  What else matters -- or should matter?  To her, nothing; it's just wine. 


DO YOU LIKE VISUAL ART?


I suppose I do.  Well – yes.  Asking about styles would be a waste.  Whether the small, thin brush strokes of Monet’s impressionism, the molten-like movement of Dali’s surrealistic clocks, the over-analyzed smile of da Vinci’s  Renaissance icon – Mona Lisa, the outlandish non-art pop art of Andy Warhol, or the three-dimensional wonders and wackiness of the Cullen Sculpture Garden at the Museum of Fine Arts Houston, visual art for this writer is simple: 1) she examines it; 2) messages, filtered as they go, are sent to her brain; 3) a verdict is rendered.  As to the verdict, there are three possibilities: 1) Like it; 2) Hate it; 3) No comment.  Visual art.   Simple.


Digressing for just a moment:  Even as this is written, however, the writer has a special fondness for John Palmer’s art that transcends her usual mundane, pedestrian attitude toward this type of creativity.  Mr. Palmer’s works are charged with a special energy that incites and excites the writer in a peculiar way.  Not until John Palmer has this writer ever aspired to own an original work of visual art.  And the John Palmer effect is a great lead into a favorite of favorites – 


DO YOU LIKE MUSIC?


I do.  I more than like music.  I love music.  After Jesus, music is God’s all-time greatest gift.  It is a medium that breaks down barriers, soothes the soul in so many states of dis-ease, disarray and despair, and brings people together even when languages may keep them apart.  Music has texture, meaning, eroticism, message, expression, connotation, denotation, mood, structure, fluidity, sanctity and more.   


While my fondness of the grape and the visual arts are limited, my love for music is beyond – what?  Well, beyond.  And my affinity for various music styles touches many points on the spectrum.  Favorites can be found among most except rap and heavy metal, which, to this writer, are neither musical nor artistic, but rather bastardizing throwbacks to some dark hole of uncivilization.  


There are forms of music, and genres of music within forms.  The music world is kind of like God's creation subjected to taxonomic ranks – class, order, family, genus and species.  In the music realm folks toss around labels like gospel, sacred, classical, jazz and pop, which are very broad categories – families – within which are genera, and species.


Recently a young man was heard saying, in effect, that everything that could be done in music had already been accomplished.  Heresy!  Sacrilege!  What the young man failed to realize is that the dead end he envisions as music is indicative of his limited imagination.  The saving grace is that since our thoughts differ, as do our inhibitions (or lack thereof), our self-imposed limits are the only obstacles that keep music, and most other things, from expanding in scope and creativity.


The good thing is that even if our abilities to compose, arrange and perform music are limited to certain instruments and styles, our listening ears and minds allow us to appreciate stuff far beyond our abilities.   As a classically trained pianist who learned to compose within certain parameters, I often debate myself when a creative stroke takes me outside the box of those “rules for writing music with proper structure.”  Boo – hiss.  The galling thing is when I hear beyond-the-barriers music fraught with exquisite dissonance and think “hmpf – that’s really great,” I also wonder, "now -- why can't I do that?"  And since the breadth of my pianistic abilities was restricted by inadequate rehabilitation of broken bones and mangled muscles after a near-fatal car crash, this writer has learned to be content with her performance limitations, and yet find much joy in experiencing the gifts of others, like Daryl Robinson at his senior recital.


Daryl has been a subject of more than one blog on this site.  This old woman is simply taken with this talented young man who is a personable as he is polished and professional.  The music Daryl played was the stuff of professionals, not a student trying to fulfill requirements for an undergraduate degree.  Daryl’s program was a mix of styles, influencing evocations of such broad extremes as to send one on an emotional overload.  Aside from the mesmerizing conglomeration of sounds that made one think either 1) there is really an orchestra up there; or 2) Daryl evidently has four hands and four feet, this is how Daryl’s music touched my soul (not necessarily in this order):


Image: The betrayal, humiliation, trial, suffering, mockery, crucifixion, death, burial and resurrection of Jesus, the Christ.  Since this imagery has been treated in great detail in a previous, but recent writing, nothing more will be said here, other than it was so powerful that this writer’s body actually shuddered with sorrow -- then joy.


Image: A glade, a clearing in a wooded area with a quiet running stream of water.  A “no worries” place of calm, peace and rest.  A safe place.  A place near the heart of God.  Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. . . . Blessed assurance.   It is well with my soul.  I am content.


Image:   I have wings.  And I can fly.  I am standing on that new-fangled skywalk at the Grand Canyon -- you know the one  -- with the transparent floor.   I levitate upward, and take off, soaring through the canyon.  Wow!


Image: A quite moment between a wife who entreats her husband.  The two, despite a rift between them, are destined to be together – forever:  


What I want to do with you
Is picnic in the park
I'll pack a basket of your favorite treats
Lots for you to eat
The finest, freshest, sweetest
Most luscious fruit you could ever have
A pair of firm, ripe, sweet melons
With the tartest, tastiest stems
Waiting for your lips
The biggest, blackest sweetest cherry
(It's juices ooze unceasingly at first bite)
Nestled in a pair large warm buns
Waiting for your hands
To test their freshness, 
Served on a bed of fresh cut grass
In the deepest recesses of my garden
A more fitting place to feast than a park
A place where you can go
Cast away all care
A place where the two of us
Our thirsts can quench, desires fulfill
Our love share
A place where no one else can
Come between our souls,
Nor invade our minds
Or untangle our beings
A place where I'll belong to you always.
So open the gate of my garden
And take a stroll once more
No thought of unpleasant happenings
Of times gone on before
Since you left my garden
I've kept it just for you
So come back to take what's yours
None else can have it -- just you




HAVE YOU GONE MAD?


I think not.  This writing is merely a picture of the gift one received in the presence of a brilliant organist while at his best, doing what he loves. 


Mr. Robinson offered in 60 minutes, works that, despite spanning scores and scores and scores of years, many would lump into one class of music: classical.   Forget the family, genera and species – just classical.  Few would go beyond that, just as this writer does not distinguish the grapes for Beaujolais from the grapes for Bordeaux.  Again, few would go beyond classical, just as this writer, while being able to distinguish between Monet and da Vinci, has an appreciation for both but is not thrilled by either.  That is why wine does it for some and visual art does it for others.  John Palmer excepting -- his stuff is electric.  


And that is why music does it for me.  It is the absolutely finest drug and has no harmful side effects.  It is a great therapist and is not limited to a 50-minute hour (“50" is not a typo -- 50 minutes equals one hour of therapy).  It is an ever-extending bridge between the gap of strained relationships.  It is a fine way to connect with the Almighty.  And Daryl Robinson is a masterful deliverer of the drug, the bridge and a way to Him who sits on the throne.  Sometimes, when a word of prayer cannot be uttered, a melody can be hummed.  Sometimes when thoughts are so muddled, one cannot be concisely framed, but a passage of music will serve to re-center and refocus.  And sometimes, when the mind is gone, music can bring it back, if just for a while, and with it, much joy.  


God bless Daryl, a magical, masterful, music maker.  Be in his hands, his feet and his heart.  Always.  Amen.