Thoughts and Musings on Faith, Music, Family, Life

Thank God for Switchbacks

It's 9am on a crisp Memorial Day weekend, and my oldest son and I are sitting on the aluminum bleachers of our town's lone high school.  It's Graduation Saturday, and for all the years I've lived in Mayberry and have received graduation "announcements" from our church's youth, I'm embarassed to say that I never realized those things were actual invitations (note to self: make sure sons' graduation invitations have the phrase "You're Invited" in them).  It's one of those small-town idiosyncrasies that non-natives have to learn on the fly.  It took me ten years, but at least I'm finally here.

Sitting there as the last of the seniors assembled in the south end zone, I knew I'd get to see five of my church's youth flip their tassels.  I knew I'd hear hoots and hollers as folks strolled across the stage to receive diplomas.  I didn't know I'd see the entire senior class interrupt the middle of the ceremony with a nifty dance routine that was obviously the result of some serious rehearsing.  Nor did I anticipate the bellowing horn from the mac truck parked in the parking lot across the way when one student's name was called.

But the biggest surprise of the whole affair came from the words of the class Salutitorian, Elizabeth Dinkins.  Her speech begin innocently enough with the anticipated words about what has been achieved and what promise awaits.

And then, out of nowhere, she says this:

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I grew up in a family of avid backpackers, and at an early age I learned about switchbacks. A mountain trail does not travel from base to summit in a straight line. Instead, the path up a mountain is marked by switchbacks, or one hundred and eighty degree turns in the path that make the slope more gradual and the climb more manageable. As a child, this rather roundabout path infuriated me. I asked my dad why the people who blazed the trail didn’t go in a straight line from bottom to top. Dad explained that such a path would be too steep to climb without injury.

In a long hike, gradual switchbacks characterize the first few miles, typically through wooded terrain with a less than spectacular view. When you break the tree line for the first time, you are struck with your first glimpse of the view that you have been climbing for hours to see. You think that you are almost to the summit. You are wrong. Above the tree line, the view is indeed beautiful, but it is there that the hard work truly begins. The wind whips faster. The air grows thinner. The boulder field lies between you and the summit, and the intensity of your climb only increases. The path is less distinctive and your footing is less sure. It is hard work. It is slow work. The summit is close, but the final steps are a rock scramble, and the most challenging part of your trek.

So it is with life. Each of us will experience personal setbacks and obstacles, some of which will appear insurmountable. These personal challenges are not failures; they are switchbacks. They make our journey towards our goal less direct, but, in the end, more manageable. These switchbacks work to develop our character. It is character rather than accomplishments or knowledge that will shape the way we live our lives.

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It's now around 9:45am, and I am floored.  What an amazingly beautiful thing to say to a group of 138 high school graduates who, in a sense, have successfully climbed one mountain but now stand at the base of yet another.  They need to know that it won't be all smooth-sailing.  They need to know that there will be challenges along the way, setbacks; all the while looking at the peak and wondering why in the world they're walking to the side of it instead of straight up.  They need to know that this is the way life works, that you don't always achieve your goals and fulfill your calling the first time around. 

It's exactly what those eighteen-year olds need to her.  But you know what?  It's what we all need to hear, every last one of us.  I know it's what I need to hear.

Later that weekend I would seek out Elizabeth to congratulate her and thank her for her message, asking if I could get a copy of her speech and use it in this blog.  She seemed genuinely surprised and pleased that her words had touched the heart of someone besides those navy blue robed and capped classmates right in front of her; that it had reached all the way into the upper left corner of the aluminum bleachers.  That's the beautiful thing about words from the heart - they take on a life of their own, carrying far beyond the audience we intended them for.

So now I'm a fan of switchbacks.  See that picture above?  It's the new background on my cell phone, so I see it all the time. I'm even going to try and think in switchbacks now.  If I'm walking from the church to the coffee shop up the street for a quick cup of jo, I might just take a less-than-straight path through a side street or two.  If I've got a task before me, I may refrain from plunging head-first into it with wreckless abandon and instead take a more introspective, roundabout approach.  And when I hit a snag and things don't go like I hoped they would, I'm going to do my best amidst the disappointment to heed Elizabeth's wisdom: it's not failure.  It's just a switchback. Make the 180-degree turn after a brief stop to take in the scenery and keep going.

In case you're wondering, this is not my typical M.O.  I'm a perpetual list-crosser-offer.  I'm a straight line kinda guy.  I'm a classic child of the Western world: set a goal, take the steps necessary, and you'll achieve it. Face it: switchbacks are not in our DNA.

