Aunt Violet

I am going to my great aunt Violet's 75th Birthday Party this afternoon. She is my Papaw Harold's sister. When I was a kid, she was one of the people around me who just "got it." She let me sit in her lap and play the organ at her house. I remember her frequent laugh, her fancy house, and that she taught me what she referred to as "chording" which is the foundation of the way that most professional musicians notate and play music in Nashville, where I live.

I remember that she basically said to me "This is easy and you can do it!" We do not see each other very often, but when we do it is like a timeless friendship that easily picks up right where it left off. Now, her smile is the nearest thing I have to remind me of my Papaw besides pictures. I keep going back to that smile I think because it is so powerful. It is as if there is a boundless fount of encouragement and fun behind it. It truly has an energy of its own.


In a sea of people who seem eager to point out the difficult turns ahead, or to mourn the rocky past, I pray that I can be that kind of person. I want to pass along the secrets she taught me about music, but more about the positive jolt of joy and passion that comes from a heartfelt smile.


Thank you Aunt Violet!

A Little Perspective

I gained a little perspective about what it is like to be an immigrant this week. On Saturday, I was honored to play the piano for the funeral of Krishna Kumar Rai. He fled to this country from Nepal where he had lived for many years in a refugee camp. His mother became a Christian when she heard the Gospel of Christ from a missionary there. Since moving to this country, many refugees like him from the apartment complex where he lived have been coming to Christ Church to worship and take free English classes.

Krishna was overcome by his difficult circumstances, and in a moment of profound misery, took his own life. Nepali, Indian and African people are just some of the many who came from all over Nashville and the Southeast United States to join in mourning this family's loss.

As different speakers addressed the grieving congregation of Hindus, Muslims, and Evangelical Christians, there was a great sense of hope if you can imagine that in such horrific circumstances. We were reminded of our connectedness as children of God, we were reminded that we are united in grief, and we were reminded that whatever your definition of home on earth may be, it is only a passing vision when compared to eternity.

There were some interruptions, awkward moments, false starts, misunderstandings, misinterpretations and failures to meet expectations; but I believe this was a snapshot of what the gospel tells us to do when we are instructed to bear one another's burdens. We may have done it clumsily, but we did it.

A few steps away from the resting place of one of gospel music's greatest "stars", Vestal Goodman, Pastor Dan Scott sang the Lord's prayer, we joined to sing Amazing Grace, Blessed Assurance, and listened to Nepali people sing, in their own language, praises to our risen Savior as Krishna was buried in a casket provided by the generosity of Christ Church, in a plot that I'm sure his family could not afford. We stood there until the last shovel of fresh red earth covered Krishna's grave beside a gently flowing stream, while white spring blooms rained down their snowy petals as if to add to the tears that were already being shed for this young man.

I am still trying to figure out what it all means, but right now it mainly makes me feel more sympathetic toward people who have a different background, and who face unique challenges that I cannot understand. It also makes me thankful for a place like Christ Church where we hear the gospel preached in genuine love as closely to the way I imagine Jesus himself preached it as I have ever heard. You can watch our services live on Sunday mornings, or watch past services anytime by going to http://christchurchnashville.org and clicking on sermons.

What's In It For Me?

If you look at my reading list, you'll see that I'm reading Robert Kiyosaki's "Rich Dad Poor Dad". Anybody who is at all into the latest financial best sellers has probably read this already. But if you are like me and you still haven't read it, there are some challenging ideas in there for anyone who thinks the best way to make money is to find a good job with benefits and work hard.

Among those challenging views, Kiyosaki proposes that greed, in moderation, can be the perfect antidote for laziness. He says "whenever you find yourself avoiding something you know you should be doing, then the only thing to ask yourself is: 'What's in it for me?'"

I don't know about you, but as a Christian and polite southerner, that little phrase just doesn't feel very sweet, or Christian. I believe, however that those wonderful values we grew up on can sometimes get in the way of us acting in our own best interest. We put others first to a fault so much that we do not reach our own full potential, therefore shortchanging our ability to bless to others.

Maybe you are contemplating whether or not to volunteer at church. Maybe it is that you can't find the motivation to make your health a priority. If "what's in it for you" means you are more like the person God called you to be, or that you will feel strong and healthy, and look like the sexy beast/beastess that is hiding under those winter layers of fat, then by all means... grab a little sump'm fo yo OWN sef!

In the photo you see on the left, my Mamma, who taught me everything I know about being sweet, and on the right, my Mammaw, who taught me everything I know about being my OWN sef. I couldn't love them any more if I tried. I'm the one in the middle.

Life Will Teach You

Life will teach you. You may decide what you learn, but learn you will.

I learned pretty early that there is a price to be paid for being different. In my current circle of friends, the fact that I couldn't carry on a five minute conversation about college football is not a big deal. When I was in the fifth grade however, in Arab, Alabama, it meant that I might as well have had a third arm growing out my butt.

I learned if you really want to reach your potential, that being an original is something to aspire to, not to avoid.

I found out that nobody avoids the hard parts, as hard as they might try. And that there are many things to be learned that cannot be truly understood without pain.

