A spiritual readjustment

Last Tuesday night was a very strange, frustrating, cool, amazing night. The only way I can describe it was I received a godly ass whuppin. I needed it and sooooo deserved it without even knowing it.

Funny how that works.

I can't describe the circumstances of where I was without giving a little back story. Several months ago I answered an ad on Craig's List looking for a Christian saxophone player. I ultimately hooked up with a man who is an amazing bass player who was trying to put a band together to play original jazz/funk/fusion music. He was able to get together a group of guys and we met a couple of times. These were all really good players and the potential of this group had my juices flowing. I was really excited about it. After a couple of weeks he just couldn't get any real commitments from the other players so he put the band on 'hiatus.' That's code for it wasn't going to work. I can't even say we broke up because it's like having one date, but not a second, with a pretty girl. You can't say you broke up, because there was never anything really there. Fast forward a couple of months to last week.

I received an e-mail from this guy and he's trying to put a band together again with different players (except me on saxophone) and we would have our first get together on Tuesday evening at 8:00. Well, that was a bit of a problem because I was scheduled to play for our Sunday service at my church this week and we rehearse on Tuesdays at 7:30. I told him I could be there but I would be late, probably about 9:00 or so. He said no problem come on out. Here's where it starts getting interesting.

It started with having a really exhausting day at work on Tuesday and I still had these two rehearsals yet to play. I was already tired when I got to the 7:30 rehearsal. Now I don't know about you, but when I'm tired I am not the most pleasant person to be around. I don't have any patience and worse, my mental filter which keeps me from saying things I shouldn't, gets frayed around the edges. Keep in mind we're rehearsing for a church service. The whole idea is to prepare music in a way that everyone that is in attendance on Sunday morning can draw nearer to God and worship Him. I've studied music my entire life and I have some pretty strong opinions about how to go about making good music, and if the music is not going well I can generally put my finger on what the problem is that would help make it better. In a lot of ways it's like a good mechanic. Now, the rehearsal is not going the way I think it should, I'm tired, cranky, my filter is not functioning at it's full capacity, and I'm not the leader of the group. You can probably guess what my demeanor was like. I'm not proud, I'm just telling it like it is. In addition to all this, I had another rehearsal to go play. Yea...

I got out of my first rehearsal with enough time to make it to the next one by about 9:00 like I had promised. However, this rehearsal was in a part of town I didn't know at all. I had printed out a MapQuest page of the address I was given but I still ended up doing multiple circles around the neighborhood. My mood was not improving at this point. After a couple of circuits around, I did find where I was supposed to be and went inside.

The building was an old warehouse that had been renovated into a church. As I entered and walked toward the sanctuary I heard a sermon being preached. Uh-oh, there was supposed to be a rehearsal going on, not a service. This wasn't in the plan. I was worried that I drove all the way out there for nothing. As I walked into the sanctuary there was about 50 people in the seats and 5 or 6 guys on stage holding instruments. As I moved in, the guitar player waved me up on stage to join them. Ok. It's 9:15 on a Tuesday night, what's going on?

What was going on was there was a week long revival event at this church during the evenings. I believe the individual who in the newly formed band (an attender at the church) thought the sanctuary would be available and we could meet there. He must not have checked. Anyway, here was a group of guys on the stage ready to play who had never played together before. We didn't even know each other's names. When the speaker was done with his fire and brimstone sermon he asked us to play something behind him as he prayed.

Oh my goodness. The keyboard player and the drummer broke out into a funky little groove and the rest of us just dove in. It was amazing. The pastor was praying and he had this ebb and flow to his rhythm. The band went right along rising and falling with the intensity of his voice. It just flowed. There was more to the service and we played a few other things and I was powerfully impacted by the experience.

I had expected this to be a first rehearsal where everything is a little timid, I'm a little nervous etc. Kind of like being at a party where you don't know anyone. What do you do? The musical equivalent of small talk until you find some common ground. Not this time, the Lord is at work, there are people watching, listening, and you have a microphone in front of you. I wasn't even the least bit nervous. I didn't know what was going to come out of my horn but I did now it wasn't for my benefit.

After this was over I was driving home in silence trying to emotionally digest the evening. I didn't have the radio on or anything, I was just thinking. I distincly remember this thought in my head 'you see, your music is for me.' This was delivered in a still small voice, but it hit me like a sledgehammer.

In one evening and 6 small words God had whupped my ass for my attitude and performance in my first rehearsal. Yet at the same time He turned around and gave me what I desired, more accurately what I craved, in the second.

I can't wait for Sunday morning.

A Long Time Coming

It's good to be back. I haven't written anything in a long time and for both of my loyal readers I apologize. My last post was back in January about the death of a co-workers spouse and I'm not sure I've felt as passionate about something since. Well, o.k. there have been a few things.