But the journey of life is not all about us.  It's about the journey itself; and the thing is, that journey is more winding and bending than we give it credit for.  And like Elizabeth said so eloquently, switchbacks develop our character; and in the end it's character that truly defines us and not the various mountain peaks we conquer.  If we're in the midst of a switchback, that's the time when we're showing people who we are and what we're made of.  Not when we get to the top.

It's 11am, and the graduation service is over.  I'm seeking out my church youth, dispensing congratulatory hugs and taking pictures. I'm so incredibly proud of them.  I'm thinking about the fact that the son of mine at my side will be doing this himself before his mother and I know it.

But I'm not going to lie: I'm also thinking about switchbacks. A lot.  Who knows, I may be in one right now. If so, it's good to know that's where I am.  At least I'm still on the journey, moving forward.  And even when it doesn't always feel like it, upward.

Why I subject myself to EOG proctoring

It's 8am on a picture-perfect May morning, and I'm standing outside my oldest son's elementary school. In just a minute I will throw myself into the deep dark abyss known as EOG proctoring - that's End of Grade Exams, if you didn't know.  It's a staple at every North Carolina school for third grade and up; the standardized test to end all standardized tests and supposedly determine a student's academic worth and whether they are suited to progress to the next grade.

EOG's are very much like a collective consumption of the worst kind of cough medicine, except instead of the few seconds of a quick gulp it's more like an intravenious administration; a slow drip-drip dragged out over 3-4 hours over multiple days.  No one likes these things - not the students, not their parents, not the teachers, not the administrators.  About the only fans of EOGs I can fathom are paper manufacturers and whatever company produces those number two pencils.  Maybe if they called them OWL's and had the principal dress up like Dumbledore it'd be a little more interesting.  A little.

This is my second year of proctoring.  I take some pride in knowing that I'm important enough to be required by the state. The list of what we can do is far eclipsed by the list of what we can't.  We can't eat or drink, read a book, chew gum, play on our cell phone, talk to the kids, touch the test materials, leave to go to the bathroom, leave before the last test is done.  On the "can" side, we're allowed to breath oxygen and stand or sit, so we've got that going for us.

It's a long three to four hours.

So why do I do it?  It's a question I thought about at length today during my final EOG shift (add "thinking to yourself" to the "can do" list).  Here's what I came up with:

Someone has to do it.  There aren't many folks eager to give up an entire morning to do this sort of thing for free.  So the school administrator commissioned with finding proctors are always very grateful when you say yes.  I admit, it gives you a good warming feeling to make someone so visibly happy that they smile ear-to-ear, yelp with glee and put aside common decorum to give you a full-body hug. I try to remember that smile, yelp and hug about two hours into the affair.

It's a show of solidarity.  They didn't have EOGs when I was in grade school, and it's a darn good thing or I may still be there.   The standardized tests we had (CAT tests, anyone?) were more about assessing smarts and less about determining grade placement.  So much emphasis is put on these tests - not just for the student's advancement, but for the teacher's professional success and the school's reputation.  I've always felt that these standardized tests measure how well one tests rather than how smart one is.  But it's what we've got; and if my kid and their school are having to go through this, the least I can do is go through it with them.

It's ministry, just different.  Don't worry, I'm not proseltyzing.  I can't talk, remember?  Besides, that's not my style anyway.  No, here's the thing: these kids are nervous.  The teachers are nervous.  They put on a brave face and they decorate the hallways and stuff, but you can feel it when you walk in the front door.  I'm not doing ministry in the traditional sense of the word.  But in my head I'm holding these kids and their teachers up in the light; and if my presence can be any kind of calming influence, then I feel like I've fulfilled my calling.

But the main reason I proctor EOGs is a pretty selfish one: I can't do a freakin' thing. The rules are clear from the minute the teacher begins her scripted speech until the last test is taken up.  During that time, the outside world does not exist.  I have no choice but to focus on those eighteen kids and one teacher, in that time, in that space.  I can't email folks, plan a sermon, read my latest study book.  catch up on the news.  My entire world is in that classroom.

And I need this, I really do.  Time and space are fluid entities for folks like me who tend to multitask not in two dimensions but three. My goal in any moment of a day is to determine how I can wring the most out of it; how much I can accomplish and cross off the perpetual "TO DO" list.  Proctoring EOGs, though, prohibits me from doing that, forcing me to live in the moment and only in the moment.  To "be present" in a very basic and essential way. 

