Everything has its price. Scary isn't it? Surely there is something sacred, something so personally valuable to you that you wouldn't part with it for any amount of money. Surely there is something you'd never sell - regardless of the offer.
Give the experts at HGTV about ten minutes and someone will try and convince you that purchasing a home for investments sake is more important than buying a place to call home. We're encouraged to consider the idea of profits before we think about the memories or the comfort, usefulness or practicality of a family home. Seeing the place through the eyes of a potential buyer from the future is more important than picturing the kids playing in the yard or the family gathered around the table or yourself warming by the fireplace. According to the TV experts you should always consider the worth of a place to someone you've never met before personal value.
Want to see American greed on display in frustrating fashion? Watch a TV reality show. In a few minutes you'll likely catch a few fine examples. Donald Trump is offering boardroom jobs. Harry Mandel is giving away briefcases filled with loot. Eat a few bites of raw and rotten animal parts and you may get sick, but you'll recover to wealth and instant celebrity. You can cut a stranger's throat, rat out a friend, sleep with someone else's partner, dangle from a piece of yarn over a flaming pool of piranha infested acid and if you survive you'll probably be exhausted and scarred but at least you'll be wealthy. Your dignity and friends will be gone, but who needs either when you can live well? What's not for sale?
I'll admit that I do get into some reality TV. I don't usually watch the folks who play with the alligators or eat the raw giraffe privates. I got tired of watching the billionaire from the city argue with the already employed and successful job seekers. I do get a kick out of watching Howie's gorgeous models open the shiny cases though. It's a study in desire I think, and not just the pretty ladies.
Watching excited contestants who'd normally be thrilled beyond measure to be handed a couple a hundred thousand dollars gamble it away for the risky chance to walk away with a million can sadly be entertaining.
Tonight I saw TV greed at its worst. A young lady just admitted to a total stranger game show host and millions of Americans that she's got dirt on her dad that her mother knows nothing about. Spilling the beans earned her about ten thousand dollars. I don't advocate keeping dangerous secrets, but making Mom and Dad a commodity seems cheap to me. And that wasn't the worst of it. The overly bleached blond sat in the hot seat while the man in the suit asked her question after question that revealed her innermost thoughts and desires - all for a price. Without exception, every-single-question dug a hole so incrementally deep that her young husband of two years buried his head in his hands in disbelief. She admitted to all of us that she was secretly in love with a former boyfriend when she married her husband. Ka-ching! She confessed she'd leave her husband for a chance to get the old bf back. Ka-ching! She'd been having sex with other people since she got married. Ka-ching!
The network was paying this woman well for her wide open honesty, and she didn't seem to mind who was injured in the process. She was racking up the dollars while her family, and even the show's host sat in shocked amazement. But she was getting wealthy, and that's obviously what mattered most. She sold out her parents,her husband and her integrity. To her everything really does have its price.
In the end she lost the game and the money. We're left wondering what else she lost.
2.25.2008
2.24.2008
i get to sing with justin!
I really enjoy spending time in the studio. It's easy for me to feel creative with the phones on my head and the super-sensitive mic in my face. I love it! I love it more when I'm able to work in the studio with friends. Justin Ryan is a wonderful, dynamic voice and a tremendously kind and sensitive Christian. He's been through a bit of hell and lots of grief in his still young life, and he continues to want to share the grace he's found. He has recorded a fantastic record with a lot of his singing friends. Most of them are famous. Then there's me. We've been in the studio today working on the two songs that I get to sing. What a blast! I wasn't about to turn down the opportunity to be on his record, so when he called I made sure to get it on the calendar. I'm glad I did. When you hear it you will be too.
back to the good stuff
Back when I was singing with my family one of my favorite places to sing was in southern Illinois. In particular, there was a weekend in February hosted by a group from the area called the Truthseekers. It's hard to put a finger on it, but there was always something very, very special about this event, but especially about these people. When the group retired and I hung up my microphone for so many years I didn't often miss the road, or singing. Except for this event.
I had the opportunity to relive the delight of the Truthseekers homecoming weekend just this past week. The event is as wonderful as I remembered it. The group is as kind and gracious and loving as they always were. I sang with some other artists, refreshed some out-of-touch friendships and made some great new friends. This is the part of singing I like most.
I had the opportunity to relive the delight of the Truthseekers homecoming weekend just this past week. The event is as wonderful as I remembered it. The group is as kind and gracious and loving as they always were. I sang with some other artists, refreshed some out-of-touch friendships and made some great new friends. This is the part of singing I like most.
2.14.2008
... exciting and new...
I loved watching The Love Boat on TV. I've heard that there is a remake in the works. I don't know how I'd like it now. I've been on enough and worked enough cruise ships to know that a lot of the glamour was made up. Back when the show was on television it was mostly the rich peeps who sailed exclusively. It made the show more fairly tail like. In a matter of a handful of days, people on the Love Boat would meet, court, get to know everything about each other, fall in love and get married - or at least get engaged. What a boat!!
I don't know anyone who has ever gone on a cruise, met the person of their dreams and fallen in love. If you have, happy Valentine's Day!
The rest of us want to play.
I don't know anyone who has ever gone on a cruise, met the person of their dreams and fallen in love. If you have, happy Valentine's Day!
The rest of us want to play.
2.12.2008
big abe doins
This is a big year for Abraham Lincoln. Actually, the next two will be a big deal, at least here in KY and the other states that claim him or at least a part of him. I don't know how many of the states plus territories attach themselves to some part of the Lincoln lore, but one of the things we know for sure is it all started right here in the Bluegrass state. The next two years will be a massive celebration with dignitaries, former presidents, celebrities and common folks as we mark our sixteenth president's two-hundredth birthday.
I think it would be cool if all of the former presidents had a holiday. I'd say some of them, if not most of them, don't deserve one. But knowing the political process the way I do, it was no small fete getting elected. That deserves some sort of special moment of pause. Besides, I'm sure America's retailers could find some way to use it for their own benefit.
But even if none of the others enjoyed the distinct honor of a day set aside to remember the from whences, Mr. Lincoln has earned the distinction. He's not our only national leader of valour, but the very, very, very difficult and deeply contra-personal decisions he had to make as head of a house divided deserve to be revered. I wouldn't want to be him, and for the life of me I can't figure out why he'd want to be who he was where he was when he was. Some people just see moments like that as their calling - their duty. Maybe that's what motivated him.
You have to wonder if he ever longed for the day when he'd retire from public service, leave the constant tumult of Washington, DC for a quieter, more peaceful life. If he did, I'll bet he was very pleasantly surprised.
I think it would be cool if all of the former presidents had a holiday. I'd say some of them, if not most of them, don't deserve one. But knowing the political process the way I do, it was no small fete getting elected. That deserves some sort of special moment of pause. Besides, I'm sure America's retailers could find some way to use it for their own benefit.
But even if none of the others enjoyed the distinct honor of a day set aside to remember the from whences, Mr. Lincoln has earned the distinction. He's not our only national leader of valour, but the very, very, very difficult and deeply contra-personal decisions he had to make as head of a house divided deserve to be revered. I wouldn't want to be him, and for the life of me I can't figure out why he'd want to be who he was where he was when he was. Some people just see moments like that as their calling - their duty. Maybe that's what motivated him.
You have to wonder if he ever longed for the day when he'd retire from public service, leave the constant tumult of Washington, DC for a quieter, more peaceful life. If he did, I'll bet he was very pleasantly surprised.
2.09.2008
going back...
Don't ask me how old I am. Actually, you don't have to. It's all over the Internet. Google my name (that tickles) and you can learn pretty much anything you want to know. I'll tell you this, I'm a proud child of the sixties. What a time it was! That's what they tell me anyway. I was way too young to remember anything about it. I've seen the pictures though and it looks like it was a lot of fun.
Being born in the LATE sixties means that music was written, played and sung so as to be an influence in my life. It was still entertainment to many, but just as many saw music as a way to get their message heard - and responded to. I remember a lot of it - 60s, 70s, 80s ...
My favorite was the 1980s. I was in and out of young love, my hormones were in control (I discovered new surprises everyday), and I emerged from that awkward place where the rest of my body hid the memo from my nose and ears. Up until the early to mid eighties a love song didn't mean much to me. When I finally had a pretty face to attach to it the song became "ours." I like the music of the 1980s.
My friends and I are throwing an eighties party tonight. We're calling it a $2 Prom. Everyone must come dressed in an outfit from the mid 1980s. If they have it in their closet (and who doesn't) they can wear it. If they have to visit Goodwill or the Salvation Army to buy something they can not spend more than $25, and I mean for the entire outfit. This ought to be fun.
Being born in the LATE sixties means that music was written, played and sung so as to be an influence in my life. It was still entertainment to many, but just as many saw music as a way to get their message heard - and responded to. I remember a lot of it - 60s, 70s, 80s ...
My favorite was the 1980s. I was in and out of young love, my hormones were in control (I discovered new surprises everyday), and I emerged from that awkward place where the rest of my body hid the memo from my nose and ears. Up until the early to mid eighties a love song didn't mean much to me. When I finally had a pretty face to attach to it the song became "ours." I like the music of the 1980s.
My friends and I are throwing an eighties party tonight. We're calling it a $2 Prom. Everyone must come dressed in an outfit from the mid 1980s. If they have it in their closet (and who doesn't) they can wear it. If they have to visit Goodwill or the Salvation Army to buy something they can not spend more than $25, and I mean for the entire outfit. This ought to be fun.
2.07.2008
earning ashes
I'd heard of Mardi Gras before, but as a child I grew up not knowing what Fat Tuesday or Ash Wednesday or Lent was. Our church tradition never mentioned it, and certainly didn't practice the forty days of sacrifice leading up to Easter.
Now that I'm aware, I decided to participate in my first ever Ash Wednesday service yesterday at the Cathedral of the Ascension in Frankfort, Kentucky. The entire ceremony was full of pageantry (by comparison to my simpler church upbringing). It was beautiful and emotional and moving and motivating. Along with all of the other worshippers there, I made my way to the altar to receive the ashes and the eucharist.
As beautiful and humbling as the service and the challenge was, it was the recited prayer that we prayed together that moved me most. While some of the others who recited out of habit repeated the lines while thinking of other, more earthly things, I read them, prayed them, and cried.
So, do as I did this past Ash Wednesday and read these words. Then contemplate them and say them out loud - both to yourself and to God. If you pay attention you'll likely be moved.
Most holy and merciful Father:We confess to you and to one another, and to the whole communion of saints in heaven and on earth, that we have sinned by our own fault in thought, word, and deed; by what we have done, and by what we have left undone.
We have not loved you with our whole heart, and mind, and strength. We have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We have not forgiven others, as we have been forgiven.Have mercy on us, Lord.
We have been deaf to your call to serve, as Christ served us. We have not been true to the mind of Christ. We have grieved your Holy Spirit.Have mercy on us, Lord.
We confess to you, Lord, all our past unfaithfulness: the pride, hypocrisy, and impatience of our lives, We confess to you, Lord.
Our self-indulgent appetites and ways, and our exploitation of other people, We confess to you, Lord.
Our anger at our own frustration, and our envy of those more fortunate than ourselves, We confess to you, Lord.
Our intemperate love of worldly goods and comforts, and our dishonesty in daily life and work, We confess to you, Lord.
Our negligence in prayer and worship, and our failure to commend the faith that is in us, We confess to you, Lord.
Accept our repentance, Lord, for the wrongs we have done: for our blindness to human need and suffering, and our indifference to injustice and cruelty, Accept our repentance, Lord.
For all false judgments, for uncharitable thoughts toward our neighbors, and for our prejudice and contempt toward those who differ from us, Accept our repentance, Lord.
For our waste and pollution of your creation, and our lack of concern for those who come after us, Accept our repentance, Lord.
Restore us, good Lord, and let your anger depart from us; Favorably hear us, for your mercy is great.
Accomplish in us the work of your salvation,That we may show forth your glory in the world.
By the cross and passion of your Son our Lord,Bring us with all your saints to the joy of his resurrection.
Almighty God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who desires not the death of sinners, but rather that they may turn from their wickedness and live, has given power and commandment to his ministers to declare and pronounce to his people, being penitent, the absolution and remission of their sins. He pardons and absolves all those who truly repent, and with sincere hearts believe his holy Gospel.
Therefore we beseech him to grant us true repentance and his Holy Spirit, that those things may please him which we do on this day, and that the rest of our life hereafter may be pure and holy, so that at the last we may come to his eternal joy; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen
Now that I'm aware, I decided to participate in my first ever Ash Wednesday service yesterday at the Cathedral of the Ascension in Frankfort, Kentucky. The entire ceremony was full of pageantry (by comparison to my simpler church upbringing). It was beautiful and emotional and moving and motivating. Along with all of the other worshippers there, I made my way to the altar to receive the ashes and the eucharist.
As beautiful and humbling as the service and the challenge was, it was the recited prayer that we prayed together that moved me most. While some of the others who recited out of habit repeated the lines while thinking of other, more earthly things, I read them, prayed them, and cried.
So, do as I did this past Ash Wednesday and read these words. Then contemplate them and say them out loud - both to yourself and to God. If you pay attention you'll likely be moved.
Most holy and merciful Father:We confess to you and to one another, and to the whole communion of saints in heaven and on earth, that we have sinned by our own fault in thought, word, and deed; by what we have done, and by what we have left undone.
We have not loved you with our whole heart, and mind, and strength. We have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We have not forgiven others, as we have been forgiven.Have mercy on us, Lord.
We have been deaf to your call to serve, as Christ served us. We have not been true to the mind of Christ. We have grieved your Holy Spirit.Have mercy on us, Lord.
We confess to you, Lord, all our past unfaithfulness: the pride, hypocrisy, and impatience of our lives, We confess to you, Lord.
Our self-indulgent appetites and ways, and our exploitation of other people, We confess to you, Lord.
Our anger at our own frustration, and our envy of those more fortunate than ourselves, We confess to you, Lord.
Our intemperate love of worldly goods and comforts, and our dishonesty in daily life and work, We confess to you, Lord.
Our negligence in prayer and worship, and our failure to commend the faith that is in us, We confess to you, Lord.
Accept our repentance, Lord, for the wrongs we have done: for our blindness to human need and suffering, and our indifference to injustice and cruelty, Accept our repentance, Lord.
For all false judgments, for uncharitable thoughts toward our neighbors, and for our prejudice and contempt toward those who differ from us, Accept our repentance, Lord.
For our waste and pollution of your creation, and our lack of concern for those who come after us, Accept our repentance, Lord.
Restore us, good Lord, and let your anger depart from us; Favorably hear us, for your mercy is great.
Accomplish in us the work of your salvation,That we may show forth your glory in the world.
By the cross and passion of your Son our Lord,Bring us with all your saints to the joy of his resurrection.