In May of 2009 I wrote a post titled 'Changed Forever' regarding my trip to the Dominican Republic. Last month I had the opportunity to go back for another week working with the Kids Alive ministry in Constanza, DR.

All of the details I wrote about in that post are certainly still true, but how it affected me was different. Since it was my second trip the shock value from the enormity of the need wasn't as strong and my reactions to what I was exposed were very different. I absolutely believe God is working on me through these experiences. I'm still sorting through some of it but here is what I've been thinking about.

Being surrounded by the severe poverty in Constanza makes me look inward, and this trip really has helped me sharpen the differentiation between true needs and wants. Real needs aren't dependent on geography, your stature in your community, your job, or your family. I'm talking about the stuff of basic survival. These needs might look a little different depending on where you are, but without them we are truly lost. In our society we have a whole bunch of wants masquerading around as needs and I believe God is telling me I need to improve my discernment between the two.

Secondly, I need to do a better job of helping my children to understand this as well. I must be more diligent in helping them create this discernment. This is REALLY hard, especially around Christmas time. We are constantly bombarded with false messages about what we really need, a certain brand of jeans, a certain type of computer, the latest makeup trend etc. etc.

Finally, I really feel there is a piece about relationships. I'm not sure where God is leading but I am still working on it and I'll leave that for another post. The next trip will be in July of 2011 and I hope to be able to go and possibly take my 17 year old son too.

The Fragility of Life

An absolute tragedy happened; the wife of a coworker passed away today. I don't even know where to begin with how I feel about this.

It's my blog, so I'm going to vent a little...

I have to admit, this has me completely out of whack. I wouldn't say my coworker and I are friends, friendly acquaintances for sure but not much beyond that. We do the same job but he works from home so our paths don't cross very often. I believe he is younger than me and I assume his wife was as well. I also know they had small children.

Tragedy.

She had been battling an illness for a long time and finally lost the fight. I don't know the details, but it really doesn't matter. When I heard the news from my boss I almost cried. I've had this consuming sadness all day long. I was at a rehearsal this evening and couldn't really concentrate on what I was supposed to be doing.

I never met her.

When an elderly person gets sick and dies it is very sad, but I don't think too many people would go so far as labeling it a tragedy or saying 'it's unfair.' This is completely different. In these situations my thoughts are mainly on those left behind.

An incomplete family.

I have no idea what I'll say to him the next time we meet. I want to be sympathetic, but I truly have no idea what he's been through or what he's dealing with now. I can't even imagine. Actually, over the last 13 hours or so that is what I've been doing, trying to imagine how I would handle the same situation.

Faith

I would like to think I would lean on my faith, and God would help me through it. Since I am a broken and sinful man I would more likely scream at God begging for an explanation and demand that He fix this problem so life can go on just as I expect it to. How stupid is that? I don't think I could be Job, but I might be able to find a mustard seed.

Yin and Yang

I have to admit, the thought of going through my life without my wife scares the hell out of me. She means the world to me, and if I can claim even a little bit that I am a good man, husband, and/or father it's because of her. There are WAAAYYYYY to many sappy movie lines that describe what she means to me such as "You complete me" etc., but the one that fits the best is an exchange between Rocky and Paulie in the original Rocky

Paulie What's the story? What's happenin'? Ya really like her?

Rocky Balboa Sure, I like her.

Paulie I don't see it. What's the attraction?

Rocky Balboa I don't know. Fills gaps, I guess.

Paulie What's 'gaps'?

Rocky Balboa I dunno, gaps. She's got gaps, I got gaps. Together, we fill gaps. I dunno.

I fear that if something were to ever happen to my wife I would end up like some crazy guy stumbling around downtown mumbling to myself. I actually have a lot of faith that God has built a lot of strength into the human psyche and I pray my coworker will make it through this horrible time and end up stronger for the experience.

Thanks for listening.

The Onset of Winter

One of the reasons to love living in Minnesota is the changing of seasons. Notice I didn't say I loved living in Minnesota. As I have gotten older I really have struggled to enjoy, or more precisely cope with the winters. Maybe that's why my mother lives in Albuquerque and my father lives near Phoenix.

When I was young I was constantly outside. It didn't matter how cold it was, I wanted to be playing hockey at the outdoor rink in the nearby park. If there was a fresh snowfall I wanted to be the first kid on the sledding hill. When I hit my teen years I really got into skiing. I was a maniac on two long boards strapped to my feet. More often than not, they were aimed straight down the hill which more than irked the local ski patrol. Sometimes the only way to stop was to hit the ground. It's amazing I never broke anything.