I'm not going to lie to you - there are only so many ways one can stroll around a room, maneuvering between desks and making sure the students are staying on track.  There are only so many times you can read the feel-good positive posters and slogans plastered on the classroom walls (my favorite: the one designed like a road sign that said, U-Turn in your Homework, U get better grades).  There comes a point where you're almost uncomfortable in your own skin, and you'd give anything to see that warm sun and blue sky or check the email inbox you know is filling up by the second.

But if you relent and allow yourself, you just might wind up in this Zen-like state where time slows down.  Or maybe it doesn't slow down, you're just not as aware of it anymore.  You're not thinking about your coffee meeting later that afternoon or the bottomless email inbox or the unwritten sermon.  You're just there, in that room, with those kids and their teacher. And it's sacred ground, because it's where all of you are, right then and right there.  You're living in the moment, and turns out it's a beautiful place to be.

That's why I proctor EOGs.  Well, that and the snacks in the teacher's lounge before and after.  Someone made a killer cheese dip this year. Delish.

You Are Loved

This morning I was asked to give the invocation at our local high school for their National Honor Society assembly.  As with my invocation last year, I wanted to try and say something of substance, avoiding the vanilla invocations I suffered through at my high school assemblies back in the day.  If I were seventeen years old and sitting in those seats, what would I want/need to hear? Events of the past few weeks, and especially news that a freshman at a nearby university committed suicide just yesterday, were on my mind as I put paper to pen (well, fingertip to keyboard) and wrote this:

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Would you invocate with me, please...

God, I want to congratulate those who, in a few minutes, will hear their names called and make their way to this stage.  I want them to know how proud we are of them for all their hard work and dedication; and that because we are all inextricably bound to each other as a family of sorts – sharing in each other’s joys and sorrows, celebrations and struggles – in a way their success today is everyone’s success.

But if “invocation” means “calling something out”, then perhaps there’s an important truth that needs to be acknowledged: that the underlying message we are gathering here to lift up today is not “You Are Smart.”  Scholarship, Service, Leadership, Character – these four benchmarks of the National Honor Society stand apart from one another, and can only be united, can only be threaded together in the life of a person by one singular twine, one overarching truth.  And that truth is love.

So as strange as it may sound, the message for today is not “You are Smart,” but "You Are Loved.”  You are loved if your name is called, and you are loved if you name is never spoken.  You are loved if you are first string, second string, or no string.  You are loved if you are in the majority or in the minority; you are loved if you fit in perfectly or if you don’t fit in anywhere.  You are loved if you think you know exactly who you are and where your life is heading, and you are loved if you’ve never been more confused and terrified. You are loved if the words you hear from the adults in your life are affirming, empowering, compassionate, caring; and you are loved if the words you hear from the adults in your life are critical, judgmental, spiteful, even abusive.  You are loved.

And that love is always, always greater than fear.  Greater than the fear that drives some to blow up bombs at marathon finish lines; greater than the hate that incessantly seeks to divide us over stark fault lines, where the “other” is always wrong and at fault; greater than the shame we feel when we are told we’re not good enough or that our worth is fully dependent on being more than enough.  Love is greater than all of that.

So that’s the message I want these fine folks to hear today – those who will be inducted and those who won’t leave their seats.  That you love them no matter what.  And if they let that love carry them forward into the wonderful life ahead of them, then maybe, just maybe, they will not only learn to love you and love all of your people.  Maybe they’ll learn the most basic and most difficult kind of love: to love themselves.

We invocate all of this in your name, AMEN.

(on a side note, five of our church's youth were inducted, joining the three already there. Yep, I'm proud.)

Bears Bulldozing Bullies

We all know that bullying is a big problem in our schools, and that it starts young.  I have a fourth-grader who tells me stories of stuff he's seen in the hallways over the years that makes my heart sink.  There are a lot of adults out there carrying the torch of putting an end to bullying - and that's great, because we need as big a chorus as we can get.

But let's face it: kids aren't necessarily going to listen to some grown-up they may or may not know.  They're much more likely to pay attention to a teenager they see around town, who by virtue of their age and status in a small community with only one high school is the coolest thing since the latest Harlem Shake video (presumably a lot cooler). 