Almighty God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who desires not the death of sinners, but rather that they may turn from their wickedness and live, has given power and commandment to his ministers to declare and pronounce to his people, being penitent, the absolution and remission of their sins. He pardons and absolves all those who truly repent, and with sincere hearts believe his holy Gospel.
Therefore we beseech him to grant us true repentance and his Holy Spirit, that those things may please him which we do on this day, and that the rest of our life hereafter may be pure and holy, so that at the last we may come to his eternal joy; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen
ann
I like people with spunk. I know a few light steppers who avoid people with strong personalities, but I think they're missing out on some great fun and adventure. Sometimes I'll stir something up just to watch their eyes squint and their nostrils flare. People like that know how to get things done.
One of my favs is my friend Ann. She's got spunk. I call her my little Jew. She loves it. You've heard it said that friendships formed in the trenches last forever. Ann and I met while taking cover and returning fire in the middle of a political campaign. You don't get much closer to warfare than that. We've spent entire, long days fighting along side each other and made sure to take the time to chill and relax together at the end of the combat. I've shared stuff with her that no one else knows. I trust her that way.
I'm missing my friend these days. She's living in Washington, DC and spends a good part of her life between several countries. Today is her birthday and she seems especially far away. I hope it is a really, really good one for her.
One of my favs is my friend Ann. She's got spunk. I call her my little Jew. She loves it. You've heard it said that friendships formed in the trenches last forever. Ann and I met while taking cover and returning fire in the middle of a political campaign. You don't get much closer to warfare than that. We've spent entire, long days fighting along side each other and made sure to take the time to chill and relax together at the end of the combat. I've shared stuff with her that no one else knows. I trust her that way.
I'm missing my friend these days. She's living in Washington, DC and spends a good part of her life between several countries. Today is her birthday and she seems especially far away. I hope it is a really, really good one for her.
2.05.2008
ty
Now that we're in the computer/gadget age and we're able to carry on a full-tilt conversation without ever opening our mouths, we must learn to abbreviate. I carry a BlackBerry. I became addicted after having to use one with my work in the governor's office. Once you reluctantly start using you become a junkie almost immediately. Then you learn to say whole sentences using only parts of words. It's almost a code like language, except so many people do it now it's not really very secret - at least the way a proper code language should be.
Being in politics, we write a lot of thank you notes to folks who contribute to a campaign or give the governor or first lady or even their dog a gift. People who've given money to help us restore the Governor's Mansion received thank you notes from us. We learned in our texting/typing to use the letters "ty" instead of the whole word. Then this great, super, pretty and smart co-worker came into our lives whose name is Ty. That messed everything up. Now we use the letters "tu." I don't mind though because I like Ty. She's one of my bffs now. Today is her bday!! I'll stop now. My spellcheck is getting angry.
Being in politics, we write a lot of thank you notes to folks who contribute to a campaign or give the governor or first lady or even their dog a gift. People who've given money to help us restore the Governor's Mansion received thank you notes from us. We learned in our texting/typing to use the letters "ty" instead of the whole word. Then this great, super, pretty and smart co-worker came into our lives whose name is Ty. That messed everything up. Now we use the letters "tu." I don't mind though because I like Ty. She's one of my bffs now. Today is her bday!! I'll stop now. My spellcheck is getting angry.
2.02.2008
rodents and their shadows
I saw an episode of the Beverly Hillbillies one time where this weather expert had developed this super-accurate forecasting system that was fool-proof and accurate to the degree and drop. It was science at its best. But the massive machine was no match for Granny's little beetle bug in a box. The scientist said there'd be no rain. Granny's beetle said there would. So it rained.
He's no beetle in a box, but you have to give it to the little furry creature who makes his annual February 2nd weather prediction every year. Actually, if there's adulation to be given, I'd give it to the folks in Punxsutawney, PA who've made Phil the groundhog's annual appearance from the hole a national spectacular. You know how it works, if he (the animal) sees his shadow we buy more firewood. If he peeks his head up, laughs at the spectacle and goes back to bed we call the AC guy. How cool! Of course, if all other weather forecasters could give the weather word then crawl back into their hole they'd do it the way he does.
This little critter, or one just like him (although the official handlers maintain there has only been one official Phil the groundhog for the last 120 YEARS) has met with a United States president, several governors, been a guest on THE TV TALK SHOW (Tom Cruise wasn't the first person to jump all over Oprah's couch), had movies made about him and even been broadcast in Times Square!
I need his agent...
He's no beetle in a box, but you have to give it to the little furry creature who makes his annual February 2nd weather prediction every year. Actually, if there's adulation to be given, I'd give it to the folks in Punxsutawney, PA who've made Phil the groundhog's annual appearance from the hole a national spectacular. You know how it works, if he (the animal) sees his shadow we buy more firewood. If he peeks his head up, laughs at the spectacle and goes back to bed we call the AC guy. How cool! Of course, if all other weather forecasters could give the weather word then crawl back into their hole they'd do it the way he does.
This little critter, or one just like him (although the official handlers maintain there has only been one official Phil the groundhog for the last 120 YEARS) has met with a United States president, several governors, been a guest on THE TV TALK SHOW (Tom Cruise wasn't the first person to jump all over Oprah's couch), had movies made about him and even been broadcast in Times Square!
I need his agent...
father jim
I guess we all meet tons of people through the course of our comings and goings everyday. Our work, play, church, sports and other things bring us very close to people we often know nothing or very little about and really sorta just brush 'em on passed us in the name of moving on. BUT, sometimes you meet a person who just fascinates you and becomes a real friend. Several years ago I met Jim Sichko. He's one of the most fun, cool, smart and experienced people I know. He knows so much about so much. Everybody around here knows him as Father Jim of the St. Mark Catholic Church in Richmond. The Pope knows him, but maybe that's because they see things a lot alike. But you don't usually think of a guy in a collar as a sit down friend with peeps like Bill Cosby and Regis Philbin and Howie Mandel and Natalie Cole and Dolly Parton and others. They all like this guy. He's their friend. That's because they know him, and if you know FJ (I like to call him that), you're gonna like him. He's a good friend who I treasure deeply, and today is his birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY FJ!!
1.21.2008
dave
I like Dave. He's one of those calm and observant kinda guys that you wish you were like after you've opened your mouth and revealed your lack of class. Dave has class. When everyone else in the room is waiting for the guy who's currently owning the conversation to take a breath so we can jump in and say something brilliant, Dave is sitting on the side, but not too far away, listening and well, just listening. He's smart. He's an attorney. I'm sure you have to be smart to be an attorney, but that's not why I think he's smart. For the record, I know some pretty stupid attorneys. I think Dave is smart because he listens more than he talks. It could be because he has nothing to say. But that doesn't keep me or most of my other friends from saying something. If we were smart we'd do more listening. Dave is smart. Today is his birthday. He's asked anyone who intended to get him a gift to make their present buying money payable instead to the Lexington Senior Citizen's Center. He's smart AND kind. Happy birthday Dave.
dreamin'
From my journal...
How can you not be moved? I'll ask you again later.
You are safe at home in your bed. The rain is falling, but that is on the outside. You are comfortable. You are dry. You are warm. You are safe. As a matter of fact, you feel sorta giddy because you've finally reached that soft spot you've been inching toward for hours. It may not be on your task list, but you know that resting your head and closing your eyes at the end of the day is a sweet reward for all you've dealt with since your last laid here.
You rest well as the day's events play through your mind. You're satisfied you've accomplished so much, or you try and bury the undone things under happier thoughts at least until morning. The children are well, only steps away, resting just as safely - just as warm.
Suddenly, a very loud and angry crash is at your door. Being startled and a bit dazed, you wonder what causes such a terrible commotion? Now voices - angry, loud incoherent voices screaming words you can't understand. They near your retreat. Your heart is pounding. Your mind is racing. Who are they? What do they want? Why are they here?
Your children scream.
Protecting yourself is an afterthought now. You have to stand for your children. You are their protector. No one is going to harm, to violate your children. You won't let it happen. Your love is stronger than your fear, but before you can reach them, they are gone, and you will be too very soon. Your peace is shattered. You are broken. You have no voice. The intruders are in control.
Still lots of questions. Still no answers. Moments ago you were warm. The once distant rain now chills the clothes you only intended to rest in. You shiver in the wet nightime cold.
Only moments ago these streets were quiet. Being led through them now, you realize you are no longer safe, and as far as your invaders are concerned, not completely human. Who could treat another human like this? You can't ignore the screams of close and friendly neighbors pleading for their own lives and the lives of their children. But you can do nothing to help them either. You know their fear - their sense of helplessness. You want to grieve for them. But you sense that the worst is yet to be realized. The "cleansing" continues through the night.
How can you not be moved?
If you lived today in Darfur, Sudan, or in too many other places on our planet this would not be a movie script sort of story. Closer to home, if you were black, and lived right here as recently as a few years ago in the country we are so very proud of, the same scenario could be played out in your own neighborhood, on your own street. If you were Jewish, in Europe, it was just a generation ago.
"In a sense, we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. I have a dream..."
-Martin Luther King, Jr. on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC August 28, 1963
How can you not be moved? I'll ask you again later.
You are safe at home in your bed. The rain is falling, but that is on the outside. You are comfortable. You are dry. You are warm. You are safe. As a matter of fact, you feel sorta giddy because you've finally reached that soft spot you've been inching toward for hours. It may not be on your task list, but you know that resting your head and closing your eyes at the end of the day is a sweet reward for all you've dealt with since your last laid here.
You rest well as the day's events play through your mind. You're satisfied you've accomplished so much, or you try and bury the undone things under happier thoughts at least until morning. The children are well, only steps away, resting just as safely - just as warm.
Suddenly, a very loud and angry crash is at your door. Being startled and a bit dazed, you wonder what causes such a terrible commotion? Now voices - angry, loud incoherent voices screaming words you can't understand. They near your retreat. Your heart is pounding. Your mind is racing. Who are they? What do they want? Why are they here?
Your children scream.
Protecting yourself is an afterthought now. You have to stand for your children. You are their protector. No one is going to harm, to violate your children. You won't let it happen. Your love is stronger than your fear, but before you can reach them, they are gone, and you will be too very soon. Your peace is shattered. You are broken. You have no voice. The intruders are in control.
Still lots of questions. Still no answers. Moments ago you were warm. The once distant rain now chills the clothes you only intended to rest in. You shiver in the wet nightime cold.
Only moments ago these streets were quiet. Being led through them now, you realize you are no longer safe, and as far as your invaders are concerned, not completely human. Who could treat another human like this? You can't ignore the screams of close and friendly neighbors pleading for their own lives and the lives of their children. But you can do nothing to help them either. You know their fear - their sense of helplessness. You want to grieve for them. But you sense that the worst is yet to be realized. The "cleansing" continues through the night.
How can you not be moved?
If you lived today in Darfur, Sudan, or in too many other places on our planet this would not be a movie script sort of story. Closer to home, if you were black, and lived right here as recently as a few years ago in the country we are so very proud of, the same scenario could be played out in your own neighborhood, on your own street. If you were Jewish, in Europe, it was just a generation ago.
"In a sense, we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. I have a dream..."
-Martin Luther King, Jr. on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC August 28, 1963
1.17.2008
anthony
Today is Anthony Roberts' birthday. He's a good friend who I enjoy hanging out with. Not that we need an occasion to gather and eat, but a bunch of our group will meet up for dinner at PF Chang's tonight to help him celebrate. It's always crowded there but evidently someone in our group knows someone important in the Chinese food business. We don't usually have to wait too long. I'll be bloated on rice by the end of the night and I'll be nearly miserable trying to keep my belly in. I'll do my best to look good or die trying. The cards are always good for a few minutes of entertainment.
1.01.2008
auld lang syne
I'm a singer. I also write music and lyrics. I pay attention to the science and measure of a song, and depending on my mood, I either tear a bad song to pieces (usually in my own mind, or even out loud if no one is around to hear my rants) or wish I'd thought of it myself. Sometimes it is the inspiration that I envy. Most of the songs that I think are the most motivating, inspiring, thought provoking pieces of musical art ever, really aren't considered Christian or even religious. Although I do think they are pretty spiritual. (see "I Hope You Dance.")
One of those songs is from the Broadway musical RENT. Jonathan Larson found some great inspiration in the middle of this sorta sad tale. When most of us divide our lives into the memorable good and bad times and forget most everything in between, he breaks it out further and sees more moments than most of us realized were available. We think of seasons as in three months of days and nights with little movement on the thermometer. JL must've known how we were limiting ourselves. I like his way better. "Five hundred twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes... Cups of coffee, daylight, laughter, strife, inches, miles, smiles, tears, love ... Five hundred twenty five thousand Seasons of love..."
And for the good times of yesterday, not just the 2007 ones, "Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot and auld lang syne? For auld lang syne, my dear. For auld lang syne. We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet for auld lang syne." For the good times...
One of those songs is from the Broadway musical RENT. Jonathan Larson found some great inspiration in the middle of this sorta sad tale. When most of us divide our lives into the memorable good and bad times and forget most everything in between, he breaks it out further and sees more moments than most of us realized were available. We think of seasons as in three months of days and nights with little movement on the thermometer. JL must've known how we were limiting ourselves. I like his way better. "Five hundred twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes... Cups of coffee, daylight, laughter, strife, inches, miles, smiles, tears, love ... Five hundred twenty five thousand Seasons of love..."
And for the good times of yesterday, not just the 2007 ones, "Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot and auld lang syne? For auld lang syne, my dear. For auld lang syne. We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet for auld lang syne." For the good times...
11.10.2007
what a girl!!!
I never know how to feel on days like this. My little girl isn't so little anymore. It's funny how I can't remember what food I put in my mouth yesterday, but I remember the smallest details of this day 19 years ago when the earth, or at least my part of it, sighed and smiled when Casie Rachelle Bishop became a part of it. That little prune of a newborn human very quickly became one of the world's most beautiful, smart, caring examples of the best our species has to offer. Newborn, toddler,... preteen, teenager,... As quickly as I typed it, it happened. She's made me awfully proud in less than twenty years. I look at her today and feel pretty good about myself. Happy birthday baby doll! You always win.
11.07.2007
talking politics - not politicians
I'm not good at political debate. You'd think with the work I do at the place I do around the folks I do that I would be all about a good round or two of defending my allies and debasing my opponents. Problem is, I don't see those who view political ideas different than mine as my enemies.
First off, I chose several years ago not to allow politics to choose my friends. I have a lot of conservative, Republican friends. I also have a lot of conservative, Democrat friends. I have just as many friends from both parties who are much more liberal. They are all my friends, even when we disagree on politics.
There is much, much more to their person than their politics. And hear this; they all have valid reasons for believing the way they do, and often valid arguments for their opinions. Both sides of every issue are usually very passionate about their ideas.
There are such things as atheist Republicans and praying Democrats. Interestingly enough, those are the ones who usually say that politics and religion should not mix.