You may kid yourself and believe that you are the victim of an unfortunate mistake of God's. You might believe that if only you had been born into a different family with more money, fewer weirdos, or with Angelina's or Brad's looks that everything would be easy, but what you really learned was that life has it's pain. Even Brad's life.

The difference is where you go from there. You can learn the hard lessons and be so put off by the pain of it that you pitch a tent and hang pictures there that are little reminders of what could have been, find some friends who will do the same, and raise your "VICTIM" flag out front hoping that any other of life's difficult lesson's will move on before they decide to pay you any more visits. But all you have learned is how to tread water.

I, for one, learned to tread water, and it is a fine skill, but I've got to fly too. I want to dream beyond my capabilities. I want to reach the heights that only by the divine help of God's grace are attainable. I have no intention of pitching that victim tent. I will mourn losses, feel the pain of hurt, and cry. But I pray that after I have done that serious work, I will have the good sense to take one step at a time until I find myself soaring again. That is the life I was meant to live. Even if I have to remind myself of it every day. Even if I have to watch other people do it just to get a few hints.

I learned that the price you pay for being who God called you to be is so worth it. I would take it over the boring futility of conforming to someone else's expectations seven days a week.

Life will teach you. What have you learned?

The picture is me being an original. You need not take it that far.

Hope

Hope is everywhere. Yet we choose to look in a different direction. The spring is overflowing with hopeful symbols. This is the first Daffodil I saw a few weeks ago at my Mammaw Nita Ann's front porch. When I look into my Amanda's face I am filled with hope if I really stop to think that she truly loves me while knowing so much about me. Some people find hope in a passion for old cars. That old yet to be discovered Thunderbird that is just waiting to be restored to its former glory.

One fundamental element of hope is its focus. It is about the journey, not the destination. It is the great possibility of tomorrow.

If you are fixed on your current problems, I encourage you to remember something that makes you feel hopeful and spend some focused time there. In Dan Miller's "48 Days to the Work You Love" there is great insight into getting out of the "rat race" or job you hate and discovering the place where God wants you to be. I believe that if God saw fit to make you, then He gave you a specific calling and you can discover it if you will listen. Miller's latest book is called "No More Mondays."

If your life is totally consumed with staring at a clock waiting for your job to be over, then I believe that is a clue that you need to read one of those books. If you are one of the one's who's Facebook update is some version of "Can't wait till Friday" or "Dreading work" or "Hurry five o'clock," I'm betting that you may not be much fun to be around.

Find your hope. It is out there. There are plenty of good reasons to work in a job you might not like in order to fulfill the next step toward a larger goal. We all have bills and obligations, but if your soul is not being fed, you're dead. And nobody likes dead people.

If at First You Don't Succeed

Here I am on the third and last day of my first horseshow of the year. We're just outside San Antonio in the Mayberry-like town of Boerne, pronounced "Bernie." We've eaten some tasty food, discovered some unique shoppes, and I've begun to get familiar with a new keyboard after yesterday's seven or so hours of accompanying American Saddlebreds, Arabians, a Clydesdale and a miniture horse dressed as a "saddle-doodle."

Two months of no shows combined with energetic horse judges and ringmasters requesting everything from gregorian chant to Freebird left me feeling pretty toasted by nine o'clock last night when Amanda and I sat down to have the chocolate brownie pie at Chili's. We we're at Chili's because everything else was closed. The waiter wasted no time squatting at our table and draping himself over one end, which is toward the top of my waiter annoyance list. I digress.

I guess if this short little blog has a point, it might be summed up by a funny quote offered to me years ago by my Mammaw Beam. It is "If at first you don't succeed, just keep on suckin' till you do suck-seed."

My ESL Class

As I have mentioned before, Amanda and I are teaching English to a group of African guys at our church on Wednesday nights. When Amanda felt the call for us to be a part of this ministry at church, I had yet to hear that particular call; but I was willing to concede that maybe the Lord could tell her something before He told me.

It only took one night and my reluctance turned to certainty. My excuses were all shot down and I realized that this was a basic need that I was well prepared to meet.

Our curriculum begins something like this. Can you write your name? How about your address? There's the first half hour. Those questions inevitably lead to others, and before you know it another two hour Wednesday night ESL class has passed and on the drive home I pray that the guys in our class have learned half as much as they have taught me.

First? Listen to your wife. Or whomever might be around that encourages you to move just outside your comfortable field of expertise. It is completely in God's nature to tell someone else something that you should know in order to perfect your listening skills.

Second? Gratitude. These guys, all of whom are refugees from violent and desperate situations arrive on time each week with smiles and notebooks ready to meet whatever challenge awaits them with sincere gratitude. When I asked the students to tell me something they liked about living in the USA, the answers ranged from, "I like it because we can meet other people who love God," to "I like nice teach-chah."

Lastly, it is impossible to explain how my heart is changed each week by these brave and intelligent men who are walking into new and foreign challenges daily that would make most of us curl up into the fetal position and cry like babies. The Lord is changing me for the good, and hopefully, before He is finished, these guys will be able to write their names and addresses perfectly.