For the record, I think pipe organs are awesome. Even though I love praise and worship music played on a ’71 Les Paul, bluegrass gospel on a Martin D28 (if you have to ask…), and Amazing Grace on bag pipes, a well-played pipe organ can make you think you’re in the throne room of heaven.
This is not a picture of me behind my pulpit. This is not a picture of me in the church I pastor. But this is a picture of what my church could look like if only our building committee would raise a few million dollars (I don’t know what’s taking them so long).
Seriously, if you have never heard a real pipe organ played by someone who knows what he/she is doing, you probably don’t know what goose bumps are, either.
I wonder how a banjo-mandolin-pipe organ trio would sound?
Hey! Did I mention I got a new mandolin?
Anyway, I have work to do, so have a great Monday!
Several years ago, just after the second gulf conflict broke out, the town I was living in lost its first son. On December 30, 2006, Sgt. John Michael Sullivan was killed by a roadside bomb. Only 22, he left behind a wife and baby who was born the day after Sgt. Sullivan died.
I will never forget the visitation at the funeral home. Soldiers stood guard at each end of Sgt. Sullivan’s casket. One soldier was a West Point cadet. Every thirty minutes they would rotate out, similar to the way the guard is changed at the Tomb of the Unknown in Arlington. The honor and respect was palpable.
“Not Here”
Folks in the southern United States don’t take kindly to disrespect – especially at the funeral of a fallen soldier. Sgt. Sullivan died while taking a friend’s place on patrol, which made him a genuine hero. He was a local boy. So, when it was rumored that protesters from Westboro Baptist Church were going to be protesting, blood began to boil.
Standing guard outside the funeral home, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, were motorcyclists (over 200 hundred of them) holding American flags. They lined the street and sidewalks as far as anyone could see. Each one, wearing leather vests, seemed as tough as the Harleys they rode.
I won’t give names, but I heard a couple of high-ranking officials discussing the protesters. They knew Westboro’s hateful tactics and what typically went on at other funerals. So, in a whisper not meant to be overheard, one official said to another, “If those ———-‘s show up, just turn your back – let the guys outside handle them.”
Westboro never showed up. They must have gotten word.
More than Talk
Some people talk a big talk, but never walk the walk. Some people brag about what they would do in a given situation, such as combat, but never volunteer to prove it. But as Sgt. Sullivan lay there in his casket, no words were needed; his sacrifice proved his courage – and love.
Scripture says, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). Others may say they love their friends, but the silent soldier in front of me didn’t have to say a word.
As I paid my respects, it struck me how this young man had essentially given his life for me, a stranger. Like so many other men and women we remember on Memorial Day, Sgt. Sullivan willingly took another’s place. He did what we could not.
The emotion I felt that day led me to write a song in Sgt. Sullivan’s honor. But it also honors of the One who gave His life so that we could be eternally free.
Here is “No Greater Love” as sung by my daughter, Katie (we just recorded it on the iPhone, so forgive the low quality).
(Note: Unfortunately, when I wrote the song, I didn’t know Sgt. Sullivan was actually 22. However, his mother, after hearing the song, told me it was OK.).
Remember how I just wrote about writing for the sake of writing? Well, here we go again, but on a smaller scale.
The other day I wrote a post about my wife’s grandmother’s 90th birthday. I even included some pictures. What I didn’t include was my favorite picture of the day – Mr. Monkey and the guitars.
In a break between playing music and eating cake, I took this picture of Katie’s guitar and my bass, along with Mr. Monkey striking a pose.
Two Weeks (or so) Left
In two weeks I will be presenting my final paper to my last seminary class. Believe me, I am stressed – it’s nowhere near done! Even worse, I have to present my paper in front of a PhD with a thing for punctuation (“Have you never heard of an Oxford comma?”).
OH! Guess what? My class ring just shipped today! Now, if I don’t pass, I’ll have a ring with the wrong date! Good grief!
It’s Friday. It’s April. And this was written on a Friday 2 years ago, long before many of you began following this blog. So, step back in time and enjoy!
BTW, I’m glad to see Rebecca Black is doing well, recording better music, and has a real future – unlike the mean and hateful losers who bullied and made fun of her. Where are they, now?
“Friday, Friday…”
What would be the chance that we could convince the calender people to change the names of the days? Could we change Friday to something like Frickabrack? How about Flurble? We have to do something, or every time the weekend comes around I’m gonna be singing that song. DANG IT!!
If you have been fortunate enough to have never heard this song, then that is about to change. You are going to submit to the temptation and click the link below. You have to share in the pain. You HAVE to!
Why Me, Lord?