If you listen to the conservatives, they will tell you, with lots of emotion, that the media in the United States these days is made up of screaming liberals. Oddly enough, the liberals say the same thing, only opposite. The conservatives feel that CNN, the New York Times, the Washington Post and all of the big TV networks are propagandist carrier pigeons for the liberal wing of the Democratic party. The liberals are sure that Rush, Sean and Bill, along with Fox News and the Washington Times are loudmouthed ultraconservatives just shy of Nazism.
Personally, I think they're all wrong. Or maybe they're all right, but only as a whole. If you watch CNN long enough you'll likely be convinced it leans to the left. The same amount of tube time will leave you with the impression that Fox News nods to the right. It seems to me that the only way to get all the parts of a story, bias and all, is to watch both, put the left and right together, take out the over-the-top rhetoric, and maybe, just maybe you'll get enough of the truth to make an honest judgment about what you've just seen and heard.
News rooms are run by people. People have opinions. As much as we'd like to believe that news reporting agencies are motivated by reporting just the facts - all sides of a story, I'm afraid there are no major media outlets that do it that way. You and I see and hear what an editor with an opinion one way or another on what he/she is disseminating, decides we should be exposed to. As a friend of mine in the news business once told me, "Sometimes facts just get in the way."
Sex sells. High drama and violence caught on tape sells. The word "exclusive" sells. Whistle-blowers who expose corruption or deceit sells. Politicians caught in the act sells. All of these things make for good business for the people who sell us the news. People tune in or log on to that sort of stuff. No one buys chastity. Watching a run of the mill traffic stop or routine city council meeting gets no ones attention. Someone bragging on the performance of a hard working elected official doesn't usually gather cameras. When people do what they're supposed to do no one is interested. Thus, the majority of everything good or normal that happens in a day is never mentioned at six o'clock.
There are 535 senators and congressmen in Washington, DC. When one or a handful of them messes up or does something dumb it's a scandal of monumental proportions. When the overwhelming majority of them report for work, represent their peeps and do the business of government it's not news. And when the reporters who circle the Hill like vultures smell blood, they make sure the shock is felt around the world. They'll make it as big as they can.
The reporters aren't the only guilty solicitors in such cases either. If a Repub gets caught jaywalking the Dems make sure we see them in horns and tail by sundown. The GOPers are just as guilty. Then they both complain that it's an overreaction. Is there any reason our elected officials are looked upon with great disgust and tremendous mistrust?
The first rule of a successful political race is defining your candidate as a deceiving demon at worst or an incompetent oaf at least. Most of the time they are neither. And the real humor of it all (if there is any) is that we are asked to respect the winner of the nasty, ugly and misleading duel in the end. I know a lot of honorable and good men and women who serve their constituents well. I know a lot of others who would do a fine job in the elected halls, they just don't want to subject themselves or their families to the innuendo, traps and grime of a political campaign. The most qualified don't want it that bad - and don't deserve the mud in their face.
Sometimes I'll be in a group of Republican friends who are talking trash about Democrats. They say ugly things. When they ask my opinion, or prod me to join in, I tell them that I think some Democratic ideas are good. They see the other party as an enemy. I don't. When I'm hanging with a group of Democrat friends they try and bait me into either feeling embarrassed about my conservative beliefs, or demeaning me for simply acknowledging there are good Republican people. Both sides accuse the other of being dumb, blind or arrogant. I say, if you feel that way about the other political party it probably describes you.
Tony Campolo is, in my opinion, a wonderfully brilliant man. I heard him say once, when someone asks him what political party he belongs to, he simply says, "State the issue please." I'm like Tony. If an idea is one of truth and honor, I'm for it. If it is proposed by the Republicans, so be it. If it is advanced by the Democrats, so be it. The ideal is what is important. The party of origin is not.
First off, I chose several years ago not to allow politics to choose my friends. I have a lot of conservative, Republican friends. I also have a lot of conservative, Democrat friends. I have just as many friends from both parties who are much more liberal. They are all my friends, even when we disagree on politics.
There is much, much more to their person than their politics. And hear this; they all have valid reasons for believing the way they do, and often valid arguments for their opinions. Both sides of every issue are usually very passionate about their ideas.
There are such things as atheist Republicans and praying Democrats. Interestingly enough, those are the ones who usually say that politics and religion should not mix.
If you listen to the conservatives, they will tell you, with lots of emotion, that the media in the United States these days is made up of screaming liberals. Oddly enough, the liberals say the same thing, only opposite. The conservatives feel that CNN, the New York Times, the Washington Post and all of the big TV networks are propagandist carrier pigeons for the liberal wing of the Democratic party. The liberals are sure that Rush, Sean and Bill, along with Fox News and the Washington Times are loudmouthed ultraconservatives just shy of Nazism.
Personally, I think they're all wrong. Or maybe they're all right, but only as a whole. If you watch CNN long enough you'll likely be convinced it leans to the left. The same amount of tube time will leave you with the impression that Fox News nods to the right. It seems to me that the only way to get all the parts of a story, bias and all, is to watch both, put the left and right together, take out the over-the-top rhetoric, and maybe, just maybe you'll get enough of the truth to make an honest judgment about what you've just seen and heard.
News rooms are run by people. People have opinions. As much as we'd like to believe that news reporting agencies are motivated by reporting just the facts - all sides of a story, I'm afraid there are no major media outlets that do it that way. You and I see and hear what an editor with an opinion one way or another on what he/she is disseminating, decides we should be exposed to. As a friend of mine in the news business once told me, "Sometimes facts just get in the way."
Sex sells. High drama and violence caught on tape sells. The word "exclusive" sells. Whistle-blowers who expose corruption or deceit sells. Politicians caught in the act sells. All of these things make for good business for the people who sell us the news. People tune in or log on to that sort of stuff. No one buys chastity. Watching a run of the mill traffic stop or routine city council meeting gets no ones attention. Someone bragging on the performance of a hard working elected official doesn't usually gather cameras. When people do what they're supposed to do no one is interested. Thus, the majority of everything good or normal that happens in a day is never mentioned at six o'clock.
There are 535 senators and congressmen in Washington, DC. When one or a handful of them messes up or does something dumb it's a scandal of monumental proportions. When the overwhelming majority of them report for work, represent their peeps and do the business of government it's not news. And when the reporters who circle the Hill like vultures smell blood, they make sure the shock is felt around the world. They'll make it as big as they can.
The reporters aren't the only guilty solicitors in such cases either. If a Repub gets caught jaywalking the Dems make sure we see them in horns and tail by sundown. The GOPers are just as guilty. Then they both complain that it's an overreaction. Is there any reason our elected officials are looked upon with great disgust and tremendous mistrust?
The first rule of a successful political race is defining your candidate as a deceiving demon at worst or an incompetent oaf at least. Most of the time they are neither. And the real humor of it all (if there is any) is that we are asked to respect the winner of the nasty, ugly and misleading duel in the end. I know a lot of honorable and good men and women who serve their constituents well. I know a lot of others who would do a fine job in the elected halls, they just don't want to subject themselves or their families to the innuendo, traps and grime of a political campaign. The most qualified don't want it that bad - and don't deserve the mud in their face.
Sometimes I'll be in a group of Republican friends who are talking trash about Democrats. They say ugly things. When they ask my opinion, or prod me to join in, I tell them that I think some Democratic ideas are good. They see the other party as an enemy. I don't. When I'm hanging with a group of Democrat friends they try and bait me into either feeling embarrassed about my conservative beliefs, or demeaning me for simply acknowledging there are good Republican people. Both sides accuse the other of being dumb, blind or arrogant. I say, if you feel that way about the other political party it probably describes you.
Tony Campolo is, in my opinion, a wonderfully brilliant man. I heard him say once, when someone asks him what political party he belongs to, he simply says, "State the issue please." I'm like Tony. If an idea is one of truth and honor, I'm for it. If it is proposed by the Republicans, so be it. If it is advanced by the Democrats, so be it. The ideal is what is important. The party of origin is not.
2.12.2007
little ol' me at the grammys!!!!
I'm not a big, big follower of awards shows. I know the Academy Awards (Oscars) are all about movies. The Tony Awards recognize Broadway's best. The Emmy's reward TV and big screen achievement, and the Grammy's are handed to those who contribute to the huge, huge, huge world of music in every conceivable style and approach (as versus the CMA's - country music, the Dove Awards - Christian music, the BGMAs - bluegrass music, etc.).
It's not my habit to spend a lot of time watching or guessing who's gonna get the trophy at the awards shows. I have friends who wait to see who wins before they load their Itunes. I tend to buy what I enjoy most. Sometimes and often that includes the "losers."
Beyond the southern gospel music industry's several presentations I've been a part of, I'd never really had much award show experience. I remember being really impressed several years ago when I sat in on the Gospel Music Association's Dove Awards show in Nashville. They did it like the big guys. The sets were slick and everyone stayed pretty much with the script. I was really fascinated with the quick set changes and all of the other distracting things that go on just out of camera range. So this is what happens at a real awards show...
I recently got back from Los Angeles. I went out for the Grammy Awards. It was an enjoyable trip, and a remarkable experience. I'm certainly not used to the star treatment. Of course, even the biggest sensation in Lexington, Kentucky feels like a c-lister in a town like LA where the has beens are huge stars compared to someone like me. But it was fun being recognized so far away from the environment I'm known in.
As soon as I landed at LAX a car arrived to pick me up. My luggage was carried into the downtown hotel where the hospitality manager met me at the door. "Mr. Bishop, we are honored to have you stay with us while you are in Los Angeles." Wonder how he knew my name? "And, by the way, congratulations on your Grammy nomination." He was good. I was feeling famous.
I was rushed past others who were probably standing in that check-in line when my plane touched down an hour ago. It was then announced that my room had been upgraded to the private top floor where I would be "more secure." Who did they think I was? The room was gorgeous, but much more than I needed. And the huge fruit/cheese/crackers/jellies/biscotti and other stuff I'm not sure of basket kept me busy for what could have been hours. Governor Fletcher of Kentucky sent his congratulations. I was honored he was so thoughtful. Governor Schwarzenegger of California also sent a message. Maybe he sent one to everyone who was up for an award.
My friend Amy and I, along with folks from my record company, did what tourists do in southern California. We window shopped on Sunset Boulevard and Rodeo Drive. We went searching for stars. We visited famous Hollywood landmarks, took lots of pictures and tried to guess how much Botox was walking in and out of these stores. Then there was the Grammys...
I've seen the red carpets on TV. It looks pretty crazy. Microphones everywhere and cameras following the stars. People are yelling. Handlers are shunning some red carpet reporters and rewarding others. The highest bidder usually gets the longest interview. There's politics and money in everything.
When I've seen these things from my couch at home I've often wondered why the celebrities are always surrounded by so many people. It was while we were in our ride on our way to the arena that I realized I was surrounded by my own little entourage. Besides Amy and I, we were joined by a handful of folks from my record company. It really did make for a respectable looking celebrity's entourage. When it was our turn to pull up to the carpet I was told that I needed to wait until everyone else got out of the car. Then I would emerge - from the passenger side please - and smile at the cameras.
Once out of the car and on the carpet, the fine folks at the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences assigned us a handler. This would be our navigator of all things red carpet. The handler does not speak to me. Even though I can hear every word she says, the handlers speaks to the publicists who speak to the artists. Seems like a prime opportunity for something to get mis-communicated, but I suppose some celebrities don't like being talked to by the rank-and-file. My handler seemed very sweet. I wish I could've chatted with her.
The carpet was a lot bigger than I expected. It was all under a very long enclosed tent. It was pretty warn in southern California that day, and a controlled environment is important on live TV. We stopped along the way and talked to red carpet correspondents from several of the big celebrity gossip shows and magazines. We spotted several other nominees and had a hard time not acting like star-spotters. (You know, poking each other then pointing, "Look! It's Justin!")
The still photographer's area was the most surreal experience of the day. I was separated from my group and told, through my publicist of course, to stand on a piece of tape that indicated a toe-mark. "Just stand there and smile," she said. There were dozens and dozens of photographers all shouting my name. They were all trying to get the "face-on" shot. Those are worth more money. After about a minute and a half on that piece of tape I was moved down about ten feet to do it again, then again. The flashes were dizzying. The photographers were loud. Maybe the big time stars get used to it. I nearly felt accosted. But wow, it was cool!
The rest of the day was fun and crazy. We saw a really, really cool show in $500 a ticket seats. We mingled among some of today's most recognizable faces and voices. I had a surreal conversation with Tony Bennett, then a discombobulated one with Patrick Swayze. We watched as hundreds of celebrity assistants rushed into the big arena during the commercial breaks to "accommodate" their bosses, then completely disappear when the cameras came back on. They were like ants on a hill.
Being nominated for a Grammy was a real honor for me. The Dove awards and southern gospel music awards my family and I enjoyed through the years were beautiful reminders that our words and melodies are a blessing to others. That's the ultimate sense of ministerial satisfaction. The very unexpected Grammy nomination that came with this last, my first, solo recording was a very satisfying gesture that has encouraged me to give time to my craft, and not be satisfied with anything less than my best attempts to write and perform the best art I can.
By the way, Randy Travis won my Grammy.
It's not my habit to spend a lot of time watching or guessing who's gonna get the trophy at the awards shows. I have friends who wait to see who wins before they load their Itunes. I tend to buy what I enjoy most. Sometimes and often that includes the "losers."
Beyond the southern gospel music industry's several presentations I've been a part of, I'd never really had much award show experience. I remember being really impressed several years ago when I sat in on the Gospel Music Association's Dove Awards show in Nashville. They did it like the big guys. The sets were slick and everyone stayed pretty much with the script. I was really fascinated with the quick set changes and all of the other distracting things that go on just out of camera range. So this is what happens at a real awards show...
I recently got back from Los Angeles. I went out for the Grammy Awards. It was an enjoyable trip, and a remarkable experience. I'm certainly not used to the star treatment. Of course, even the biggest sensation in Lexington, Kentucky feels like a c-lister in a town like LA where the has beens are huge stars compared to someone like me. But it was fun being recognized so far away from the environment I'm known in.
As soon as I landed at LAX a car arrived to pick me up. My luggage was carried into the downtown hotel where the hospitality manager met me at the door. "Mr. Bishop, we are honored to have you stay with us while you are in Los Angeles." Wonder how he knew my name? "And, by the way, congratulations on your Grammy nomination." He was good. I was feeling famous.
I was rushed past others who were probably standing in that check-in line when my plane touched down an hour ago. It was then announced that my room had been upgraded to the private top floor where I would be "more secure." Who did they think I was? The room was gorgeous, but much more than I needed. And the huge fruit/cheese/crackers/jellies/biscotti and other stuff I'm not sure of basket kept me busy for what could have been hours. Governor Fletcher of Kentucky sent his congratulations. I was honored he was so thoughtful. Governor Schwarzenegger of California also sent a message. Maybe he sent one to everyone who was up for an award.
