The Amish

When I left my California home in 1980 to begin touring in a band out of Columbus, Ohio, I soon learned that the culture I was raised in wasn't the only one that existed. Traveling throughout the U.S.,  I found two cultures to be extremely interesting: Cajuns and the Amish. The latter was the most intriguing to me.

I saw, first-hand, their horse-drawn and buggies while driving through small farming communities in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. I was also mystified with Amish 19th century-style clothing, and that they lived without electricity, telephones and TV.  How could this seemingly backward religious sect survive and coexist alongside a fast-paced society full of electronic gadgets and gas-powered cars? They do and have for over 300 years.

A wonderful documentary called "The Amish" was broadcast last night on PBS. I was reminded of my intrigue after first encountering them up close 32 years ago. Their faith, traced back to the Reformation in Europe, morphed into a religious sect, based on purity. They were originally led by leaders such as the Dutch ex-Catholic priest, Menno Simons (Mennonites) and Jacob Amman, who split with the Mennonites in 1693 over excommunication principles--his followers became the Amish. Their aversion to change has not only affected their dress but their staunch belief in schooling their children themselves, even to the point of government intervention and imprisonment when compulsory education laws were broken. 

The most moving part of the documentary was when, in 2006, a crazed 31 year-old non-Amish man tied up and shot 10 Amish girls inside their one-room school house in Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania. The man eventually killed himself as police stormed the tiny building. After 5 girls lost their lives and 5 others held stubbornly to life, an Amish neighbor of the killer's parents paid a visit to the grieving family. The Amish man held out a hand offering forgiveness and grace. Several of the Amish families who lost children in the carnage would attend the murderer's funeral.

Even as their culture is foreign to our own, we have much to learn from them. In their culture the individual is not as important as the group, church, or family. Because of this, they avoid anything that would steer the faithful away from their belief system. Some have left the fold, only to be "shunned" or excommunicated, just as Jacob Amman instituted over 300 years earlier.

What does the future look like for the Amish? Only time will tell. But I hope their amazing practice of Christian grace doesn't disappear with their culture.

Watch The Amish: Nickel Mines Clip on PBS. See more from American Experience.

Moving On

The Spring of 1982 was an exciting time. My mom and dad had just retired, moved from Fullerton, California, and purchased a home in Forest City, North Carolina. My brother Jon and I were traveling in a band together, zig-zagging across the eastern part of the US. So taking advantage of a few days off, we headed to our parent's new home for an inaugural visit.

I remember that first time with Jon: the trees were just beginning to bud, yet it was still cold enough for a jacket. We walked down to the stream that ran across their newly purchased piece of property. Coming from California--with warmer, milder weather--the four seasons of the North Carolina offered a change that was refreshing and mysterious. The local culture was new, with heavy southern accents and neighbors that waved indiscriminately at passing cars. The phrase, "Y'all come back!" seemed to be used often, even though the offer was probably more symbolic than actual.

The friendly atmosphere was sweet. My parents took to Forest City like a fish to water--it was natural and authentic. Mom and dad amassed a living room full of friends in a very short time. Jon and I would slowly work our way into the hearts of the locals--with our mullets and rock & roll attire. Christmas vacation and short breaks would be spent at the house, but most of the time we were out on the road.

Jon left the road and lived there for a few years before heading down to Alabama to finish college. I met my bride-to-be in Mobile, Alabama, and made plans to introduce Brenda to mom, dad and their Forest City home. After we married, the kids came with us to see grandma and grandpa. Josh spent his first trip as a newborn, sleeping in a drawer that was removed from a chest in the "blue" room my folks set up for us.

The kids grew. And as they did, we made the trip to North Carolina a couple of times a year. Then one Saturday in April of 1997, we received the news that my mom had passed away. That somber trip back for the funeral made the home seem like a lonelier place, even though dad would eventually bounce back from grief. We moved there to be near him for a few years, but eventually moved to Tennessee where we now live. Dad stayed there, living alone for ten more years. His health issues eventually prompted us to sell the Forest City house so he could permanently live with us in Spring Hill.

In a few weeks the sale of the home, along with emptying it's contents, will be in the past. The memories of thirty years, calling it our second home, will fade into memory. As we turn the key to lock the back door for the last time, I'm sure it won't be easy--especially for dad. It will be the same time of year that Jon and I were first introduced to the house. The moving trucks will pull out of the driveway,  and we'll get a final view of the little house in the rear-view mirror.

Time to move on--dad says--but it's still bitter sweet.