That's why I was elated when I saw that a handful of students from our local high school had put together a short YouTube video to be shared with the students at my son's elementary school.  Pastor pride also beamed forth, since nearly half of these kids are church members of mine (Emily, remind me never to get a drink from the water fountain when you're in the room ;-).  So much about this video is awesome, including the production quality (done by the same church youth who created our church's capital campaign video earlier this year).  More importantly is the way it highlights different kinds of bullying beyond the physical - verbal, cyber, etc.  And the critical message at the end: that whether you're the bullier, the bullied or a bystander, it's up to you to bring it to a stop.

A word of explanation about the video's name - the mascot of our local high school is the Bears. The cool thing is that all four of our city schools have a variation of the same mascot. So it really is all Bears at all schools "bulldozing bullies."

I can't wait for my son and all his elementary school friends to see this video and know it was made by some high school buddies they'll likely bump into in the grocery store or at church on Sunday morning. I hope they'll tell them "thanks."  I know I'll be.

(Click HERE if you can't see the video above)

 

Imagine when...

I was catching a cup of coffee after a presbytery meeting at my favorite coffee house in Winston-Salem, Krankies.  I had my computer with me and was going to work on a sermon, because that's what I'm always doing, and because I tend to do my best sermonizing when coffee is involved.  Anyway, I grabbed my cup of Kenyan and sat down at a table in the corner, and when I looked up at the wall next to me this is what I saw:

It's called an "Imagination Installation," a local movement of sorts in the area; and per its website it's about "harnessing the collective power of our community's dreams."  Which, in case you're wondering, is awesome.  So was this wall - dozens of small lime green signs tacked and taped all over the place, each with the simple title "Imagine When...."at the top,  and lots of space underneath for folks to write whatever.

So the sermon would have to wait awhile, because in truth I was looking at tons of little sermons on the wall of this coffee house, and it's always good when the preacher gets preached too. Here are a few that particularily spoke to me:

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...the word "can't" is lost from the spoken language

...people "make each other right"

...we decide to invest in happiness instead of war and hatred.

...nutritiuous local food is abundantly available everywhere and is preferred

...elected officials work for the good of the people, not for the power of the office

...human beings realize we are stewards of this earth, and no more important than any other living being

...we are not strangers

...there is a woman in the White House!

...we recognize that "the kingdom of God is here" (no waiting required)

..very child can squish mud between his or her toes in a creek

..we dream together to empower each other, rather than live in isolation

...we grow food rather than lawns, and share that food with our community

..we all Iive in the moments like our dogs, cats and horses do.

...our economic system rewards cooperation, collaboration and generosity over competition

...we all realize we are happier the more we give and love others, rather than how much we get and are loved.

...public art is on every corner in downtown Winston-Salem

...we know that life comes from death

...color is a hue that a painter uses to transform the canvas :-)

...the health care system is healed

..all pets have an owner that is loving and caring and a comfortable place to be

...corporations figure out that creativity and innovation comes from liberated, encouraged and respected employees

...children and adults go outside and play every day

...education rewards innovation and creativity more than compliance

...every child comes home at the end of school to a loving family member and a plate of cookies and milk

...each of us life our lives with respect and honor of all living beings

...we all remember that we're one big family

...people have the courage to be themselves

...we all let our authentic selves shine!

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Of course, I got in on the act. Here's the one I did.  If you know me, this should come as no surprise:


You know what I liked most about this excellent use of coffee house wall space? It's "Imagine When," not "Imagine If."  It's only a matter of time, folks.  Let's get busy.

Twenty-five years later...

Just in case you're wondering, there were more in our graduating class.  Lots more; some 350 or so.  We also had more at the reunion itself - around 75, I think - but the crowd started thinning out about fifteen minutes before the cameraman did his thing. Timing is everything.

High school reunions may very well be the grandest of social experiments.  You take a group of people who used to spend six hours a day in the same building for four years, separate them for five, ten, twenty, 25 years, and then throw 'em back together with nametags, food and beverage, and a DJ and see what happens.  I'm surprised there isn't a category in the clinical psychology world for this quinquennial phenomenon.

Twenty-five years after flipping the tassle, and this was my first high school reunion.  I don't remember hearing about the 5th or 10th.  I missed the 20th because I had a gig - although, to be honest, it's very easy to make up excuses.  When you haven't seen folks for years and in the meantime have made a whole other life for yourself - with a wife and kids and a job and a new circle of people around you - part of you wonders what point high school reunions serve.  Other than giving you a chance to see who's changed the most, who's changed the least, and if that guy or gal you thought was so good-looking back in the day still is.