My friend Amy and I, along with folks from my record company, did what tourists do in southern California. We window shopped on Sunset Boulevard and Rodeo Drive. We went searching for stars. We visited famous Hollywood landmarks, took lots of pictures and tried to guess how much Botox was walking in and out of these stores. Then there was the Grammys...
I've seen the red carpets on TV. It looks pretty crazy. Microphones everywhere and cameras following the stars. People are yelling. Handlers are shunning some red carpet reporters and rewarding others. The highest bidder usually gets the longest interview. There's politics and money in everything.
When I've seen these things from my couch at home I've often wondered why the celebrities are always surrounded by so many people. It was while we were in our ride on our way to the arena that I realized I was surrounded by my own little entourage. Besides Amy and I, we were joined by a handful of folks from my record company. It really did make for a respectable looking celebrity's entourage. When it was our turn to pull up to the carpet I was told that I needed to wait until everyone else got out of the car. Then I would emerge - from the passenger side please - and smile at the cameras.
Once out of the car and on the carpet, the fine folks at the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences assigned us a handler. This would be our navigator of all things red carpet. The handler does not speak to me. Even though I can hear every word she says, the handlers speaks to the publicists who speak to the artists. Seems like a prime opportunity for something to get mis-communicated, but I suppose some celebrities don't like being talked to by the rank-and-file. My handler seemed very sweet. I wish I could've chatted with her.
The carpet was a lot bigger than I expected. It was all under a very long enclosed tent. It was pretty warn in southern California that day, and a controlled environment is important on live TV. We stopped along the way and talked to red carpet correspondents from several of the big celebrity gossip shows and magazines. We spotted several other nominees and had a hard time not acting like star-spotters. (You know, poking each other then pointing, "Look! It's Justin!")
The still photographer's area was the most surreal experience of the day. I was separated from my group and told, through my publicist of course, to stand on a piece of tape that indicated a toe-mark. "Just stand there and smile," she said. There were dozens and dozens of photographers all shouting my name. They were all trying to get the "face-on" shot. Those are worth more money. After about a minute and a half on that piece of tape I was moved down about ten feet to do it again, then again. The flashes were dizzying. The photographers were loud. Maybe the big time stars get used to it. I nearly felt accosted. But wow, it was cool!
The rest of the day was fun and crazy. We saw a really, really cool show in $500 a ticket seats. We mingled among some of today's most recognizable faces and voices. I had a surreal conversation with Tony Bennett, then a discombobulated one with Patrick Swayze. We watched as hundreds of celebrity assistants rushed into the big arena during the commercial breaks to "accommodate" their bosses, then completely disappear when the cameras came back on. They were like ants on a hill.
Being nominated for a Grammy was a real honor for me. The Dove awards and southern gospel music awards my family and I enjoyed through the years were beautiful reminders that our words and melodies are a blessing to others. That's the ultimate sense of ministerial satisfaction. The very unexpected Grammy nomination that came with this last, my first, solo recording was a very satisfying gesture that has encouraged me to give time to my craft, and not be satisfied with anything less than my best attempts to write and perform the best art I can.
By the way, Randy Travis won my Grammy.
1.15.2007
saying something - doing something
How can you not be moved? I'll ask you again later.
You are safe at home in your bed. The rain is falling, but that is on the outside. You are comfortable. You are dry. You are warm. You are safe. As a matter of fact, you feel sorta giddy because you've finally reached that soft spot you've been inching toward for hours. It may not be on your task list, but you know that resting your head at the end of the day is a sweet reward for all you've dealt with since your last visit.
You rest well as the day's events play through your mind. You're satisfied you've accomplished so much, or you try and bury the undone things under happier thoughts at least until morning. The children are well, only steps away, resting just as safely - just as warm.
Suddenly, a very loud and angry crash is at your door. Being startled and a bit dazed, you wonder what causes such a terrible commotion? Now voices - angry, loud incoherent voices are screaming words you can't understand. They near your retreat. Your heart is pounding. Your mind is racing. Who are they? What do they want? Why are they here?
Your children scream.
Protecting yourself is an afterthought now. You have to stand for your children. You are their protector. No one is going to harm, to violate your children. You won't let it happen. Your love is stronger than your fear, but before you can reach them, they are gone, and you will be too very soon. Your peace is shattered. You are broken. You have no voice. The intruders are in control.
Still lots of questions. Still no answers. Moments ago you were warm. The once distant rain now chills the clothes you only intended to rest in. You shiver in the wet cold.
Only moments ago these streets were quiet. Being led through them now, you realize you are no longer safe, and as far as your attackers are concerned, not completely human. Who could treat another human like this? You can't avoid the screams of close and friendly neighbors pleading for their own lives and the lives of their children. You know their fear - their sense of helplessness. You want to grieve for them. But you sense that the worst is yet to be realized. The "cleansing" continues through the night.
How can you not be moved?
If you lived today in Darfur, Sudan this would not be a movie script sort of story. Closer to home, if you were black, and lived right here in the country we are so very proud of as recently as 140 years ago, the same scenario could be played out in your own neighborhood, on your own street. If you were Jewish, in Europe, it was just a generation ago.
"In a sense, we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness."
-Martin Luther King, Jr. on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC August 28, 1963
Read the entire speech by Martin Luther King, Jr. here.
Learn more about the effort to save Darfur here.
You are safe at home in your bed. The rain is falling, but that is on the outside. You are comfortable. You are dry. You are warm. You are safe. As a matter of fact, you feel sorta giddy because you've finally reached that soft spot you've been inching toward for hours. It may not be on your task list, but you know that resting your head at the end of the day is a sweet reward for all you've dealt with since your last visit.
You rest well as the day's events play through your mind. You're satisfied you've accomplished so much, or you try and bury the undone things under happier thoughts at least until morning. The children are well, only steps away, resting just as safely - just as warm.
Suddenly, a very loud and angry crash is at your door. Being startled and a bit dazed, you wonder what causes such a terrible commotion? Now voices - angry, loud incoherent voices are screaming words you can't understand. They near your retreat. Your heart is pounding. Your mind is racing. Who are they? What do they want? Why are they here?
Your children scream.
Protecting yourself is an afterthought now. You have to stand for your children. You are their protector. No one is going to harm, to violate your children. You won't let it happen. Your love is stronger than your fear, but before you can reach them, they are gone, and you will be too very soon. Your peace is shattered. You are broken. You have no voice. The intruders are in control.
Still lots of questions. Still no answers. Moments ago you were warm. The once distant rain now chills the clothes you only intended to rest in. You shiver in the wet cold.
Only moments ago these streets were quiet. Being led through them now, you realize you are no longer safe, and as far as your attackers are concerned, not completely human. Who could treat another human like this? You can't avoid the screams of close and friendly neighbors pleading for their own lives and the lives of their children. You know their fear - their sense of helplessness. You want to grieve for them. But you sense that the worst is yet to be realized. The "cleansing" continues through the night.
How can you not be moved?
If you lived today in Darfur, Sudan this would not be a movie script sort of story. Closer to home, if you were black, and lived right here in the country we are so very proud of as recently as 140 years ago, the same scenario could be played out in your own neighborhood, on your own street. If you were Jewish, in Europe, it was just a generation ago.
"In a sense, we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness."
-Martin Luther King, Jr. on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC August 28, 1963
Read the entire speech by Martin Luther King, Jr. here.
Learn more about the effort to save Darfur here.
1.01.2007
goodbye to a good, good year...
I don't ever remember as a youngster saying, "where has the time gone?" It seemed to creep along and move pretty slow to me then, especially those last couple of weeks before Christmas and those last, long few days of summer. Of course, summer break from school seemed to last a lot longer back then. I'm a bit older now, so I have the obligation now of saying it. Where has the time gone?
I think about time a lot. Try if you want, but there's no escape from the oft reminders. As long as there's a need for perpetual calendars, deadlines, watches, time clocks, birthdays and reminders from the TV weatherman to replace the batteries in our smoke alarms twice a year we'll be reminded that time comes, goes and generally leaves a trail. Follow the crumbs back and you'll remember hard earned promotions, happy celebrations and magnificent milestones. Of course, the difficult moments and devastating memories are there too. Life has such a texture.
The year 2006 was landmark for me and my family in several ways. I started a new decade of my own. Casie, my daughter, became an adult of eighteen years, and my son Christian turned into a teenage middle-schooler. We've made some fantastic family memories these past twelve months. I traveled coast-to-coast visiting California and New York and lots of interesting places in between. After seeing much of the country through a bus window, it was fun actually getting to touch things.
My first solo recording in over a decade was released back in May. We'd worked on it for nearly a year, and I was excited, nervous and anxious to see what kind of response we'd get. I couldn't have predicted it. I can't imagine that I would have said to anyone a year ago that I expected this recording to get the attention it has. For years I sang to my fellow choir members. We enjoyed safe, harmonious fellowship; engaged in a little friendly competition; amanned each other's songs; and were grateful for the success. I still am. But I've found a somewhat different audience this time around. Many of them didn't follow my previous career, so I get to start at the beginning when telling them my story - yuck and all.
This new record has brought newer, broader opportunities than I've known before. I've spoken with more mainstream writers and reporters in the past year than I ever did my entire previous music career. Looking into cameras that typically cover major news events and telling whoever is waiting for the weather and scores how grateful I am that grace still works is an awesome thing. Reading in major newspapers and trade publications how I've proven that prodigals remember and return, and then getting a note from a celebrity wanderer is just overwhelming to me.
Then there is the GRAMMY thing. I told a friend of mine that, that was certainly not on my list of things to do. But again, the honor has brought many more opportunities to tell chart minders and career watchers why I sing of mercy and grace.
I've given a lot of thought to these unexpected opportunities. I believe firmly that God has all of His people in strategic places, and if they are not there, they are on the way. If that's true, knowing that I'm quite likely not where I will always be, these next seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years ought to be really exciting. Pray with me that I do something smart and effective with them.
I think about time a lot. Try if you want, but there's no escape from the oft reminders. As long as there's a need for perpetual calendars, deadlines, watches, time clocks, birthdays and reminders from the TV weatherman to replace the batteries in our smoke alarms twice a year we'll be reminded that time comes, goes and generally leaves a trail. Follow the crumbs back and you'll remember hard earned promotions, happy celebrations and magnificent milestones. Of course, the difficult moments and devastating memories are there too. Life has such a texture.
The year 2006 was landmark for me and my family in several ways. I started a new decade of my own. Casie, my daughter, became an adult of eighteen years, and my son Christian turned into a teenage middle-schooler. We've made some fantastic family memories these past twelve months. I traveled coast-to-coast visiting California and New York and lots of interesting places in between. After seeing much of the country through a bus window, it was fun actually getting to touch things.
My first solo recording in over a decade was released back in May. We'd worked on it for nearly a year, and I was excited, nervous and anxious to see what kind of response we'd get. I couldn't have predicted it. I can't imagine that I would have said to anyone a year ago that I expected this recording to get the attention it has. For years I sang to my fellow choir members. We enjoyed safe, harmonious fellowship; engaged in a little friendly competition; amanned each other's songs; and were grateful for the success. I still am. But I've found a somewhat different audience this time around. Many of them didn't follow my previous career, so I get to start at the beginning when telling them my story - yuck and all.
This new record has brought newer, broader opportunities than I've known before. I've spoken with more mainstream writers and reporters in the past year than I ever did my entire previous music career. Looking into cameras that typically cover major news events and telling whoever is waiting for the weather and scores how grateful I am that grace still works is an awesome thing. Reading in major newspapers and trade publications how I've proven that prodigals remember and return, and then getting a note from a celebrity wanderer is just overwhelming to me.
Then there is the GRAMMY thing. I told a friend of mine that, that was certainly not on my list of things to do. But again, the honor has brought many more opportunities to tell chart minders and career watchers why I sing of mercy and grace.
I've given a lot of thought to these unexpected opportunities. I believe firmly that God has all of His people in strategic places, and if they are not there, they are on the way. If that's true, knowing that I'm quite likely not where I will always be, these next seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years ought to be really exciting. Pray with me that I do something smart and effective with them.
12.25.2006
the countdown is over
There's nothing left to buy. Well, actually there probably is, but there's no place to buy it unless you don't mind doing your last second Christmas shopping at a convenience store or a 24 hour pharmacy. All the others are closed up and the holiday shopping season is over but for the returns and after the day bargains.
I drove over by the big mall here in Lexington last night. Except for a smattering of cars next to the Olive Garden, the lot looked huge and empty. A few hours ago all of those spaces were filled with cars that were filled with bags that were filled with gifts of every sort. Last minute adventurers who'd taken their chances were leaving feeling satisfied with their finds and anxious to give it all away. I was one of them.
Several years ago when I'd first taken the job as executive director of Kentucky's Governor's Mansion, I found myself in a really scary Christmas place. Since the governor's inauguration in Kentucky takes place in early December, I'd been tasked right after the November election with transitioning the official residence in a matter of days. My job was helping the outgoing first family move out and getting the new one settled in. It was a huge task that took lots and lots of hours to make happen. I was left with no, I mean absolutely no time to rub elbows with the rest of the holiday crowd.
So, late in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, I finally forced myself away from my work long enough to try and snag a few last minute gifts for family and friends. I knew I had precious little time to get the job done, so I decided to go to one of the big department stores to try some one-stop miracle shopping. I knew how desperately late I was when everyone else on the property was using my entrance door to get out.
I ran in, grabbed a shopping cart and started tossing it full with pretty much whatever I could find. There was no time to shop strategically, so I just threw things in and hoped to sort it out among the gift-getters later. I had no clue what I was buying for who. I even threw in a TV. Somebody I know could use it.
Of course, it was close to closing time before I even got started. "Attention shoppers. Please make your final selections and make your way to the registers at the front of the store. Thank you for shopping with us, and have a merry Christmas." The voice was pleasant enough. She was probably anxious to get to her own holiday festivities, but she was kind to us obvious procrastinators. A few minutes later she kindly reminded us again. Same pleasant voice. Exact same words.
Surely I wasn't the only chum who was trying to save his hide and pride this late in the Christmas shopping game. There were still lots of folks in the store when I came in. "Attention shoppers. PLEASE make your final selections and proceed to the registers at the front of the store." I sensed a little urgency in the voice this time. I continued through the mostly empty aisles shopping/running/panting like a madman. I tossed in anything that looked like a somewhat thoughtful gift. If not for that doggone front right wheel I would've broken whatever speed limit they might want to think about imposing in such a place.
I was completely oblivious to the fact that I was keeping the entire retail sales associate world from celebrating the birth of Jesus. Then things started going black. It was like a plague from bible days. The darkness started in the back of the store and was closing in on to me fast. I was feeling the pressure, but surely, SURELY I wasn't the only shopper left in this huge warehouse of a building. "Attention shopper, SIR. Please make your way to the register at the front of the store! Thank you SIR." Evidently I was.