One Chip At A Time

“Everything can look like a failure in the middle,” says Harvard Law School professor and author, Rosabeth Moss Kanter. The statement caught my attention while reading a video transcript from a recent blog post about her creative process. I agree that, for this reason, it's so easy to abandon a plan before even starting out. And as pastor/author Rick Warren Tweeted this morning: "Brilliant ideas often sound absurd at first."

Kanter went on to explain that she requires discipline to complete tasks. Even though I am creative-- and tend to spend the majority of my time devising new ideas and making plans for this project or the other--I, too, am dependent on mantras like "Just Do It!" Saying things like this to myself help generate transformation and movement. 

I made a commitment almost two years ago to write at least three blogs a week. Once this journey commenced, I often suffered writer's block. Sometimes I started writing and found the subject didn't interest me to the finish. Whatever the case, I found it necessary to write what was on my mind and heart. Oftentimes in the process, I may have lost my audience (whoever you are) by choosing subjects that interest only me. I apologize if that happened too often in the past...I'll try harder to string you along in this post!

You see, my goal as a writer is a selfish one, really; I am doing this for me. Writing is something I love to do, even though the process can be difficult at times. When I get stuck in the middle of something, and it looks like it might turn out to be a failure, I trudge-on until I find the end. It's therapy for me. 

Later in the video transcript Professor Kanter referred to the creative process of a legendary sculptor/artist: "...if you chip away bit by bit, you do create the great sculpture.  I think it was Michelangelo who once said, 'How do you make this beautiful sculpture?  Well you start with a block of stone, and then you chip away everything that isn’t David.'"

Each time I sit down to a blank page, I am confronted with possible failure-- but I can't let that stop me. I believe great writers do more editing than writing. If only I could edit as well as Michelangelo...
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Thank you to Rosabeth Moss Kanter. Quotes are from a video recorded on June 13, 2007,  and were published by "Big Think."  Click here to view the Big Think post

Goodbye To Whitney

The last few weeks have been sad ones for the music community and for those who grew up with Whitney Houston. She managed to dominate the charts for years with songs that provided a soundtrack to life through the 80s and 90s.

Her marriage to Bobby Brown seemed to change her drastically. The once fresh-faced girl with the big voice became the lady who belted out "Bobby!" in her husky, cigarette rasp of the 2000s and beyond. We painfully watched her make that transformation--during candid interviews, on the show Finding Bobby Brown, and through YouTube videos of her diminished vocal ability, captured during a European tour in 2010.

Watching her funeral on TV last week, I marveled at how many celebrities filled the New Hope Baptist Church in Newark, New Jersey. I was struck by those who came to the pulpit to sing or bring personal stories, dedicated to the silenced "Voice," who lay in a beautiful coffin just a few feet away. I saw or heard most of the four-hour funeral either on the kitchen TV or on my Sirius XM car radio. My 85 year-old father had no idea who she was. I told him that she was this generation's Frank Sinatra or Ella Fitzgerald. He was astonished that there could be any singer comparable to the greats from his beloved Swing Era of the 30s and 40s. I said, "Believe it or not, Dad, she was that good."

Facebook was riddled with comments the night of her death. One particularly caught my attention. It was an excerpt taken from the song "How Will I Know," featuring just her vocal track and some background vocals from the song--no accompaniment whatsoever. Drenched in a bit of reverb was an astonishing voice, unaided by auto-tuning, hitting the full range of notes with incredible accuracy, along with a rich, beautiful tone that seemed to come straight from the throne room of heaven. What force and authority. She is unmatched today. 

It was refreshing to hear the tributes from the pulpit. They were complimentary of her as a friend, mother and artist,  but also carried a warning for the lifestyle that led to her untimely death at 48. It wasn't a preaching service, per se, but it was definitely a praise service. God was lifted up there. I am certain that all of those celebrities in the church heard the Gospel; there was no way out of it. Bishop T.D. Jakes,  Rev. Marvin Winans, and even Tyler Perry pointed to God's love and grace in an eloquent way. 

We have lost a wonderful singer, the family a daughter and mother. But even through trouble, her testimony--and ironically the last thing she sang the Thursday night before her death--was "Jesus loves me, this I know..." Having confessed Jesus as Lord, I believe that she is now singing with the angels. Grace leads the believer home, through the redemptive blood of Jesus, and not by ones own good works or strength. According to Romans 8:38-39:

"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."  

Recipe For Happiness

I was stopped in my tracks Sunday morning after I dragged my guitar, amp and pedals through the side door at church. My 5:30 AM alarm seemed rude that morning, stealing precious sleep that my body craved. Reluctantly, I made my way to the stage and to my spot by 7:00, where I would spend the next four and a half hours, until the morning's worship sets were completed.