I decided to take the plunge just last week, when the planets aligned in a way they rarely do and the road to Raleigh was paved before me.  I walked into the room at the hotel to the thump-thump of the DJ spinning some 80's dance tune and a room full of grown adults.  And while there were a few name tags I had to look at, I was amazed at how many of them jumped back into my consciousness after a 25-year slumber: Becky. Brant. Chris. Ashley. Lee. Lisa. Stuart. Beth. Michael. Monica. Greg. Judson. Maybe my long-term memory isn't shot quite yet.

I was a show choir geek in high school, so I mostly ran with the music crowd.  To a degree the reunion reflected that; people sort of naturally falling back into their old patterns.  And yet it was kind of neat how we all were genuinely glad to see and catch up with everyone, 80's cliques notwithstanding.  In our conversations we covered the usual topics in recapping the last quarter of a century: spouses, kids, jobs, new hometowns.  Most of the stories shared were good ones, but a few reflected other fortunes: the classmate recently divorced from her husband; the guy who just lost his job and doesn't know what he'll do next.  As much as reunions are about our past, they're also about our present too.  People at all different locations on the journey, brought together in the same room for one night.

At one point I found myself in a spot where I could see everyone in front of me - everyone talking to someone, laughing and smiling, hugging and shaking hands.  I couldn't hear anything they were saying over the thump thump, but I didn't really need to.  This was a visual experience, not an audible one.  For nearly two minutes I just stood there and smiled to myself, soaking in the joy of that room.

And it reminded me of something one of my English teachers said 25 years before.  I don't have a lot of memories of her, other than her room was right above the auditorium and she constantly complained about the 6th period girls chorus below that drowned out her lectures.  But her bright and shining moment came one day in a discussion about the character interplay in Tennessee Williams’ The Glass Menagerie. Quite surprisingly she offered this tidbit of wisdom: "Every person you come into contact with in your life, no matter how short or how long you know them, every person becomes a part of who you are."

I've carried that thought with me every day in the 25 years since.  It even found its way into one of the songs on my last album.  And as I stood there this past Saturday night at my high school reunion, among some people I'd kept in touch with over the years (thank you, Facebook) and others I hadn't seen since we were handed diplomas, I realized that my complaining English teacher was exactly right.  Those people in that room were a part of me, all of them. Always. And I'm the person I am today, in part, because of them. 

And maybe that's ultimately why we go to reunions.  We go not only to reconnect with other people, but in a deeper sense we go to reconnect with ourselves.

If that's the case, then mission accomplished on both counts.

From "making it big" to even bigger

You may have read in a previous post where I announced I had dropped my Rolling Stone subscription.  It was kind of funny when I got an issue in the mail today, but they told me I may get one or two more before they stopped altogether (and because I know you're wondering, the cover was fine, as long as you're okay with the caption "A$$-kicking Babes" on display for your almost eight-year old to see.  Nice.)

Still, I'm glad I got this one.  Thumbing through I came across one of those Where Are They Now deals that gleefully highlight some of the odd twists and turns our stars' lives take after their fifteen minutes of fame.  One of the dudes from boy band 98 Degrees is a leftist blogger in Cincinnati.  The former guitarist for Korn is a born-again Christian writing Bible studies.  R&B artist Sisqo is now a TV reality star (okay, so that probably doesn't qualify as a shocker).

My favorite, though, was John Hampson.  You know that name, don't you?  Okay, I didn't either.  But I knew the name of the early 2000's pop band he played rhythm guitar and sang lead vocals for.  They were called Nine Days.  That ring a bell?  No?  Okay, how about their big radio hit "Absolutely (Story of a Girl)."  Surely you remember that - catchy chorus, great driving pop tune par excellence.  If you still need a refresher check it out here.  You'll remember it, I promise.

Now I don't consider myself a big pop music fan.  But I do appreciate a well-written song, even a pop one. And this Nine Days song, in my humble opinion, was exactly that.  In fact, the entire album, The Madding Crowd, was great, from beginning to end.  Nice songwriting, enough of a common thread to provide cohesiveness but mixing it up enough so it didn't all sound the same.  It was a solid piece of work that signaled a band on the rise.  Alas, what happened afterwards was a classic tale of "everything-that-could-go-wrong" - poor management, a follow-up album that the label spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on and never released.  Nine Days kind of faded into pop-star oblivion.

But not their lead singer.  He went on to bigger and better things, impacting lives at the most profound level.  As the lead singer of an even bigger band, you ask?  No.  As a high school English teacher.