It was a little awkward. Just me, one poor, tired lady in a smock who'd been on her feet seventy-two of the last seventy-two hours, and a manager who was kind but ready to go home, or somewhere. But I'd prevailed and Christmas was a success. I'd managed to pick up something for everyone on my quick-put-together-mental-list. (I think that was the year I developed a real affinity for gift cards. I'd never been a big fan before, but I'm all about them now. They're not only life savers, they're lots of fun too.)
Evidently all the carts go back inside for the holiday. The nice manager helped me out to the car with my hasty stash. How kind, I thought. As soon as I lifted the last bag from the cart, she grabbed it and made a beeline back inside. That bad wheel didn't slow her down a bit.
The parking lot at the mall last night reminded me of the big empty box store lot that wild Christmas Eve night. Now that we've all made our final selections and proceeded to the register we can finally remember why we really do such things about this time every year.
I drove over by the big mall here in Lexington last night. Except for a smattering of cars next to the Olive Garden, the lot looked huge and empty. A few hours ago all of those spaces were filled with cars that were filled with bags that were filled with gifts of every sort. Last minute adventurers who'd taken their chances were leaving feeling satisfied with their finds and anxious to give it all away. I was one of them.
Several years ago when I'd first taken the job as executive director of Kentucky's Governor's Mansion, I found myself in a really scary Christmas place. Since the governor's inauguration in Kentucky takes place in early December, I'd been tasked right after the November election with transitioning the official residence in a matter of days. My job was helping the outgoing first family move out and getting the new one settled in. It was a huge task that took lots and lots of hours to make happen. I was left with no, I mean absolutely no time to rub elbows with the rest of the holiday crowd.
So, late in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, I finally forced myself away from my work long enough to try and snag a few last minute gifts for family and friends. I knew I had precious little time to get the job done, so I decided to go to one of the big department stores to try some one-stop miracle shopping. I knew how desperately late I was when everyone else on the property was using my entrance door to get out.
I ran in, grabbed a shopping cart and started tossing it full with pretty much whatever I could find. There was no time to shop strategically, so I just threw things in and hoped to sort it out among the gift-getters later. I had no clue what I was buying for who. I even threw in a TV. Somebody I know could use it.
Of course, it was close to closing time before I even got started. "Attention shoppers. Please make your final selections and make your way to the registers at the front of the store. Thank you for shopping with us, and have a merry Christmas." The voice was pleasant enough. She was probably anxious to get to her own holiday festivities, but she was kind to us obvious procrastinators. A few minutes later she kindly reminded us again. Same pleasant voice. Exact same words.
Surely I wasn't the only chum who was trying to save his hide and pride this late in the Christmas shopping game. There were still lots of folks in the store when I came in. "Attention shoppers. PLEASE make your final selections and proceed to the registers at the front of the store." I sensed a little urgency in the voice this time. I continued through the mostly empty aisles shopping/running/panting like a madman. I tossed in anything that looked like a somewhat thoughtful gift. If not for that doggone front right wheel I would've broken whatever speed limit they might want to think about imposing in such a place.
I was completely oblivious to the fact that I was keeping the entire retail sales associate world from celebrating the birth of Jesus. Then things started going black. It was like a plague from bible days. The darkness started in the back of the store and was closing in on to me fast. I was feeling the pressure, but surely, SURELY I wasn't the only shopper left in this huge warehouse of a building. "Attention shopper, SIR. Please make your way to the register at the front of the store! Thank you SIR." Evidently I was.
It was a little awkward. Just me, one poor, tired lady in a smock who'd been on her feet seventy-two of the last seventy-two hours, and a manager who was kind but ready to go home, or somewhere. But I'd prevailed and Christmas was a success. I'd managed to pick up something for everyone on my quick-put-together-mental-list. (I think that was the year I developed a real affinity for gift cards. I'd never been a big fan before, but I'm all about them now. They're not only life savers, they're lots of fun too.)
Evidently all the carts go back inside for the holiday. The nice manager helped me out to the car with my hasty stash. How kind, I thought. As soon as I lifted the last bag from the cart, she grabbed it and made a beeline back inside. That bad wheel didn't slow her down a bit.
The parking lot at the mall last night reminded me of the big empty box store lot that wild Christmas Eve night. Now that we've all made our final selections and proceeded to the register we can finally remember why we really do such things about this time every year.
12.10.2006
the grammys! goodness!
It's been a great week for friends. I've heard from a lot of them the last few days. I consider myself very wealthy that way. I enjoy spending time, chatting with, and doing life with good friends. Some of the calls and emails have come from folks I've not heard from in a long time. I heard from one sweet lady I honestly thought was dead. I just know I read her obituary in the paper a year or so ago.
The news that prompted many of them to call with congratulations and lots of well wishes was pretty big in my view. It's the kind of thing that is made public right away, and big enough that you want to share it with as many of your best friends as possible. Out of the blue, on a regular, task-filled Thursday, with no hint at all that it was coming, I received a call from Ed Leonard at Daywind Records. He asked me what seemed like a really odd question. "What do Alan Jackson, the Gaither Vocal Band, the Del McCoury Band, Randy Travis and Kenny Bishop all have in common?" I couldn't put it together myself. I didn't see a connection. His answer; "They're all Grammy Award finalists for best Southern, Country or Bluegrass Gospel Album!" I was completely, I mean totally and completely shell-shocked.
For my part, I had some questions. Is this something we were pursuing? If so, I wasn't aware. Did the record company lobby the folks who put the nominations together? Did anyone else? Was anyone anywhere expecting this to happen? From everyone I asked, the answer was, "No, no, no and no." I asked how it happened. No one could say.
I'm not sure of the process. Someone somewhere got the ball rolling and among all of the potentials, I received enough votes to be considered a finalist. I am grateful - very, very, very grateful. I know there are many, many others who deserve the honor. Most of them more so than me.
The Grammys are not a Southern Gospel Music based award. Let me rephrase that. The Grammys are much more than just Southern Gospel Music awards. Nonetheless, that means some don't consider them legitimate recognition. I understand. But I'm grateful nonetheless, and feel like I am one of the most blessed and fortunate guys in the world - however it happened. Whether it means anything to anyone else at all, it means a great deal to me - and many of my friends.
The fallout from such a high-profile achievement has already afforded me several opportunities to share my faith and my story with those not necessarily Christian. I've been able to tell reporters and others how God loves rebels and backsliders back to faith and forgiveness. The TV, radio and print interviews have allowed me to share the Christ of the beaten up and the successful. If nothing happens at the end of the red carpet, I've done my best to take advantage of my precious fifteen minutes. I may never get another.
The news that prompted many of them to call with congratulations and lots of well wishes was pretty big in my view. It's the kind of thing that is made public right away, and big enough that you want to share it with as many of your best friends as possible. Out of the blue, on a regular, task-filled Thursday, with no hint at all that it was coming, I received a call from Ed Leonard at Daywind Records. He asked me what seemed like a really odd question. "What do Alan Jackson, the Gaither Vocal Band, the Del McCoury Band, Randy Travis and Kenny Bishop all have in common?" I couldn't put it together myself. I didn't see a connection. His answer; "They're all Grammy Award finalists for best Southern, Country or Bluegrass Gospel Album!" I was completely, I mean totally and completely shell-shocked.
For my part, I had some questions. Is this something we were pursuing? If so, I wasn't aware. Did the record company lobby the folks who put the nominations together? Did anyone else? Was anyone anywhere expecting this to happen? From everyone I asked, the answer was, "No, no, no and no." I asked how it happened. No one could say.
I'm not sure of the process. Someone somewhere got the ball rolling and among all of the potentials, I received enough votes to be considered a finalist. I am grateful - very, very, very grateful. I know there are many, many others who deserve the honor. Most of them more so than me.
The Grammys are not a Southern Gospel Music based award. Let me rephrase that. The Grammys are much more than just Southern Gospel Music awards. Nonetheless, that means some don't consider them legitimate recognition. I understand. But I'm grateful nonetheless, and feel like I am one of the most blessed and fortunate guys in the world - however it happened. Whether it means anything to anyone else at all, it means a great deal to me - and many of my friends.
The fallout from such a high-profile achievement has already afforded me several opportunities to share my faith and my story with those not necessarily Christian. I've been able to tell reporters and others how God loves rebels and backsliders back to faith and forgiveness. The TV, radio and print interviews have allowed me to share the Christ of the beaten up and the successful. If nothing happens at the end of the red carpet, I've done my best to take advantage of my precious fifteen minutes. I may never get another.
11.23.2006
i love a parade!!
As much as I would have enjoyed the extra sleep, there was no way I was going to miss the parade this morning. I don't remember the first time I saw it, but I'm thinking I became a Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade junkie early on in my childhood, and I've made it my Thanksgiving Day kickoff ritual ever since.
To me it's magic. The bands, the balloons, the music, the faces, the floats, even the commercials between the bands, balloons, music... It does something for me that is both nostalgic and happy. I love a parade, especially one that requires thousands of prep hours, at least that many staffers, an unlimited panorama of color, the rerouting of a major thoroughfare, and three hours of national television time. It's a pretty impressive display if you ask me, and to think, it's all built around the one day our nation has set aside simply to say thanks.
If all of the things I should thank God for were placed on wheels and paraded through town for everyone to view, I'm fairly certain that some would feel my life is way too sheltered. But wouldn't it be really cool if each of us could make a float that displayed all of the things we had to be thankful for, and then have a REAL Thanksgiving parade?
A close friend of mine survived her own bout with breast cancer this year. She'd most certainly build her float with pink ribbons and celebration tunes. A family I know spent several anxious hours waiting to hear if their son made it through a terribly violent attack in Iraq. They fell to their knees and rejoiced when the good news of his survival finally arrived. What an awesome float that would make. Just two days ago a nineteen year old kid who was running from the law violently crashed his car in my parents' front yard. Mom said it looked bad. The police said he may not live. The last report says he did. I'm sure his family would like to spank his butt, then put him on parade.
Most of us have big, big things to be thankful for. We could build some pretty impressive floats. It's always easier to stop the rush and offer genuine gratitude when we've just come through a major tempest, but paid mortgages, supplied cupboards, steady paychecks, healthy loved ones, and everyday blessings are no insignificant matters either. If it were possible to see the hand of God in all of our dealings we'd probably feel compelled to put on a parade everyday. We'd have to just to keep up.
I'm both impressed and embarrassed by my list. Some of the things I'm grateful for sorta seem selfish and self-centered. But I see everything that is good in my life as a blessing, a gift from a good God. Gifts are added blessings. He's not obligated to give them really. Just like a bonus is not a part of the paycheck, His gifts are His way of adding graciousness to obligation.
Matt, Meredith and Al are about to cut the ribbon and turn the parade loose onto Broadway. It's raining in New York today, but the faces are bright, the instruments are tuned, the dancers are huddled, the balloons are ready, the clowns are giddy and somewhere back there at the end of the line there's a guy in a red suit who's gonna introduce us to the gift giving season. As happy as I always am to see him, to me he's a little late. I've been receiving good gifts from a great God all year long.
To me it's magic. The bands, the balloons, the music, the faces, the floats, even the commercials between the bands, balloons, music... It does something for me that is both nostalgic and happy. I love a parade, especially one that requires thousands of prep hours, at least that many staffers, an unlimited panorama of color, the rerouting of a major thoroughfare, and three hours of national television time. It's a pretty impressive display if you ask me, and to think, it's all built around the one day our nation has set aside simply to say thanks.
If all of the things I should thank God for were placed on wheels and paraded through town for everyone to view, I'm fairly certain that some would feel my life is way too sheltered. But wouldn't it be really cool if each of us could make a float that displayed all of the things we had to be thankful for, and then have a REAL Thanksgiving parade?
A close friend of mine survived her own bout with breast cancer this year. She'd most certainly build her float with pink ribbons and celebration tunes. A family I know spent several anxious hours waiting to hear if their son made it through a terribly violent attack in Iraq. They fell to their knees and rejoiced when the good news of his survival finally arrived. What an awesome float that would make. Just two days ago a nineteen year old kid who was running from the law violently crashed his car in my parents' front yard. Mom said it looked bad. The police said he may not live. The last report says he did. I'm sure his family would like to spank his butt, then put him on parade.
Most of us have big, big things to be thankful for. We could build some pretty impressive floats. It's always easier to stop the rush and offer genuine gratitude when we've just come through a major tempest, but paid mortgages, supplied cupboards, steady paychecks, healthy loved ones, and everyday blessings are no insignificant matters either. If it were possible to see the hand of God in all of our dealings we'd probably feel compelled to put on a parade everyday. We'd have to just to keep up.
I'm both impressed and embarrassed by my list. Some of the things I'm grateful for sorta seem selfish and self-centered. But I see everything that is good in my life as a blessing, a gift from a good God. Gifts are added blessings. He's not obligated to give them really. Just like a bonus is not a part of the paycheck, His gifts are His way of adding graciousness to obligation.
Matt, Meredith and Al are about to cut the ribbon and turn the parade loose onto Broadway. It's raining in New York today, but the faces are bright, the instruments are tuned, the dancers are huddled, the balloons are ready, the clowns are giddy and somewhere back there at the end of the line there's a guy in a red suit who's gonna introduce us to the gift giving season. As happy as I always am to see him, to me he's a little late. I've been receiving good gifts from a great God all year long.
11.10.2006
today it's her birthday...
"Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States!" (Roll Hail to the Chief.) In walks the nation's first female president - Casie Rachelle Bishop. Then I wake up.
It's a really cool dream. My first-born, my daughter as a mover and shaker, a decision maker, a doer of good, right and noble deeds. Casie is all of those - and she's only eighteen. Even if she has no aspirations to be the leader of the free world, or does not seek a spotlight or a place in history, my baby girl has the power of influence and the ability to make my days at least the most beautiful and perfect in the world.
Mine wasn't the only baby born on November 10th 1988. As a matter of fact, one of Casie's best friends today was born that same day in that same hospital. They laid next to each other and started their lifelong-so-far friendship even before they left the nurse's care. Today both of them are beautiful, smart and ambitious young ladies.
That's the thing I'm trying to get used to. My baby girl, the once completely naive, curious and not-a-care-in-the-world infant is now a young lady. She's "legal." For the past several months we've been discussing colleges and majors and life's decisions and her place in the world. Privately I've been contemplating MY place in HER world. Even if she does seek my input, I know that her decisions now will have less to do with me and more to do with herself and others. That's as it should be.
Not one single twenty-four hour period goes by that I don't think of her. I often look back at pictures of her in more playful, less serious times. I relive tea parties, games of tag and Candyland, and pushing her on the playground swing. I remember her Easter Sunday dresses, her nervous lines in the church plays, her very softly sung school choir solos, her recitals, her tantrums and her face as our bus pulled away for another singing trip. I remember her first birthday...
We're going to New York to celebrate this monumental day in my little girl's life. I want this occasion to be one she'll never forget. Even if my motivations are partly to make more memories with one of the most precious humans in my life, I'm gonna let the daughter I couldn't imagine not having, loving or holding know that her place in my heart, in my life was only created when she came into it.