Coming through door, and a few steps behind me was the acoustic guitar player, Steve. Just after him came Jon. Jon is a bass player from England. Listening to him greet everyone in his British accent is always refreshing and pleasant. As we found our places and unpacked the gear, he asked me how my week had been. I gave the lame answer that my week went fairly well, that it was filled with trying to make a living.

Jon's reply floored me. "Isn't life funny," he said, looking at me straight in the eye, "when you have security you look for adventure, and when you have adventure, you look for security?" I thought about it for a split second, and the truth of his seemingly nonchalant statement said a whole lot about about my lack of faith specifically, and the fickle nature of humanity in general. I asked myself, "Will I ever be happy with where I am in life? When will I ever be content?" I don't know why, but I seem to come back to this lessen more often than I'd like to admit. God has a way of schooling me when I least expect it.

I thought about the Apostle Paul and one of the greatest statements about contentment I've ever seen. In Philippians 4:10-13, he writes:

"I rejoiced greatly in the Lord that at last you renewed your concern for me. Indeed, you were concerned, but you had no opportunity to show it. I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength (NIV)."

 Then I remembered one of my favorite quotes from J. Kenfield Morley:

"I believe the recipe for happiness is just enough money to pay the monthly bills you acquire, a little surplus to give you confidence, a little too much work each day, enthusiasm for your work, a substantial share of good health, a couple of real friends and a wife and children to share life's beauty with you."

 Thank you Jon for reminding me that no matter where God leads in life, He has me firmly in His grip. One day life may be full of challenges and the craving for security. The next, we may have more money than we need (wake me up, I'm dreaming!), yet we are still yearning for adventure. God will take care of us, as we trust Him.

God, this week I want to enjoy the journey, filled with contentment and thankfulness for this day. Tomorrow has plenty worry of it's own, so I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Isn't it amazing that a sentence spoken from a fellow musician in a matter of seconds can change my my day, and even the way I look at life? Maybe security and adventure can co-exist while allowing God to meet the deepest desires of my heart.

My Bucket List: The Beach Boys

It's no secret that I love the Beach Boys. My home was filled with their songs that my older brother played on our living room stereo.

Reunited Beach Boys-L to R: Johnston, Marks, Wilson, Love & Jardine

 

My first introduction was the album All Summer Long. When my dad would take us to Carona Del Mar beach on early Saturday mornings during the summer, I would pretend that I was one of the Beach Boys as I ran back and forth, dodging the incoming waves. The All Summer Long album cover had a collage of photos showing the group fooling around on the beach, in what I now see as staged promo poses. It was a wholesome image that I, along with their many fans, hoped would last forever. It was just an illusion, and the innocence would end as Brian's drug use escalated and his mental health quickly failed. 

Back in the mid-sixties, I dreamed of one day singing along-side Brian Wilson--his falsetto ruled in my book! I still purchase Brian's new music when it comes out because I don't want to miss anything. I was so happy to see Brian recover from his dark days of mental illness (he still battles it to a degree, but is active as a writer, recording artist and live performer). When I heard the Beach Boys were reuniting after long legal battles and inter-personal struggles, my dream of seeing them like they were when I was a kid might really come true. It's sad that Wilson brothers Carl and Dennis are no longer alive to join them.

Original members Mike Love, Brian Wilson and Al Jardine, joined with Bruce Johnston and David Marks (the other original guitarist who left before all of the fame), are hitting the road for a limited number of concerts beginning in April and ending in July. They will also release a newly-recorded CD.

My memory of a whacked-out Brian Wilson, surfing in his bath robe on a 1976 episode of Saturday Night Live with Jim Belushi and Dan Aykroyd, wounded the dream of any resurrected innocence from my childhood. Now, with all the lawsuits settled and relationships healed, maybe I'll get a chance to see them before it's too late. I've already checked-off seeing Paul McCartney at Madison Square Garden in NYC from my bucket list.

Return to the Garage

Where did most of our learning about playing in a band occur? That's right, in our parent's garage! God bless my mom and dad; they endured mini-earthquakes that shook our tiny home in Fullerton, made by cranked guitars and drums. I'm sure the music we were trying to create wasn't fully in tune or on the beat. But we had a dream,  and it was to become the best players we could be.