Just because a song is popular, doesn’t make it good. An example would be “Why Me Lord” by Kris Kristofferson. I HATED that song. However, a song I hate more is “One Day at a Time.” Kris co-wrote that, you know. The part that I hated the most was the second verse…
Do you remember (Are you kidding? Ever heard of Omniscience) When you walked among men Well Jesus, you know, if you’re looking below(If? What’s He doin’, cleaning harps?) It’s worse now than then(like when the Romans were feeding lions) Pushin’ and shovin’ crowding my mind(Mental breakdowns are worse than martyrdom) Lord for my sake(It’s all about me, isn’t it?) Teach me to take One day at a time (Just go take a nap, and you’ll feel better)
Well, “Friday” is a popular song, that’s for sure. What started off as an 8th-grader’s dream project has turned into a multi-million dollar success. Once it was posted on YouTube, it went viral. Now, as of this article, it received over 88 million hits (views). I just want to know why I had to be one of the unlucky ones to hear it.
It’s Cute
It could be worse, you know. Rebecca Black could be singing a song about teen sex in the back of a convertible, or drug use while worshiping Satan in the bathroom of a public school. So, from a content perspective, it’s not that bad. The tune is annoying, but catchy, and the lyrics are clean. In short, it’s a cute song. But who on earth thought it was a poetic stroke of genius to end a line in a song with “afterwer-erds?”
The Worst Example for Teens is in the Video
If I really wanted to point out the negatives, it would have to be in the video. Here you have a song about a girl who goes to the bus stop, but instead hops a ride in the back seat of a convertible driven by a 10-year-old. Did her parents say it was OK to ride to school with her underage “friends?” Were any of them wearing seat belts?
The second verse presented some disturbing images. The last time I checked, it was not only illegal for 8th graders to drive alone, much less without an adult, but shouldn’t they sit IN the car, not ON the car? She said “on the highway” while waving at her friends from the trunk of a convertible. Can you say “Girls die in tragic accident after falling out of car – News at Eleven!?”
But there’s another thing – who is this gangsta’ rapper that knows so much about little Rebecca Black and her partying? What’s the deal? If it was my little girl, dude better watch where he parks that ride. I don’t think ANY grown man with gold teeth and “bling” needs to be concerned with my middle school girl, her parties, OR her fun fun fun. Got it?!
Wishing Rebecca Well
I wish her the best. I hope this is the start of something big for her. God bless her, really! She seems like a sweet kid with a monotone voice that grates through my soul like a recurring chalkboard nightmare. All I ask is that she leave all the other days of the week alone – and for Heaven’s sake, find another writer.
Every time I hear those words I wince. One reason is because it should be “may I,” instead of “can I“. The other reason is because I don’t know what is coming next.
Usually, whenever I hear the words, “Daddy can I,” others words follow that demand I either exhibit my Superman-likepowers and Solomon-like wisdom, or pretend to be Bill Gates.
“Daddy, can I get the new iPhone when it comes out?”
“Daddy, can I go on a mission trip around the world next week?”
“Daddy, can I go shoe shopping?”
“Daddy, can I hang a punching bag in my room?”
“Daddy, can I have a motorcycle?”
Unfortunately, many times I have to tell my girls, “No.” They’ve become accustomed to disappointment.
On the Bridge
However, this time one of my girls had a request that I couldn’t deny. Katie asked me, “Daddy, can I go play on the bridge?” It didn’t cost money…We didn’t need a permit…The weather wasn’t bad…How could I say, “no”?
So, while my wife took Pampered Chef orders from other parents as she waited for Haley (our youngest) to finish her Wing Chun class, Katie and I took the car a few block down the road to the Walnut Street bridge.
Once we found a parking place fairly close, we unloaded the guitar and walked about a hundred yards out onto the bridge. We then found a nice little place to sit, unpacked the guitar, and Katie started playing.
Unashamed
What was really a blessing was to see my daughter doing what she loved to do without any fear. As total strangers walked or ran by, she kept playing and singing. But you see, she wasn’t just playing for others to hear; she just wanted to play on the bridge. If people heard her, and if they like what they heard, then that was just icing on the cake.
How often do we just get out and do what we love to do, no matter what others think of us? Just think, if we did, some might like what they hear. But as long as we keep to ourselves, strumming behind closed doors, we miss the joy of playing on bridges. And if you never play on any bridges, you probably won’t make any, either.
Katie and I, along with our youth pastor, Daniel (in the orange UT shirt), went to Nashville this past Friday and Saturday. We were there to begin the hard work of pounding out a quality recording project. And yes, it is hard work.
The only problem is that Mr. Monkey just had to get in on the act. He wouldn’t let it go. So, out of sheer frustration, I finally gave in.
See Mr. Monkey get introduced to his very own musical instrument.
Special Thanks To:
Joel Ziegenmier, for letting a monkey take over his studio
Steve Castlen, for knocking some sense into Mr. Monkey’s head
Roy Cavender, for keeping Mr. Monkey entertained with all his crazy antics
Daniel Ziegenmier, for not acting like a monkey or doing that “call me” thing with his hand
The makers of shaker eggs (Katie loves them)
The makers of polyester fur
Reunion
On a separate note, it was good to get back in the groove with my old friend, Steve Castlen. The best I can figure, the last time he played drums while I played bass was probably in ’94.
It is not often that I take such a liking to a group, but As Isaac is a band that has really made an impact on me.