It's a really cool dream. My first-born, my daughter as a mover and shaker, a decision maker, a doer of good, right and noble deeds. Casie is all of those - and she's only eighteen. Even if she has no aspirations to be the leader of the free world, or does not seek a spotlight or a place in history, my baby girl has the power of influence and the ability to make my days at least the most beautiful and perfect in the world.
Mine wasn't the only baby born on November 10th 1988. As a matter of fact, one of Casie's best friends today was born that same day in that same hospital. They laid next to each other and started their lifelong-so-far friendship even before they left the nurse's care. Today both of them are beautiful, smart and ambitious young ladies.
That's the thing I'm trying to get used to. My baby girl, the once completely naive, curious and not-a-care-in-the-world infant is now a young lady. She's "legal." For the past several months we've been discussing colleges and majors and life's decisions and her place in the world. Privately I've been contemplating MY place in HER world. Even if she does seek my input, I know that her decisions now will have less to do with me and more to do with herself and others. That's as it should be.
Not one single twenty-four hour period goes by that I don't think of her. I often look back at pictures of her in more playful, less serious times. I relive tea parties, games of tag and Candyland, and pushing her on the playground swing. I remember her Easter Sunday dresses, her nervous lines in the church plays, her very softly sung school choir solos, her recitals, her tantrums and her face as our bus pulled away for another singing trip. I remember her first birthday...
We're going to New York to celebrate this monumental day in my little girl's life. I want this occasion to be one she'll never forget. Even if my motivations are partly to make more memories with one of the most precious humans in my life, I'm gonna let the daughter I couldn't imagine not having, loving or holding know that her place in my heart, in my life was only created when she came into it.
11.08.2006
ugly politics
My work at the state capitol here in Kentucky is at least somewhat political by nature. Even though I engage in political conversations with many of my friends on both sides of the ideological and political spectrum, I usually try to avoid a great deal of the subject here. However, this day after one of the most unsettling (some would say) and exciting (others would say) election days to come along in a while allows me an opportunity to weigh in and share some thoughts of my own.
I've worked through the middle of some pretty violent campaign storms and harsh political battles - almost constantly since coming off the singing road several years ago. But this one was especially ugly to me. It seemed like an intensely bitter election cycle, and I don't know if we're any better for it today or not.
I will say this, despite what some idealists would like to assume, ugly and not-so-dignified political campaigning has gone on for a long, long time. Take the time to study world and American political history and you'll find that mud slinging and whisper campaigns have been a regular part of the strategy as far back as George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and Abraham Lincoln - probably even before. Accusations and deceptions in campaigns are not new lows.
That doesn't stop me from being frustrated and disillusioned by today's tactics though. The people who ask for our votes and expect reverential respect once they are elected are the same ones who allow their party headquarters to run not-so-honest accusation campaigns that distort histories, mislead consumers and damage humans and their families. What's noble about that?
I can't agree that the end justifies the means if the means that is questionable is supposed to lead to us trusting the victor. If we're not told the entire truth by the guy or gal asking for our vote, why should we expect he/she won't hide a detail here or there to keep his/her job? I want to vote for someone who is honorable in his tactics and approach. I want to know that I've granted a sacred trust to someone who earned it with their integrity and refusal to kneel to misleading statements and accusations.
I was recently involved in a major political campaign that was brutal, but never really got personally ugly. Our opposition research uncovered some pretty damaging things about our opponent. But because leaking the information to the public or the media would have done great personal damage to our opponent's family and future, we decided it was not worth releasing. For once, dignity, respect and concern for another person's well being was more important than winning the most votes.
I've worked through the middle of some pretty violent campaign storms and harsh political battles - almost constantly since coming off the singing road several years ago. But this one was especially ugly to me. It seemed like an intensely bitter election cycle, and I don't know if we're any better for it today or not.
I will say this, despite what some idealists would like to assume, ugly and not-so-dignified political campaigning has gone on for a long, long time. Take the time to study world and American political history and you'll find that mud slinging and whisper campaigns have been a regular part of the strategy as far back as George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and Abraham Lincoln - probably even before. Accusations and deceptions in campaigns are not new lows.
That doesn't stop me from being frustrated and disillusioned by today's tactics though. The people who ask for our votes and expect reverential respect once they are elected are the same ones who allow their party headquarters to run not-so-honest accusation campaigns that distort histories, mislead consumers and damage humans and their families. What's noble about that?
I can't agree that the end justifies the means if the means that is questionable is supposed to lead to us trusting the victor. If we're not told the entire truth by the guy or gal asking for our vote, why should we expect he/she won't hide a detail here or there to keep his/her job? I want to vote for someone who is honorable in his tactics and approach. I want to know that I've granted a sacred trust to someone who earned it with their integrity and refusal to kneel to misleading statements and accusations.
I was recently involved in a major political campaign that was brutal, but never really got personally ugly. Our opposition research uncovered some pretty damaging things about our opponent. But because leaking the information to the public or the media would have done great personal damage to our opponent's family and future, we decided it was not worth releasing. For once, dignity, respect and concern for another person's well being was more important than winning the most votes.
7.04.2006
a very blessed patriot
I don't know what sparked it, but several years ago I remember driving along a beautiful stretch of Kentucky highway that was flanked with neatly groomed horse farms, when an overwhelming sense of patriotism enveloped me. I actually started crying. All-of-the-sudden I became aware of how very, very blessed I was to be born in, to live in the United States of America.
The desperate mothers, hopeless fathers and hungry children in foreign and desperate lands that we watch from a distance when we turn on the television probably don't see things so gleefully. Just as I wondered that day how I could be so blessed with freedom and abundance, they probably wonder why they were cursed to live their existence in such destitution and need. I didn't choose my land of origin, neither did they. And I have a feeling if those hollowed mothers could choose their child's place of beginnings, it would at least be in a place where they could find food.
My sense of patriotic pride is very real. I am proud of our nation. The great democratic experiment has proven itself. Every once in a while we get the opportunity to change course when we feel things aren't working right. Without violence or coup, with the voice of a vote we are asked our opinions and invited to express them. Sometimes the loser is sore, but their voice is not silenced by the victor. And in a handful of years we the people of a free and wealthy nation are given the opportunity to do it all over again.
I don't have to agree with everyone to believe that our nation is strong. As a matter of fact, I believe it is the diversity of ideas that gives us our strength. I certainly don't expect everyone to agree with my own understandings, but just as I value the opposing arguments of others, I expect them to regard my own ideas at least as valuable.
For centuries now a variety of skin tones, dialects, beliefs and cultures have made their way into our melting pot. Some who were born here have sadly taken offense to it. They've adopted the mindset of "my four and no more." They are threatened by the thought of unknown languages and strange customs. Just as many of our churches refuse to embrace a new song or a fresh understanding, these patriots feel it is their duty to protect their land from those who don't look like us or talk like us. In reality, we are all descendants of immigrants in search of a better life for our children.
Being a true American patriot does not mean we must reject and silence anything and everything we consider to be non-American. If being an American means we are hard working, it is to help those who cannot work. If to you your patriotism is related to your faith, by all means, express it and share it. But understand that if we demand that others cannot express their own, we are in danger of losing our own ability to do the same.
God has blessed America, and I'm grateful. My children will know more opportunity and abundance than most others around the world. I will continue to rally around my causes and enjoy the right to speak out, even when those in power do not agree. I can pray when I want - where I want. I can share the Gospel, sing of Jesus, and worship my God in this beautiful land. How blessed I am!
The desperate mothers, hopeless fathers and hungry children in foreign and desperate lands that we watch from a distance when we turn on the television probably don't see things so gleefully. Just as I wondered that day how I could be so blessed with freedom and abundance, they probably wonder why they were cursed to live their existence in such destitution and need. I didn't choose my land of origin, neither did they. And I have a feeling if those hollowed mothers could choose their child's place of beginnings, it would at least be in a place where they could find food.
My sense of patriotic pride is very real. I am proud of our nation. The great democratic experiment has proven itself. Every once in a while we get the opportunity to change course when we feel things aren't working right. Without violence or coup, with the voice of a vote we are asked our opinions and invited to express them. Sometimes the loser is sore, but their voice is not silenced by the victor. And in a handful of years we the people of a free and wealthy nation are given the opportunity to do it all over again.
I don't have to agree with everyone to believe that our nation is strong. As a matter of fact, I believe it is the diversity of ideas that gives us our strength. I certainly don't expect everyone to agree with my own understandings, but just as I value the opposing arguments of others, I expect them to regard my own ideas at least as valuable.
For centuries now a variety of skin tones, dialects, beliefs and cultures have made their way into our melting pot. Some who were born here have sadly taken offense to it. They've adopted the mindset of "my four and no more." They are threatened by the thought of unknown languages and strange customs. Just as many of our churches refuse to embrace a new song or a fresh understanding, these patriots feel it is their duty to protect their land from those who don't look like us or talk like us. In reality, we are all descendants of immigrants in search of a better life for our children.
Being a true American patriot does not mean we must reject and silence anything and everything we consider to be non-American. If being an American means we are hard working, it is to help those who cannot work. If to you your patriotism is related to your faith, by all means, express it and share it. But understand that if we demand that others cannot express their own, we are in danger of losing our own ability to do the same.
God has blessed America, and I'm grateful. My children will know more opportunity and abundance than most others around the world. I will continue to rally around my causes and enjoy the right to speak out, even when those in power do not agree. I can pray when I want - where I want. I can share the Gospel, sing of Jesus, and worship my God in this beautiful land. How blessed I am!
6.20.2006
my best pal's big day!
Thirteen years ago today it was Father's Day, the most special one I'd known until then and since. It was a beautiful Sunday morning. The Bishops had just performed in West Virginia the night before, and soon after I'd settled into my bus bunk for the ride home my phone rang. The word was that Debra was ready to deliver our second child. Our first was named Casie, and she was the prettiest, smartest and most talented child ever born in these United States. We had a pretty good track record, and I had no reason to believe our son would be any less.
Soon after we learned we would have a son we settled on a name. I always liked the name Nicholas, so I proposed and lobbied for that one. We decided we could raise a Nicholas, so for most of her pregnancy that was his name. I even mentioned him in the liners of a recording we released while we waited for little Nick to arrive. But on delivery day, we changed our minds and liked the name Aaron Caleb instead. Those were two awesome guys in the Bible, and we liked the A.C. thing. So Nick became Aaron. But just before we were to give the attending nurse the name our beloved child would carry for the rest of his life we changed our minds again.
Just before the church bells started ringing on June 20, 1993 the announcement by way of a tiny cry introduced our family to one of its most lovable and tender members. After putting the nurse off for several more minutes we decided that we wanted our son to be known as a follower of Christ. His birth certificate reads Christian Caleb Bishop. The name Christian is a lot to live up to. Caleb was a great role model for the earliest faith. But the Bishop part is the one I'm most selfishly proud of. Happy birthday Pal! You know how much I love you.
Soon after we learned we would have a son we settled on a name. I always liked the name Nicholas, so I proposed and lobbied for that one. We decided we could raise a Nicholas, so for most of her pregnancy that was his name. I even mentioned him in the liners of a recording we released while we waited for little Nick to arrive. But on delivery day, we changed our minds and liked the name Aaron Caleb instead. Those were two awesome guys in the Bible, and we liked the A.C. thing. So Nick became Aaron. But just before we were to give the attending nurse the name our beloved child would carry for the rest of his life we changed our minds again.
Just before the church bells started ringing on June 20, 1993 the announcement by way of a tiny cry introduced our family to one of its most lovable and tender members. After putting the nurse off for several more minutes we decided that we wanted our son to be known as a follower of Christ. His birth certificate reads Christian Caleb Bishop. The name Christian is a lot to live up to. Caleb was a great role model for the earliest faith. But the Bishop part is the one I'm most selfishly proud of. Happy birthday Pal! You know how much I love you.
6.12.2006
everybody knows father jim!
Father Jim Sichko is a really good friend. He pastors the St. Mark's Catholic Church in Richmond, Kentucky. I think he knows everyone. It sure seems like everyone knows him. We had dinner tonight at a nice little restaurant in downtown Lexington. The weather was nice, so we decided to sit out on the sidewalk to enjoy the sunshine, the fresh air and the really good food. We sat there attempting conversation while person after person walked up to our table or shouted from the street to Father Jim. It never bothered him. He stopped what he was doing, put down his fork (He told me I would have to forsake using my knife when we go to Rome later this fall.), and visit with everyone who bothered to say hello and chat.
It should always be expected that anyone should be friendly and cordial whenever possible. Father Jim really was. His food was getting cold. His drink was getting warm. It was difficult for us to finish a thought in conversation before someone else stopped by. I was feeling more and more honored to sit across the table from this guy who was obviously well known and even more obviously, well respected. Top business execs, common blue collars, college students and others were compelled to at least let their presence be known to him. I was astonished.
I met Father Jim a few years back during the Governor's campaign. He was assistant to the Bishop of the Lexington Diocese. We sorta had the same jobs - his with the Bishop, mine with the then Congressman. We admired each other's positions and became distant friends. Now that we're better friends we realize that we have much more in common.
Music and the stage is in Jim's blood - mine too. At one time he traveled and performed as a professional vocalist. So did I. He pursued what he knew was the calling God had placed on his life. Me too. Now he stands before congregations and conference crowds sharing what he knows to be true about God - grace trumps sin. I am too.
We had to do it in quick segments, between interruptions, but the thing that consumed our conversation more than anything else was the wonderment of knowing God well and sharing Him within our own limits. He pastors a beautiful congregation of caring people, and at the same time he rubs shoulders with many of the entertainment world's most well known. Not only to us commoners appreciate his heart, but so do the big time movers and shakers. And even though celebrities know his name, Father Jim Sichko is much more interested making it clear that God does too.
It should always be expected that anyone should be friendly and cordial whenever possible. Father Jim really was. His food was getting cold. His drink was getting warm. It was difficult for us to finish a thought in conversation before someone else stopped by. I was feeling more and more honored to sit across the table from this guy who was obviously well known and even more obviously, well respected. Top business execs, common blue collars, college students and others were compelled to at least let their presence be known to him. I was astonished.
I met Father Jim a few years back during the Governor's campaign. He was assistant to the Bishop of the Lexington Diocese. We sorta had the same jobs - his with the Bishop, mine with the then Congressman. We admired each other's positions and became distant friends. Now that we're better friends we realize that we have much more in common.
Music and the stage is in Jim's blood - mine too. At one time he traveled and performed as a professional vocalist. So did I. He pursued what he knew was the calling God had placed on his life. Me too. Now he stands before congregations and conference crowds sharing what he knows to be true about God - grace trumps sin. I am too.