Nowadays, a person off the street can pick up a guitar, squelch out a few notes into an auto-tuner, don a pair of skinny jeans and a bed-head hairdo, and make it big as a pop star. Thanks to the fast-track to fame, shows like American Idol and the X Factor crank out factory-made performers--not unlike steroid-induced chickens that are rushed from incubator to market in what seems like a week. The problem with this is that the wanna be performers miss the all-important period of learning to walk (musically speaking) and the chance to make mistakes in obscurity, to experiment, fail again, and develop the creative prowess and stamina that will bring longevity to their career. Tell me, beside the obvious few, where are all the TV talent show winners now?

Dave Grohl, leader of the Foo Fighters and former drummer of Nirvana (can you believe it'll be 18 years in April that Kurt Cobain passed away?), returned to the garage--literally--to record the Grammy-winning recording Wasting Light. I think it was cool that they decided to connect with their early days of working out songs in a sweaty garage, next to the trash cans and lawn mower (Grohl's studio/garage was probably a bit more high tech).

It's hard to beat the mean streets when it comes to attaining a true, hardscrabble-wrought career as a songwriter and musician. Yes, I'll admit to using a computer to record music. But what Grohl said in his Grammy speech, after winning Best Rock Album last weekend, was awesome. Standing with his band mates at the podium, he encouraged the younger generation, with hopes of one day becoming artists, to work out their dreams the hard and true way--through relying on heart and soul, not machines, short-cuts or phony methods. AMEN!

Check out what Dave Grohl said in his Grammy speech below...

The Artist: Redemption

The first five words of the Bible are: "In the beginning God created..." As creative people, we actually follow in our Creator's footsteps. God gave specific orders to Adam, the first human being, to make up names for the animals (Genesis 2:19). As far as I can see in the Bible, God never jumped in to intervene. I never read where God said, "Adam, are you sure that's a good name for so and so?" He gave Adam dominion over the animals (Genesis 1:26-27). The Creator gave Adam a partner, Eve (Genesis 2:19b-22), and told them to be fruitful and multiply (Genesis 1:28). It was an incredible trust that God gave to Adam and Eve, but through disobedience, that trust was betrayed (Genesis 3). Even today, we, Adam's descendants. are free to make choices and decisions. The problem is, we must all take responsibility for the choices we make, and face the consequences.

Our need for God hasn't changed since Adam and Eve left the Garden. Their descendants have inherited this God-need and people today are still looking to fill the vacuum in their hearts with many things--all of which don't compare to a true relationship with God. Creativity itself will never fill the God-void. Its only when we come back to the Creator, establish a personal relationship with Him through the blood of Jesus and become  Christ-followers, that we ever find true peace and purpose in our lives.

At the point of redemption (God paid our sin's ransom through Jesus' death and resurrection), our journey as creative people is properly aligned with the great creative force that exists in God. He wants to use us to do great things in His Kingdom, with His people, and to glorify His name. I believe the "sky's the limit" for our creativity as Christians. We are not doomed to produce milquetoast, goody-goody works of art for our Lord, but are free to find and use the coolest forms of artistic expression that lead humanity to our great God. 

Receiving God's grace and redemption is the true beginning of our creative journey. May God show Himself mightily as you seek to be the artist God created you to be. 

The Artist: Opening Eyes and Enlightening Hearts

I started a small group in our church recently, serving creative people and artists. After searching for an avenue of Bible study, I chose to delve into the area of creativity and the Arts as they relate to the Christian and faith. 

I find that the Bible pays an extraordinary amount of attention to creativity. Its not just as a wonderfully written piece of literature, but contains stories loaded with characters and artistic archetypes for us to study. David and Solomon are two of the Bible's most famous artists. The Bible is filled with poetry and drama; visual arts were such an important part of the Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem; music was huge in Hebrew culture; Psalms is a big collection of prayers and songs.

In Ephesians 1:18 the Apostle Paul writes- "I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his holy people, (NIV)" As Paul encouraged the church at Ephesus, we as artists have a wonderful opportunity in God's Kingdom to help "open eyes" and enlighten hearts to behold the glory of God. I believe this is the primary goal of the Christian artist.

As we discover His plan for our lives, its no stretch that God placed us in an environment as a child, where we would be influenced by the visual arts, cinema, drama,  music,, dance, poetry and literature. Our path in life brought us to this point where, along with God-given talent, we choose to serve the people of God and glorify Him with this wonderful creativity.

Look for part 3 of The Artist series in my next blog installment. Thanks again or reading!

The Artist: Early Influences

I've been thinking lately about how music has affected my life. Like many who find themselves as professional musicians and songwriters in middle age, there must have been a powerful influence early-on that propelled us into this crazy life--even after various career near-death experiences. What is it that keeps us going?