That's right.  John Hampson is following up his big days in the music biz with the classroom.  How's that for a switch-up?  Back in the day he rode the tour bus; now he's got homeroom.  Back in the day he was wailing on the six-string and singing at the top of his lungs; now he's helping students parse sentences and pass vocabulary tests.  Back in the day he spent time in the studio bringing songs to life. Now he's delving into the nuances of Shakespeare.

The thing, though, is that for Hampson "the day" is not "back."  The day is now.  The man loves where he is - and although he admits to digging the monthly royalty checks, he is not at all looking back.  As quoted in RS: "My life is more fulfilling right now."

I must admit, I never really thought about the previous lives of any of my high school teachers.  As far as I was concerned they had always been there, roaming the halls and occupying their classrooms and trudging through their lesson plans year after year.  And yet here is this guy, who once was a bonafide pop star, now wearing a tie, khakis and loafers; spending his days with a couple dozen 16-18 year olds, assigning homework and monitoring the halls.  And he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

And man, does this makes me smile.  Our society places its pop culture icons on the highest pedastal and relegates its educators to ground level.  We gladly shell out hundreds of dollars to see our favorite band or watch our beloved football team in action.  At the same time we merely shrug with indifference when our teachers go yet another year without a well-deserved pay raise.  For many people, the reverse - going from high school English teacher to lead singer in a solid pop band - would seem to be the proper dream-come-true scenario.

But not for John.  And while he could certainly show us how to craft a strong pop hook or highlight the literary nuances of a William Faulkner novel, perhaps the course John has chosen for his life would be the most important lesson to teach his students. And the rest of us.

First day, all over again

Things got going a little earlier at the Lindsley house this morning.  Our oldest son came bouncing into our bathroom as I was shaving. He was completely dressed – not uncommon for him, except for the collar shirt he was wearing.  See, it was his first day back at school and he wanted to make a good impression.

We slid into our school morning routines as if we had never left them back in early June.  Breakfast for the boys, feed the cats, give the cat his insulin shot (yes, we have a diabetic cat).  Lunches and book bags were packed.  Teeth were brushed.  Younger brother was heading to Kindergarten this year but wouldn't start for another day – they stagger the little ones. He would have one more day with Mom to himself.  I'm pretty sure this means as much to Mom as it does to him.

We parked the minvan along the road and walked around the corner to the school we've grown to love. You could feel the excitement and energy emanating from the place before you even got there.  Mrs. Johnson was greeting folks at the front door; she was our oldest son's teacher assistant last year.  They couldn't have picked a better, more welcoming person to be in that place on this day.  As with so much about our school, they got it right.  We waved and said hi to teachers, parents, kids all about the place.  Everyone wore smiles.

We got to his classroom – we'd already been there a few days earlier for Open House, so it was familiar.  And yet it was different, too.  Students were already at their desks quietly writing in their notebooks.  Without a hint of hesitation he walked right in, sat down.  We lingered, for just a minute, and then suddenly we knew we shouldn't be there anymore.  This was his time, not ours. We waved and said goodbye.

As we turned the hallway corner I was suddenly hit with a thought that surprised me by how much it surprised me: we were parents of a second grader at a K-2 school.  We were now parents of one of the “old kids;” a primary school “senior.”  Those second graders had always seemed so grown-up, so much older than mine. And yet here he was, one of them.  How did this happen so fast?

Walking back up the hallway – more teachers, more parents and kids.  More smiles.  It had been months, and yet it seemed so familiar.  Because it was.  The school that we love; the people there we love even more.  It was the first day of school, and everything felt right.  Everything was going to be fine.

Still Thankful

This past week, with the Thanksgiving holiday upon us, someone reminded me of a blog post I made a year ago appropriately titled "Thankful".  I went back and took a look at it and noticed how almost all of the things I was thankful for then are things I'm still thankful for now.  I don't know if this is a sign of a guy who is continually blessed, or a guy who lives a pretty mundane life where nothing changes all that much.  Either way, I'm cool with it.

At the risk of being redundant I thought I'd revisit last year's post.  Any instances that required updating are duly noted in red.  And don't worry, I won't do this every year.  In 2010 I'll treat you to an entirely new and original Thankful post.

Happy Thanksgiving day, folks.  Here's hoping you have much to be thankful for - and, more importantly, that you take time with the ones you love to celebrate those things.

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I am thankful for coffee.  I'm drinking some right now, actually.  I wish to personally thank the individual who thought grinding up some brown beans and pouring hot water over them would taste good.  They were right.