I was watching the news this morning and found out today is the first day the sun officially sets before I get off work at 5:00 p.m.

Oh crap, winter is coming.

The sense of dread that comes with the onset of winter can sometimes be unbearable. Where is the joy from my youth? Why do I cringe when my kids ask me to take them sledding? There is a park less than a 5 iron away with a big skating rink. Why do I lace up the skates only once or twice a season?

I might be an average guy but I am blessed in many ways. I should not be dreading winter. I don't necessarily have to embrace it, but I certainly don't have reason to dread it. I drive a big 4 wheel drive SUV, I ain't gonna get stuck. My wife drives a smaller, sexier SUV and she ain't gonna get stuck either. I almost never get sick so I'm not overly concerned about the flu pandemic hitting me. I also have a conscientious neighbor who snow-blows most of the public walkways on the block, and another across the alley who occasionally blows out my driveway leaving me minimal shoveling. And finally, I have a warm home with a cozy fireplace.

What's my problem?

This winter I am going to intentionally attempt to be in better moods. It's hard to have a sunny disposition when it's dark most of the time up here in the frozen tundra, but I'm going to try.

God's Grand Design and Roughhousing With Teenagers

The human body is an amazing thing. Some might say 'Well Jerry, that's not particularly insightful...' and you would be correct. I really haven't given much thought to this until recently. I generally give God props for amazing things when I am looking at magnificence in nature. This past summer my daughter and I went to South Dakota and saw the Badlands. It was truly beautiful, amazing, and awe inspiring. A few years ago I was in Utah in the summer and took a tram to the top of the mountain at Snowbird. I had the same feeling there, being able to see for miles and viewing things that were magnificent beyond anything I could imagine. Anyone who doesn't believe in God needs to spend some time in places like these and try and explain away the grandeur as a cosmic accident.

One of my shortcomings is that I fail to see God's beauty in the small details of everyday events. Well, I just got a not so subtle reminder of these things. This is a warning for all you men who have teenage sons...resist the temptation to roughhouse with them. Here is the difficult truth (ignore it at your peril); when kids fall they bounce, when middle aged men fall they break. Needless to say I learned this lesson the hard way.

My soon to be 16 year old son gave me a body check from behind and I went down. It wasn't all that hard and the intent certainly wasn't to injure. But as the 'truth' was stated above something broke. I know am the proud owner of a fractured ulna. It's really not serious, in fact I'm not even in a cast, but the range of motion in my elbow and ability to rotate my wrist are severely restricted, and will be for several weeks.

What does this have to do with God's grand design?

The reason I don't see God in the everyday things of life is because I take so much for granted. Like I stated above it is one of my biggest shortcomings. The ability to grasp and pull, rotate our hand (like using a screwdriver), threading a belt through the loops in our pants, pulling socks on, etc. etc. Since I can't do these things very well right now I have spent a little time thinking about our (human beings) design.

Think about all the complex movements of our hand, wrist, and elbow. Simple activities we do over and over again without thinking...washing our hands, brushing our teeth, picking up a glass from the table, raising it to our lips and taking a drink. This one extremity does an infinite number of complex movements, both independently and in concert with each other. I'm beginning to see this with the same awe and wonder as the Badlands. Currently this awe and wonder is generously delivered with a shot of searing pain every time I try and do these activities with my left arm.

Thankfully I'm right handed.

Fence Building, Hand Holding, and Sledge Hammer Therapy

A while ago I was driving down the street and I saw a woman walking with a small girl, maybe six or seven years old. Just as they were about to cross the street the woman put her hand out and the child instinctively put her hand in her mom's. I generally don't think much about this type of gesture, but this time something occurred to me; that little moment represents the core of a relationship. A child putting her trust and faith in an adult who is strong enough to lead her through a dangerous situation.

This might seem like an overdramatization of the simple act of crossing the street, but look at it from the child's point of view. There are lots of cars whizzing past, and children have all seen the smooshed squirrels so it is no giant leap of understanding to know what a car would do to them. Also, they don't know the 'rules of the road' so traffic doesn't really have a pattern, it's just criss crossing chaos. From this point of view it is no small undertaking to take your mother's hand and step off the curb into the street. But she does it without breaking stride.

Why?

A few weeks ago I built a fence around our back yard. It turned out pretty well and I am suitably impressed with myself. It's not perfect but it's pretty good. The longer I live in my old house in Minneapolis the better I get at building and fixing things. I have some friends and acquaintances that are highly skilled in these types of projects and I am envious of their abilities. I want to be known as a person who can fix small things if they break (internal combustion engines are waaayyy beyond me...I can change the oil), has a reasonable collection of tools and some knowledge and skill in using them, and can finish a project. It's a guy thing.