I was talking to a friend and frequent worship band member Sunday who told me how his dad's record collection had a strong influence on him becoming a musician. He talked of sitting transfixed, looking at record jackets and listening to those classic 70s tunes. He pointed out that it was not just the songs but the sound of each instrument that created such wonder. Like me, those experiences launched my friend into the trajectory as a musician, ultimately landing him in Nashville. 

Each artistic person I meet seems to have had an indelible childhood experience. The emotions we felt then, even as early as infancy, are still alive many years later. As a musician and songwriter, I find myself attempting to re-create those visceral emotions in others. If I can accomplish that goal, I feel I've succeeded as an artist.

Look for part 2 of The Artist in my next blog. Thanks for reading!

Sights and Sounds of Contentment

I lay in bed this morning listening as the garbage truck stopped and started in front of each house on our street. These sounds can often go unnoticed if we don't pay close attention. To join the cacophony, distant birds and an occasional neighbor's heat pump wound up and wound down again to silence.

My earliest memories include the sound of distant trains that would make their midnight passage through Fullerton toward faraway destinations. I wondered about fabled hobos who may have found shelter in one of the train's rail cars. Well, maybe by the mid-sixties hobos didn't even exist anymore. But the sounds I heard outside, when everything else was still, made a big impression on me and stirred my imagination.

In my southern California childhood home, we never used an air conditioner; the windows were always cranked out in the spring and summer to allow the circulation of fresh air. The only thing between me and the outside was a dusty screen. I fell asleep many nights to the sound of rustling leaves and cats as they slithered through the bushes below my bedroom window. The smell of fresh air always brings me back to those growing-up days in Fullerton--fresh bed sheets from the line always felt so good after a hot bath; the scent of bar soap on my arm as I slept added to my feeling of safety and security--don't ask me why.

Our homes are closed up tight nowadays and are less and less connected to the outside world. The summer sounds of lawn mowers and hissing sprinklers are often drowned-out by loud TVs and iPod headphones. I miss the music of children playing and the warm outside air as it shifts through the screen door to ruffle the curtains. Those are the sights and sounds of contentment to me, sounds that let me know everything is all right.

Phil's Fifteen Minutes

Last year at this time I was a few counties over from Punxsutawney Phil, leading a worship conference in western Pennsylvania. I was able to witness the hysteria brought on by the Groundhog Day festivities at Gobbler's Knob first-hand, via local cable T.V.. Phil is a rock star, by the way.

Groundhog Day, rooted in a German superstition and started as a small gathering in 1887, is a very serious event in Punxsutawney, PA. Local folks--even thrill-seekers from all over the country--come to witness the spectacle. The event is organized by a group of leaders called "The Inner Circle." The members of this elite group are powerful folks. They dress in 19th-century garb and, again this week, gathered around Phil's house, agitated him until he appeared, and a small child was sure she heard him say, "As I look at the crowd on Gobbler's Knob, many shadows do I see. So six more weeks of winter it must be!"

Anyway, Phil (or some other critter who looks just like him) made a 7:25 AM appearance yesterday morning to give us six more weeks of winter. Hey, the temperature lately is in the mid-sixties--I'll take six more weeks of this balmy Tennessee weather!

After the doughnut carts and coffee venders folded up shop, and the crowds headed home, a tinge of disappointment surly lingered in the hearts of Punxsutawney's citizens. They were in the spotlight once again for fifteen minutes. Now, like Phil, it's time to get back to life as usual.

According to records, Phil's forecast is accurate only about 39% of the time. He fails as a whether man...but who cares?  Groundhog Day organizers expected about 15,000 to 18,000 visitors this year, and that promises to bring a bounty of revenue to Gobbler's Knob.

To Carb Or Not To Carb?

I've got to lose some serious poundage. In the past three decades I have lost weight through a myriad of programs. Recently I found myself caught in the vortex of uncertainty until I made my final decision.

Lately I have have been a bread-eating machine after we found an ample supply of killer sourdough from our local market---I have stuffed my face with it daily. That was just the tip of the iceberg...

After falling off the wagon of my 2010 weight loss, I ended up in a deadly "eat whatever I see" behavior pattern. It wasn't like I was literally eating furniture or small animals on a whim, it was just a lack of discipline and ignoring the cost of irresponsible eating. So I wrestled with which weight loss method to use. I believe in the Weight Watcher's philosophy of counting calories, but I also had to make a big change with my love affair with starch.

I lost 60 pounds in '04 with a low carb approach, so that's what I have been doing for two weeks now. I do miss my starches, but a thinner "me" is much more attractive! Please pray for me as I attempt to create a more healthy lifestyle. I feel for you guys out there who are doing the same!