We had to do it in quick segments, between interruptions, but the thing that consumed our conversation more than anything else was the wonderment of knowing God well and sharing Him within our own limits. He pastors a beautiful congregation of caring people, and at the same time he rubs shoulders with many of the entertainment world's most well known. Not only to us commoners appreciate his heart, but so do the big time movers and shakers. And even though celebrities know his name, Father Jim Sichko is much more interested making it clear that God does too.
6.07.2006
my time in the lock-up - well, sorta
Looking around the room I wonder what everyone else is in for. I've never been in jail, except for visiting a friend or touring a new facility with the Congressman/Governor I work for. It was almost a creepy feeling - sorta like I was dirty for being there. I kind of felt that way tonight as I sat among the admitted guilty at traffic school. We all broke the law to get here. The fine folks at the courthouse don't just randomly draw names from a lottery to share the experience with. We all earned our place among the condemned.
The instructor told us right up front that we were not there to be punished. He then went on to say that we'd spend the next four hours without food, drink or communication from the outside world. If we decided to leave we would forfeit the privilege of driving for a while. The doors were locked and we were processed in one-by-one. Never being incarcerated before, it sure felt prison-lite to me.
I don't have any traffic violations on my driving record. And to be honest, I had a friend in a strategic place who offered to see that my recent speeding violation did not exist on any official transcript. But I was ready to take full responsibility. I was going too fast when the officer hit me with his radar. He was well within his rights, and obligated to slow me down. Besides, as dumb as it sounds, I was ready for a new experience. I'd never been to traffic school before.
I'd love to see a crowd like this at church. There were only about thirty something people in the class, but the mix of humans was great. Name a people-group, they were probably represented in the room. And as much as we probably all had not in common, we were all much more alike than not. It was really cool to see how we all understood by the end of the night. The older, white guy who was pulled over in the BMW found a seat next to the young Hispanic whose jalopy van got stopped. I was driving a marked state car when the radar picked me up. I spent my four hours next to a big and burly biker wearing a do-rag who thought motorcycles had special road privileges.
Two grandmas sat behind me. They showed off pictures of their grandchildren and laughed about how they'd explain their criminal behavior to them. The fairly effeminate black guy in front of me was more upset about the cell phone ban than anything else. He obviously was missing something in the outside world.
The class included a nurse, an attorney (obviously not very well connected), a few college students (including a star athlete), a school teacher, a mechanic (the pimp-my-ride kind), a very quiet stay-at-home mom, an exotic dancer (again obviously not very well connected), a minister (again, again obviously not very well connected), a lady that I wasn't sure was a lady, and, of course, the executive director of the Governor's Mansion (that would be me.) What a group!
I sat there, among such an eclectic mixture, envisioning all of us as a group of humans who had come to worship God. I imagined how pleased He would be if we were not forced, but delighted to gather with such strange and different people that we obviously share life and the road with, but we've come as His colorful creation worshipping the imaginative Creator who made us all.
At the end of our four hour lock up, we were all anxious to hear that our time had been served, our penalty paid, and our lives returned. As the instructor read off each name, the room cheered the accomplishment of each newly freed convict.
Nothing mattered more than seeing a cellmate (more like a classmate) attain their liberty. Every color, profession, persuasion, accent, age and education congratulated the other as they stepped back into freedom. What I'd offer to see it all over again - in our churches, among the redeemed.
The instructor told us right up front that we were not there to be punished. He then went on to say that we'd spend the next four hours without food, drink or communication from the outside world. If we decided to leave we would forfeit the privilege of driving for a while. The doors were locked and we were processed in one-by-one. Never being incarcerated before, it sure felt prison-lite to me.
I don't have any traffic violations on my driving record. And to be honest, I had a friend in a strategic place who offered to see that my recent speeding violation did not exist on any official transcript. But I was ready to take full responsibility. I was going too fast when the officer hit me with his radar. He was well within his rights, and obligated to slow me down. Besides, as dumb as it sounds, I was ready for a new experience. I'd never been to traffic school before.
I'd love to see a crowd like this at church. There were only about thirty something people in the class, but the mix of humans was great. Name a people-group, they were probably represented in the room. And as much as we probably all had not in common, we were all much more alike than not. It was really cool to see how we all understood by the end of the night. The older, white guy who was pulled over in the BMW found a seat next to the young Hispanic whose jalopy van got stopped. I was driving a marked state car when the radar picked me up. I spent my four hours next to a big and burly biker wearing a do-rag who thought motorcycles had special road privileges.
Two grandmas sat behind me. They showed off pictures of their grandchildren and laughed about how they'd explain their criminal behavior to them. The fairly effeminate black guy in front of me was more upset about the cell phone ban than anything else. He obviously was missing something in the outside world.
The class included a nurse, an attorney (obviously not very well connected), a few college students (including a star athlete), a school teacher, a mechanic (the pimp-my-ride kind), a very quiet stay-at-home mom, an exotic dancer (again obviously not very well connected), a minister (again, again obviously not very well connected), a lady that I wasn't sure was a lady, and, of course, the executive director of the Governor's Mansion (that would be me.) What a group!
I sat there, among such an eclectic mixture, envisioning all of us as a group of humans who had come to worship God. I imagined how pleased He would be if we were not forced, but delighted to gather with such strange and different people that we obviously share life and the road with, but we've come as His colorful creation worshipping the imaginative Creator who made us all.
At the end of our four hour lock up, we were all anxious to hear that our time had been served, our penalty paid, and our lives returned. As the instructor read off each name, the room cheered the accomplishment of each newly freed convict.
Nothing mattered more than seeing a cellmate (more like a classmate) attain their liberty. Every color, profession, persuasion, accent, age and education congratulated the other as they stepped back into freedom. What I'd offer to see it all over again - in our churches, among the redeemed.
6.06.2006
a party in hell
It's a holiday in Hell, Michigan. They've been waiting for two thousand, six years, six months and six days for it, but the town is having the blowout party of a lifetime to celebrate the "most evil and sinister day of the century." Although this is not the first time the calendar has read 06/06/06, it's the first and only time anyone who is alive today will see such a calendar page. The last time it happened was a thousand years ago, then a thousand years before that. Actually, that first June 6th was the only legitimate six-six-six day ever. The rest are copies of the original with an additional thousand years tacked on.
It's turned into quite a festival of events too. A major motion picture showcasing the birth and life of a kid who grows up as the Antichrist debuts today. It's a remake of an older movie. I didn't see the original. I most likely will not see the remake. I'm not into horror sorts of films. I heard there is another movie opening in theaters today too. It's called The Beast.
Then there are the Christian opportunists who've taken advantage of the occasion to market their own version of stuff that seems more appealing to us on a day like this.
I'm into the Left Behind book series. I think we're up to book 57 now (exaggeration). I've invested in every book (hard back edition) in the series, so I sorta feel like I'll be abandoning ship if I don't stay with it at this point.
When the first book in the series was released I grabbed it and read it fast, I was thrilled to know there would be a follow-up book. I was still excited when the story continued into yet another edition. I was thinking I'd heard somewhere that there would be five or seven books in the series altogether. But I knew something was happening when the first two books covered two years, and the third and fourth only six weeks (exaggeration). Now we're up to book number fifteen with the 060606 release of what I was sure had to be the last title, The Rapture. Not so.
I actually got my copy of the book yesterday. Feeling like I'd been lured into a buying pattern that I couldn't escape, I turned to one of the inside front pages where all of the previous titles are listed to find out if this was in fact going to finally be the end. At some point these folks have to die. As a matter of fact, if you've read the series, you know that they actually did - a book or two ago. That was supposed to be the end, but someone who saw this as a way good opportunity decided that all of us with the dollars to buy the books would enjoy learning about the births, lives, baptisms and possessions of the characters we'd come to know so well. So we started all over again, just earlier in time.
So now, here we are on June 6, 2006 picking up where we left off. It's the perfect day for a book called The Rapture to be released. And I learn that this will in fact not be the end. There will be more after The Rapture. Even though eyes have not seen and ears have not heard and it has not even entered into a man's heart what Heaven will be like, somehow Tim and Jerry will find a way to put it into words and sell it in a book. Lord knows they're good at both.
It's turned into quite a festival of events too. A major motion picture showcasing the birth and life of a kid who grows up as the Antichrist debuts today. It's a remake of an older movie. I didn't see the original. I most likely will not see the remake. I'm not into horror sorts of films. I heard there is another movie opening in theaters today too. It's called The Beast.
Then there are the Christian opportunists who've taken advantage of the occasion to market their own version of stuff that seems more appealing to us on a day like this.
I'm into the Left Behind book series. I think we're up to book 57 now (exaggeration). I've invested in every book (hard back edition) in the series, so I sorta feel like I'll be abandoning ship if I don't stay with it at this point.
When the first book in the series was released I grabbed it and read it fast, I was thrilled to know there would be a follow-up book. I was still excited when the story continued into yet another edition. I was thinking I'd heard somewhere that there would be five or seven books in the series altogether. But I knew something was happening when the first two books covered two years, and the third and fourth only six weeks (exaggeration). Now we're up to book number fifteen with the 060606 release of what I was sure had to be the last title, The Rapture. Not so.
I actually got my copy of the book yesterday. Feeling like I'd been lured into a buying pattern that I couldn't escape, I turned to one of the inside front pages where all of the previous titles are listed to find out if this was in fact going to finally be the end. At some point these folks have to die. As a matter of fact, if you've read the series, you know that they actually did - a book or two ago. That was supposed to be the end, but someone who saw this as a way good opportunity decided that all of us with the dollars to buy the books would enjoy learning about the births, lives, baptisms and possessions of the characters we'd come to know so well. So we started all over again, just earlier in time.
So now, here we are on June 6, 2006 picking up where we left off. It's the perfect day for a book called The Rapture to be released. And I learn that this will in fact not be the end. There will be more after The Rapture. Even though eyes have not seen and ears have not heard and it has not even entered into a man's heart what Heaven will be like, somehow Tim and Jerry will find a way to put it into words and sell it in a book. Lord knows they're good at both.
5.31.2006
blah, blah, blah - and happy mother's day mom!!
It seems there is a lot of catching up to do. More than a month's worth of weeks have come and gone since I've had more than a passing opportunity to say hello and share my fondness for you. Thank you for your patience.
If you visited the web site as recently as a couple of weeks ago, you've noticed the new web site look and layout already. We did a lot of research and designed several looks before settling on the one we are using now. I hope you enjoy the new look and feel.
Happy Mother's Day!! I'm a few days late, but I need to let the world (or at least those who read these words) know how beautiful, strong and supportive my mom is. Shirley Bishop has known blessings, grief, anger, happiness, fights and picnics. She excels and remains calm in every situation. I pray for her resolve and understanding in life.
I applaud, support, pray for and admire every person who has taken up the challenge to defend and protect the interests and people of the United States. You are our heroes. You are our pride. You are our weapons in combat and our shields in war. The day we've set aside to honor those who gave ultimately is also a day that we recognize your priceless contribution to liberty and freedom.
Most people who are not horse people do not understand the magnificence or enormity of the Kentucky Derby. If you never even knew which horse won on that first Saturday in May at Churchill Downs in Louisville, you couldn't help but know Barbaro's story a couple of weeks later when he broke his hind leg in front of millions on television. Those of us who cared cringed, and some even cried. It made a day at the most exciting two minutes in sports even more magic for those of us who saw a magnificent horse's last competitive ride.
The new record is ready to be heard. It was exciting and intimidating to stand in the ballroom of the Governor's Mansion in Frankfort, Kentucky to sing the songs that reveal more of my heart than anything I've ever recorded. My worlds collided when my political friends, my personal friends and my Gospel music friends all gathered to help me celebrate this first solo release in over ten years. Please help me pray these songs, more importantly the messages, reach the hearts and targets that God intends.
If you visited the web site as recently as a couple of weeks ago, you've noticed the new web site look and layout already. We did a lot of research and designed several looks before settling on the one we are using now. I hope you enjoy the new look and feel.
Happy Mother's Day!! I'm a few days late, but I need to let the world (or at least those who read these words) know how beautiful, strong and supportive my mom is. Shirley Bishop has known blessings, grief, anger, happiness, fights and picnics. She excels and remains calm in every situation. I pray for her resolve and understanding in life.
I applaud, support, pray for and admire every person who has taken up the challenge to defend and protect the interests and people of the United States. You are our heroes. You are our pride. You are our weapons in combat and our shields in war. The day we've set aside to honor those who gave ultimately is also a day that we recognize your priceless contribution to liberty and freedom.
Most people who are not horse people do not understand the magnificence or enormity of the Kentucky Derby. If you never even knew which horse won on that first Saturday in May at Churchill Downs in Louisville, you couldn't help but know Barbaro's story a couple of weeks later when he broke his hind leg in front of millions on television. Those of us who cared cringed, and some even cried. It made a day at the most exciting two minutes in sports even more magic for those of us who saw a magnificent horse's last competitive ride.
The new record is ready to be heard. It was exciting and intimidating to stand in the ballroom of the Governor's Mansion in Frankfort, Kentucky to sing the songs that reveal more of my heart than anything I've ever recorded. My worlds collided when my political friends, my personal friends and my Gospel music friends all gathered to help me celebrate this first solo release in over ten years. Please help me pray these songs, more importantly the messages, reach the hearts and targets that God intends.
4.23.2006
enamored and confused
There's a lot about Jesus I don't think I'll ever figure out. He had it made at one time. He did the craziest thing when he gave up the ultimate life to take on earthly life and all of its limits. God confined to skin, minutes and meals bamboozles me. Nothing but love could've forced him to do it. The more I think about it the weirder it gets. I'm still not sure what it is about me that makes me so worth it.
Knowing me the way He does, I can't imagine He expected much from me in return. He knows my limits. He knows I can't come close to returning all of the favors I've enjoyed because of Him. The fact that He trusts me at all just blows me away. But that's His nature. That's just what He naturally does - if a super-duper-extreme-above-the-laws-of-nature God can do anything naturally.
I'd never thought of God as being attractive. I was mostly told that He is rigid, harsh and perpetually angry. But I've found Him to be more ready to hug than to hit. He comes across to me now preferring to kiss than to kick. That makes Him very attractive to everyone who's been led to believe they must fear His wrath before they trust His love. Who would want to attach themselves to a deity who creates life, is life, only to make it painful and stomp it out? He gave us life in the first place so we can know Him forever.
I'll never figure Him out. No one will. So when I read the great scholars who knew Him well, but not entirely, I have to remember that they speak and write from the knowledge they have, but they don't know everything. No one does. No one can. From what I do know about Him, I love Him. From what I've learned about Him, I can't help but really love him.
Knowing me the way He does, I can't imagine He expected much from me in return. He knows my limits. He knows I can't come close to returning all of the favors I've enjoyed because of Him. The fact that He trusts me at all just blows me away. But that's His nature. That's just what He naturally does - if a super-duper-extreme-above-the-laws-of-nature God can do anything naturally.