At the moment I'm thankful for Ryan Adams.  Every time I listen to his music I hear something different I didn't pick up before, and I really like that sensation.  I like it because it stands in stark contrast to the sensation I get when I suffer through the repetitiveness of top-40 radio.  Which is something akin to eating those funnel cakes at the fair - it may taste good on the surface, but you know it's just not good for you.  Ryan Adams is kind of like the homemade ice cream - unique and worth the time and money invested.  That's also why I like Wilco, U2, Death Cab for Cutie, Nickel Creek, Radiohead, and others you don't always hear that much and who rarely get the deserved notoriety.  Which is exactly the point.

Last year it was Ryan Adams, this year it's The Avett Brothers. And Sufjan Stevens, especially his Christmas album.

I'm thankful for my boys.  I wish they could somehow know how much I love them, but I don't guess that's possible.  I'm not even sure I know how much.  Every time I look in their eyes I see my past, present and future all rolled into one, along with theirs.  It's a humbling, exhilarating feeling.

Likewise, I'm thankful for my wife.  I remember in my single days hearing folks describe their spouses as their "best friends."  I didn't get it - shouldn't you want your husband or wife to be something more than your "best friend?"  Now, having been married for just over nine years, I get it.  And I'm so glad that I happen to be married to my best friend.

Ten years.

I'm thankful for my parents, my brother, and extended family.  My life has taken all kinds of twists and turns in my 40 years, and it's humbling to know they've been there with me through it all.

Umm........41.

I'm thankful for the church I serve.  Unfortunately, this realization sometimes comes when I'm in conversation with clergy friends and hear their nightmarish situations.  And then I see that I really have it good.  It's a church that wants to go where the spirit leads; a church that genuinely cares for each other, and a church that puts up with (and even supports) my music and teaching ventures.  Most of all, it's a church that lets me be a real person, and that perhaps is the greatest gift they could ever give.

As if I needed any more reasons, my thankfulness for the church has increased ten-fold with their approval of a sabbatical for me next summer.  More on the sabbatical to come...

I'm thankful for the guys I've had the pleasure of making music with - Ken, Jerry, Les, Gary, David and others.  Acoustic Blend is entering its ninth year of existence, and Ken and I never tire of it.  And I'm more than content with being a so-so Mediocre Bad Guy, playing with some of the finest musicians Mount Airy has to offer.

I'm thankful for modern-day prophets like Shane Claiborne, Jim Wallis with Sojourners, Brian McLaren, David Beckmann with Bread for the World, Marcus Borg and many others who hit dummies like me over the head with the agonizingly simple message of the gospel.

I'm thankful for blogging.  I'd been trying for years to find a journaling outlet, but I never could bring myself to don a spiral-ring notebook and pen.  I'm too much of a keyboard guy.  Then I stumbled upon blogging, and that's pretty much been it (oh, and I'm thankful to you for reading it!)

I'm not blogging as much as I used to - it comes and goes in waves. That's okay, I still get a lot out of it.  And still thankful to you for reading!

I'm thankful for things like Facebook and Twitter.  Call me a geek, but they really are wonderful ways to stay connected with folks all over the place.  Where else can I catch up with that girl who lived down the block from me as a kid, and the friend who happens to be moderator of the denomination I serve in, and my old college professor?  The world really isn't as big as we make it out to be sometimes.

I'm thankful for wireless internet.  Free wireless internet specifically.

I'm thankful for the students in my college classes.  For actually showing up, for one thing, at 8:00 in the morning.  And then listening to me lecture for a solid hour.  They ask questions that keep me on my toes, which is exactly what I need.  And they're a lot of fun to be around too.

I'm still thankful for my students, but unfortunately it's no longer in a traditional classroom setting, as all my classes have been moved online. Not my preferred method of teaching, but we make it work.

I'm thankful for our next president.  I know I wanted Jesus, but I'm happy to settle for Obama.  I really do think he's going to bring the change our country so desperately needs.

I still think that.

I'm thankful for a good workout.  These days my goal is three miles jogging and one mile swimming, 2-3 times a week.  It wipes me out, and it's not taking as much off the waistline as it used to, but it still leaves me with a good feeling afterwards.

Something new I'm doing these days - treading water for 30-45 minutes, with weights.  I know it doesn't sound exciting, but it's one heckuva workout.  I've shed some pounds.

I'm thankful that God has never let me stand in the pulpit on Sunday morning with nothing to say.  This is the stuff of nightmares for us ministers, my friends.  I'm not kidding.