Not long ago my daughter told me of some kids that went with her to Precept Ministries. She told me they had a band and were going to have a concert celebrating the release of a their first CD. She asked, “Daddy, can we go?”
Well, the great thing was that they were performing at their home church just a few miles away over Lookout Mountain. We went, not knowing what to expect, but left knowing we had heard some seriously talented, humble tools of the Lord.
The Music
One song, written and sung by Rachel Kelly, brought chills the first time I heard it. The name of the song is Speak Lord. So, as you could imagine, I was totally thrilled to find out that the band had come out with a video.
Let me just tell you something that really impresses me about these guys (and girls)…it’s the lyrics. Beside being wonderful musicians, the words of the songs these young people sing show evidence of a deep walk with Christ. These aren’t kids who write fluff just so they can get on stage and rock the house. These are deep, spiritual young men and women of God who have experienced a real walk with their Creator.
Do me and yourself a favor – watch this video. Then, go check out their website and order their music. You will not be disappointed, believe me.
Whether driving down the road, or sitting around the house, Mr. Monkey is always ready to break out into song.
And Mr. Monkey can play the piano! Who knew? When my daughter, Katie, sat down to the Yamaha grand at my mother’s house, he had to play along (Hear that, Yamaha people? My bass and acoustic are Yamaha, also. Do you sponsor monkeys?).
Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all the earth: make a loud noise, and rejoice, and sing praise. – Psalm 98:4 KJV
If you are one of the unlucky, unfortunate, or predestined to be elected to forget Mother’s Day, I’m sorry. Either by choice or design, you should have marked your calendar and set an alarm.
However, if you forgot, there may be hope (if you are a subscriber to this blog and read your email). Because this is being posted so early in the morning, you should have time to do some stuff before you see your mother (or your children’s mother), either at church, dinner, the nursing home, Wal-Mart, or place of incarceration.
A few last-minute suggestions…
Get up right now, put down your smart phone, or stand up from your computer, and make her (your mother/wife) breakfast. You may even have time to brush your teeth before you say, “Good morning!” Or….
Quickly sneak out of the house and drive to your nearest 24-hour gas station (that’s petrol, for you Brits). There you should locate a fine selection of plastic-wrapped silk roses (to keep them fresh), Doritos, lottery tickets, “genuine” lead crystal figurines, and NASCAR air fresheners. Or….
Draw a hand-made card in an attempt to appear sweet and child-like to cover the fact you forgot to buy one. Then, when you give it to her, create a story about how you “can’t wait till she gets her surprise.” That will give you time to figure out where you are going to take her to eat, and how much you want to spend. OR….
Learn the following song that I wrote just for mothers. She will love it. “Mother’s Day”
But Seriously
Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised (Prov. 31:30 ESV). May all mothers strive to fit that description.
Before you get mad at me for what you are about to read, it’s only a comparison, not a dogmatic definition of right or wrong.
In Line
Every Tuesday my wife and girls go to Precept Ministries (Kay Arthur) in Chattanooga for Bible study. On some days I go with them and use the time to study. It’s a nice place to study, believe me. However, I am writing this on a computer at Precept while Kay Arthur is talking to someone a few feet away. She is distracting me.
Then, there are other days when my wife and I leave the girls and sneak out to get a biscuit. Today we had to sit in line forever. For jelly biscuits.
Jelly Biscuit – May I insert just one question at this juncture? Why is it you always have to ask for jelly when you order a jelly biscuit? What is it about “jelly biscuit” that confuses people? If I ordered a plain biscuit, I would not expect jelly. But when I order a jelly biscuit, why don’t they assume I want jelly? Why do I always have to ask for it?! Good Grief!
I Hear a Song
It was while we were sitting in line that I heard a song on Christian radio (J103). The song caught my attention because of the lyrics. May I share with you the words from the chorus?
You make me happy…Uhhh
You make me feel the way I do…
You make me happy, Yeah!
I wish the whole world knew you, too! (and then the song ends with a bunch of “la-la-la’s.”)
I started to laugh. Honestly. Was I supposed to be blessed? Encouraged? Uplifted? Edified? Happy?
I know, I know, I know…I know that there are plenty of great, contemporary songs out there. Chris Tomlin, for one, has more than a few. I love several songs from Building 429, Avalon, and the Newsboys. But seriously, why can’t more of them take the subject matter at hand a little more seriously?
I Hear the Past
Some lines from the past need to be heard more often, especially if the best we can come with today is “uhh” and “yeah.”
My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righeousness.
A mighty fortress is our God, a bullwark never failing.
Alas! and did my Savior bleed, and did my Sovereign die? Would he devote that sacred head for such a worm as I?
I will cherish the old rugged cross.
Riches I heed not, nor man’s empty praise: be thou mine inheritance now and always; be thou and thou only first in my heart; High King of Heaven, my treasure thou art.
Dear Christian song writers, you can do better than “uhh’s” and “yeah’s” and “la la la la.”
The Recovering Legalist 