My question is: does the ability to do these things make a child more willing to hold my hand to cross the street?

I have been thinking alot about relationships with our children and my legacy. I recall a bit done by Bill Cosby where he relates a story when an interviewer asked him what he wanted on his tombstone and he retorts "See, told 'ya I was sick!" If we take the question a little more seriously, how do we want to be remembered? As I said above I want to be known as a guy who can fix and build things as necessary, but I'm not interested in that being my legacy. Nor do I want to be known as a guy who excelled at his job or played a hot sax. I'm not trying to say these things are not important because they are, but what is really important?

As parents we love our children deeply. We don't always like them, but we love them beyond measure. Our most recent home project was replacing the cement steps leading to the back door to our house. The reason we did this project is a great story that needs to be left for another time. However during the project there was a unique and instructive moment.

Anyone who has spent time busting up concrete knows what a tough job it is. All destructive tools are a welcome addition to the workforce. There was a particularly stubborn piece hanging onto a corner that needed a little caressing by a sledge hammer. Anita willingly picked up the 10lb hammer and swung away. After she dislodged the stubborn stone and was accepting my accolades for a job well done, she told me she was envisioning faces on the surface of the rock she was whacking. I fully knew she was talking about the children because there had been more than her share of tension in their interactions over the previous few days.

Some might be appalled at the notion of whacking your kids with a sledge hammer. Keeping in mind this was a theoretical face bashing, I have to admit I completely get it. In fact I'm a little jealous I wasn't the one whacking the rock. Why do we want to whack these children, whom we dearly love but don't always like, in the face with a hammer?

I would argue it's that love that makes us want to do it. If we didn't care so much, the way they act wouldn't bother us so much. The sledge hammer can be a great coping mechanism and a really efficient therapist. A few whacks and it's out of your system. After all, we still want to hold their hand crossing the street...and THAT is what's really important

Image is...what? My Last Day as a Fat Guy

Today after church, a woman I respect immensely came up to me and said she wanted to tell me that I had been on her mind and she had been praying for me.

Let me give you a little background; her name is Donna and she is of my parent's generation. She is the mother of a man I respect immensely as well. Funny how that runs in the family. Anyway, Donna is a person who is an absolute prayer warrior. She knows all about our family issues and has been a foster parent for years so has plenty of understanding of the difficulties our family is enduring. Donna has been fervently praying for me and my family, and every time I see her she always has an easy smile, an encouraging word, and a hug.

I love this woman dearly and when Donna says she wants to speak to me, I want to listen. She has more integrity in her little finger than I could ever hope to have and I am wise enough to know when to sit down and shut up.

In one of my earlier posts I talked about the mission trip I took to the Dominican Republic, a week or so after I got back I was sharing about the trip in my sunday school class (my church calls them 'adult bible fellowships' or ABF's). During my informal presentation I made an off hand remark regarding something about my size because I am not a small man. I certainly don't remember what it was...I make lots of remarks like that. But she told me it hurt her that I talked that way about myself.

Today is July 5th, and the Sunday in question must have been the first Sunday in June, a month ago. Donna had been praying about this for a month. She is not a shy woman, if she thought the time was right she would have talked with me any Sunday during the past month or she could have picked up the phone and called.

She was concerned that I had lost touch with the fact that God loves me just the way I am. She reminded me that God made me the way I am and Christ lives inside of me. She's concerned that when I make light of who I am, it cheapens God. She is concerned for me, and I'm concerned she's right.

I don't need reminding of who God is and what He has done for me, or that Christ is living inside of me. I have that pretty well covered and I am secure in my faith, but 4+ paragraphs into this post I am finally getting to my point. Although the reminder never hurts.

I do make a lot of self-depracating, off hand comments about being a big guy and what fat guys do. I do it in a Louis Anderson sort of way. When I'm playing my saxophone I'll put the microphone stand directly in front of me and say something like "I keep it there so I can hide behind it." Or if it's mealtime you might hear "fat guy's gotta eat!" Occasionally if I have to squeeze by something I'll say "I'm not as skinny as I look." Here's an old one that comes up "I'm in shape...round is a shape." Why do I do that?

Just typing it makes me cringe. So here we are, nearly the exact middle of 2009 and I am declaring that today is my last day as a fat guy. No, I'm not having surgery tomorrow, nor going on a crash diet (I still like Garfield's line...'diet is die with a 'T'). In fact I'm not sure what it means other than the fat jokes are over. I'll put some brain power to it and post my intentions later when I can come up with something coherent.

Maybe if I start thinking differently about myself I will be happier in the long run and have a little more energy to actually do something.

I hope so.