I'm thankful for football.  I live vicariously through the guys I watch on TV or read about in the newspaper or Sports Illustrated.  There's something fascinating about the orchestration that goes on between eleven players, all aimed at moving a piece of pigskin down the field; and another eleven orchestrated to stop them.

I'm thankful for that feeling when I drop the Eldest off in the car line at school in the mornings. The teacher opens the door, and I watch him gather his bookbag and any other stuff he's got.  We give each other a high-five.  Every time I tell him I love him and that I'm proud of him.  And I never, ever tire of watching him step out and walk through the school doors and into his big wide world in there.

So we're not doing the car line this year.  Our youngest is in the Pre-K program at the school and we're required to personally take him to his class.  Which means I actually get to take both boys to their classes.  I love this more than the car line. I get to hug 'em as they walk into their room and begin a day in their never-ending, lightning-fast quest that is growing up. 

I thought long and hard about something I could say to them every day, some words of wisdom to impart.  I guess I remember my mom telling me about what her father, a high school principal, used to always say to her and her two sisters: "Apply yourself."  It took a few weeks, but I finally found mine: "Learn stuff."  I like it.  More importantly, they do too.

The Real "Glee"

So I watched Glee for the first time the other night.  Afterwards I was informed by people who'd know that it wasn't the best episode and probably not a good one to start with. I imagine they're right.  But still - and with all apologies to my "Gleek" friends out there - I'm just not feeling it.  That's okay, though, because you thought I was nuts for getting into Battlestar Galactica, didn't you?  So we're even.

I imagine that a big part of my ambivalence has to do with the fact that I was actually in our school's Glee club.  And in the same way that football players couldn't get into Friday Night Lights or I never found much reason to read the At Home in Mitford series (about a small-town pastor), it's hard to get excited about a fictional situation that bears a striking resemblance to your real life.  You're already "living it," you see, so what's the point?

We actually called ours a "show choir," which I think sounds better than "glee club."  Think of it as a solid choral ensemble meeting Dancing With The Stars.  We worked equally hard to perfect our four-part vocal arrangements as we did the dancing/choreography.  Trust me, it's a lot harder than it sounds.  And it was a big deal in our school, with around 200 kids in three or four ensembles.  "Carolina Spirit" was the top group and involved a significant time commitment.  It was also a pretty well-traveled group.  I'm not talking about the annual appearance at the local mall, either.  Every year we participated in a regional event in Harrisonburg, VA.  There was also a trip to Pasadena, CA my junior year (including a performance at Disneyland), and another one to Chicago my senior year - both national competitions, both in which we placed in the top three.  

All of which looked nothing like what folks see Wednesday nights on Fox.  There was weight training involved - important when the guys were lifting girls in the air and swinging them around (they tend to prefer that you not drop them).  I already mentioned the hours and hours of rehearsals - not just with vocals but with choreography, down to standing in front of a huge mirror to make sure that thirty-some people have their movements perfectly synched.  And unlike the current TV show (at least the little I've seen of it), there was actually harmony with the jocks, and we had some members of the gridiron in our fold.  So there were no purple slushies.

Here, see for yourself - a video of Carolina Spirit doing their thing a few years after my time (okay, more than a few :)

(note: if you're subscribing to this blog via email the video may not show up - so check it out here).

I realize open talk about this sort of thing typically invites some level of ridicule, especially toward the guys.  Go ahead if you must - it's nothing I haven't heard before.  Chuckle at the sequins and stage makeup, at the dancing and the white shoes.  To which I say a heartfelt, "Whatever."  The fact is that I wouldn't trade this time in my life for anything.  I made some of the best friends in my life, many of whom I keep in touch with to this day.  Thanks to this experience the stage is a second home to me rather than a source of anxiety - something that comes in handy doing the music thing these days.  I'm quite at ease in front of groups, which means I'm pretty comfortable behind the pulpit on Sunday mornings (but sorry FPCMA folks - no jazz hands).  And the vocal techniques I acquired in all those years of training have proved invaluable in keeping my singing voice going strong.

So watch "Glee" if that's your thing - I may tune in from time to time.  But forgive me if I don't jump on the bandwagon.  The real thing is a whole lot better.

PS - I know there are a lot of show choir folks out there, including some "Carolina Spirit alum," and I'd love for you to share your stories in the blog comments below.  What are some of your memories?  How has your show choir experience translated to things you do in your adult life?  Let's hear 'em!