I'd never thought of God as being attractive. I was mostly told that He is rigid, harsh and perpetually angry. But I've found Him to be more ready to hug than to hit. He comes across to me now preferring to kiss than to kick. That makes Him very attractive to everyone who's been led to believe they must fear His wrath before they trust His love. Who would want to attach themselves to a deity who creates life, is life, only to make it painful and stomp it out? He gave us life in the first place so we can know Him forever.
I'll never figure Him out. No one will. So when I read the great scholars who knew Him well, but not entirely, I have to remember that they speak and write from the knowledge they have, but they don't know everything. No one does. No one can. From what I do know about Him, I love Him. From what I've learned about Him, I can't help but really love him.
4.08.2006
my birthday gift
I've already outlived Jesus. Well, not in a technical sense. He was around long before my lineage began forming, and his life is not at all limited to the number of days his feet actually touched earth dirt. But I've awakened to more birthdays than he did while he was living here. And today is one of them.
This is a milestone birthday for me. As a matter of fact, this is a special milestone year for both of my kids as well. Christian becomes a teenager in June, and Casie becomes an adult of 18 years in November. I start a new decade today.
I'm not really big on celebrating my own birthday. Except once. When I was in the fourth grade I had been invited to a friend's birthday party. I enjoyed it so much that I thought I'd have one when my own special day rolled around. The games, the friends, the cake, the attention all appealed to me. So, as my own birthday neared I invited a boat load of friends over for a big KB birthday bash at the Bishop spread.
I did things sorta backwards. I didn't ask mom or dad if they'd sponsor such a shindig until the day before the big day. However, I'd already invited my A-list friends and they'd all gotten permission and filed the proper paper work to ride the bus home with me for the blowout party of the year. Dad said something like, "Ask your mother." Mom said she had planned a special dinner for the family and the next door neighbor kid. (He'd invited me to his party a few weeks before.) So the answer was, "Not this year sweetheart."
Now what was I going to do? The next day was party day. All of the friends I'd invited were expecting to end up at my place for games, treats and an all around good time. I couldn't cancel the party and disappoint them all. So I didn't. I kept thinking all day that I should probably call Mom and tell her that I was bringing a bunch of my buddies home with me. She deserved some sort of warning. But I didn't.
The bus ride home that afternoon was brutal. I was surrounded by good friends, but I kept thinking about my poor momma who was at home preparing a meal for the family, totally unaware of all that was about to be unleashed on her. At each stop along the way I considered abandoning ship. The eight or ten friends, whose parents had probably taken advantage of the opportunity for a night out without the kids, were oblivious to my worry. My brother Mark was anxious to see how I'd keep a happy face until the last friend left and the punishment was initiated.
Finally, the bus stopped and emptied itself in front of 2735 Old Irvine Road. I knew Mom was most likely in the kitchen, so I asked my friends to head to the backyard while I went in to get things together. I don't recall the exact exchange, but to the best of my recollection, the conversation went something like this.
Mom: Take your shoes off. How was your day at school? Did your friends all wish you a happy birthday?
Me: Mom, I have to tell you something.
Mom: I said take your shoes off. What is it you need to tell me? Hang on, there's something going on in the backyard.
Me: Mom, I brought some friends home from school. I told them I was having a birthday party. They're expecting cake and ice cream and games and stuff.
Mom: ...
Me: Mom?
Mom: Get in my purse, run down to the store and get as much candy as you can with however much money is there. I'll make some games or something. I thought I told you we weren't going to do this this year??
Me: I was too embarrassed to cancel my own birthday party. There's not much money in here.
Mom: We'll make it work.
And she did. We played home made pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and the candy was the prize. We all had tiny pieces of birthday cake. (She'd only made enough for the family and the neighbor kid.) As far as my friends knew, this was the original plan put into place the day the invitation was extended. Dad came home to a yard full of rowdy 4th graders, and Bro ended up joining in the fun. It ended up being the best birthday ever.
These days I'd just as soon my birthday come and go without any fanfare. But I have enough good friends who won't let that happen. Yesterday, my calendar told me I had a meeting in the State Capitol Building. When I arrived, the Governor and First Lady and most all of their staff, were there to celebrate my day with cake, punch and friendship. The kitchen staff at the Governor's Mansion where I work prepared my favorite lunchtime meal. And last night my best friend in the world deceived me and surprised me with a gathering of very special and close friends.
As the day goes on I'll hear from others. Casie has already wished me a happy day. I expect I'll hear from Christian when he wakes up. Mom and Dad never let this day go by without a call. My brother Mark faxed me a five dollar bill last year. It's an inside family joke. I may get a raise this year.
As much as I'd like to treat this day like any other, I have too many friends and family who love me enough not to let that happen. That's a beautiful gift for a guy like me.
This is a milestone birthday for me. As a matter of fact, this is a special milestone year for both of my kids as well. Christian becomes a teenager in June, and Casie becomes an adult of 18 years in November. I start a new decade today.
I'm not really big on celebrating my own birthday. Except once. When I was in the fourth grade I had been invited to a friend's birthday party. I enjoyed it so much that I thought I'd have one when my own special day rolled around. The games, the friends, the cake, the attention all appealed to me. So, as my own birthday neared I invited a boat load of friends over for a big KB birthday bash at the Bishop spread.
I did things sorta backwards. I didn't ask mom or dad if they'd sponsor such a shindig until the day before the big day. However, I'd already invited my A-list friends and they'd all gotten permission and filed the proper paper work to ride the bus home with me for the blowout party of the year. Dad said something like, "Ask your mother." Mom said she had planned a special dinner for the family and the next door neighbor kid. (He'd invited me to his party a few weeks before.) So the answer was, "Not this year sweetheart."
Now what was I going to do? The next day was party day. All of the friends I'd invited were expecting to end up at my place for games, treats and an all around good time. I couldn't cancel the party and disappoint them all. So I didn't. I kept thinking all day that I should probably call Mom and tell her that I was bringing a bunch of my buddies home with me. She deserved some sort of warning. But I didn't.
The bus ride home that afternoon was brutal. I was surrounded by good friends, but I kept thinking about my poor momma who was at home preparing a meal for the family, totally unaware of all that was about to be unleashed on her. At each stop along the way I considered abandoning ship. The eight or ten friends, whose parents had probably taken advantage of the opportunity for a night out without the kids, were oblivious to my worry. My brother Mark was anxious to see how I'd keep a happy face until the last friend left and the punishment was initiated.
Finally, the bus stopped and emptied itself in front of 2735 Old Irvine Road. I knew Mom was most likely in the kitchen, so I asked my friends to head to the backyard while I went in to get things together. I don't recall the exact exchange, but to the best of my recollection, the conversation went something like this.
Mom: Take your shoes off. How was your day at school? Did your friends all wish you a happy birthday?
Me: Mom, I have to tell you something.
Mom: I said take your shoes off. What is it you need to tell me? Hang on, there's something going on in the backyard.
Me: Mom, I brought some friends home from school. I told them I was having a birthday party. They're expecting cake and ice cream and games and stuff.
Mom: ...
Me: Mom?
Mom: Get in my purse, run down to the store and get as much candy as you can with however much money is there. I'll make some games or something. I thought I told you we weren't going to do this this year??
Me: I was too embarrassed to cancel my own birthday party. There's not much money in here.
Mom: We'll make it work.
And she did. We played home made pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and the candy was the prize. We all had tiny pieces of birthday cake. (She'd only made enough for the family and the neighbor kid.) As far as my friends knew, this was the original plan put into place the day the invitation was extended. Dad came home to a yard full of rowdy 4th graders, and Bro ended up joining in the fun. It ended up being the best birthday ever.
These days I'd just as soon my birthday come and go without any fanfare. But I have enough good friends who won't let that happen. Yesterday, my calendar told me I had a meeting in the State Capitol Building. When I arrived, the Governor and First Lady and most all of their staff, were there to celebrate my day with cake, punch and friendship. The kitchen staff at the Governor's Mansion where I work prepared my favorite lunchtime meal. And last night my best friend in the world deceived me and surprised me with a gathering of very special and close friends.
As the day goes on I'll hear from others. Casie has already wished me a happy day. I expect I'll hear from Christian when he wakes up. Mom and Dad never let this day go by without a call. My brother Mark faxed me a five dollar bill last year. It's an inside family joke. I may get a raise this year.
As much as I'd like to treat this day like any other, I have too many friends and family who love me enough not to let that happen. That's a beautiful gift for a guy like me.
3.26.2006
i'm a quester
I love my church. I've found myself having to defend it fairly often. We're an odd lot at Quest. When we gather it's not your traditional hymns - announcements - offering - sermon - benediction type service. Our style of worship is not everyone's cup of tea. Sometimes it's not even mine. Our band plays lively music and the worship team leads us with energy and passion from one joyful or intimate moment to the next. I love the old songs of the church I grew up singing, and from time to time I'll enjoy visiting the services at one of the other, more traditional churches here in town to hear them again. I appreciate their worship just as much, and I value the heritage they honor. I'm glad there are places for all of us to meet with God in the way we enjoy most. But I really love my church.
I know there are other congregations like it, but I've never seen a more eclectic mix of humans who gather week after week all because they want to know God better. Before you ever get in the building you can tell something is up. Shiny, high-dollar sports cars, luxury models and SUVs are scattered among the muddy Jeeps, ragtag jalopies and family vans in the lot. The bumper stickers say a lot too. Some for Bush. Some for Kerry. Some for saving the whales. Some for saving the babies. A PETA and an AFA were parked side-by-side today. Somebody drove each car into the lot on their way to meet with Jesus. Then you get inside.
I just love looking at the odd assortment of people-types in this place. Two weeks ago I noticed a very clean-cut sixtyish gentleman with groomed silver hair, a tailored suit and a big bible sitting next to a younger guy with radical hair, ripped up jeans, a wrinkled tee-shirt and a piercing or two (or three). They sang the same songs, read the same passage of scripture and lifted themselves up together as the worship grew deeper and more personal. It was a beautiful picture; four hands in the air - two trimmed, two loaded with rings and scars; two voices - one singing properly in tune, one making nasally attempts; four feet tapping - two in designer Aldos, two in stringy flops; two hearts beating - one in love with a Redeemer that saves from complacency and pride, one melted by a God that wanted a loner on the run. Two men in worship. God saw two men. Nothing else.
I know there are other congregations like it, but I've never seen a more eclectic mix of humans who gather week after week all because they want to know God better. Before you ever get in the building you can tell something is up. Shiny, high-dollar sports cars, luxury models and SUVs are scattered among the muddy Jeeps, ragtag jalopies and family vans in the lot. The bumper stickers say a lot too. Some for Bush. Some for Kerry. Some for saving the whales. Some for saving the babies. A PETA and an AFA were parked side-by-side today. Somebody drove each car into the lot on their way to meet with Jesus. Then you get inside.
I just love looking at the odd assortment of people-types in this place. Two weeks ago I noticed a very clean-cut sixtyish gentleman with groomed silver hair, a tailored suit and a big bible sitting next to a younger guy with radical hair, ripped up jeans, a wrinkled tee-shirt and a piercing or two (or three). They sang the same songs, read the same passage of scripture and lifted themselves up together as the worship grew deeper and more personal. It was a beautiful picture; four hands in the air - two trimmed, two loaded with rings and scars; two voices - one singing properly in tune, one making nasally attempts; four feet tapping - two in designer Aldos, two in stringy flops; two hearts beating - one in love with a Redeemer that saves from complacency and pride, one melted by a God that wanted a loner on the run. Two men in worship. God saw two men. Nothing else.
3.14.2006
welcome little abby
I was at the hospital this week. My niece Whitney delivered to my parents their first great grandchild. Her name is Abigail, and she is an obvious Bishop. I was able to stop by the hospital and visit with baby, mom, dad, grandma and a room full of friends for a while. Tiny, new life really inspires me - and frightens me.
When I see the itty-bitty fingers, the speck of a nose, hair with the texture of cotton candy, and know that her heart is the size of my thumb, I'm aware that her little personality will develop traits along the way that reveal who she is beneath her skin and that her little heart will learn the values that matter most. I get excited about the future she can control and concerned for the parts that will be left to the world around her.
My prayer for little Abby is this: "Father, you have blessed us with a brand new opportunity to mold a creation of yours into a child of opportunity, a youngster of ambition, and an adult of contribution. Please give our family the wisdom, patience, understanding and compassion to do it the way that honors You most. And let us see the world a lot like her innocent and inexperienced eyes do - without cynicism, prejudice or hatred. Help us rely on You as she relies on us for her very life. Make her Your instrument. In Christ's name. Amen."
When I see the itty-bitty fingers, the speck of a nose, hair with the texture of cotton candy, and know that her heart is the size of my thumb, I'm aware that her little personality will develop traits along the way that reveal who she is beneath her skin and that her little heart will learn the values that matter most. I get excited about the future she can control and concerned for the parts that will be left to the world around her.
My prayer for little Abby is this: "Father, you have blessed us with a brand new opportunity to mold a creation of yours into a child of opportunity, a youngster of ambition, and an adult of contribution. Please give our family the wisdom, patience, understanding and compassion to do it the way that honors You most. And let us see the world a lot like her innocent and inexperienced eyes do - without cynicism, prejudice or hatred. Help us rely on You as she relies on us for her very life. Make her Your instrument. In Christ's name. Amen."
3.11.2006
christians...
Is your email box loaded? It seems mine always has a steady supply of messages waiting to be read and responded to. I promise myself I'll get to everyone of them at some point - and I will - eventually. I love hearing from folks, and if someone takes the time to write, I should do my best to holler back when I can. Then there are the forwards...
Like everyone else with an email addy, it seems the "FWDs" fill much of my inbox space. Being totally honest with you, I don't read most of them. Between hellos from friends, encouraging notes from strangers, and business mail that has to be tended to, my time at the 'puter would be endless if all of the forwards got full attention. And some of them probably deserve it. Some of them are witty, some are strange, some are cute and some should've ended their tour of the cyber-world long before they found their course to my box - for the third time. Then there is the one that I do take the time to read (for some reason), that speaks something honest, simple and magnificent. Now I wonder what I've missed by not parking it for a while longer and taking the time to read them all.
When I say... "I am a Christian"
When I say... "I am a Christian"
When I say... "I am a Christian"
When I say... "I am a Christian"
Like everyone else with an email addy, it seems the "FWDs" fill much of my inbox space. Being totally honest with you, I don't read most of them. Between hellos from friends, encouraging notes from strangers, and business mail that has to be tended to, my time at the 'puter would be endless if all of the forwards got full attention. And some of them probably deserve it. Some of them are witty, some are strange, some are cute and some should've ended their tour of the cyber-world long before they found their course to my box - for the third time. Then there is the one that I do take the time to read (for some reason), that speaks something honest, simple and magnificent. Now I wonder what I've missed by not parking it for a while longer and taking the time to read them all.
CHRISTIANS
by: Maya Angelou
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not shouting "I'm clean livin'."
I'm whispering "I was lost,
Now I'm found and forgiven.
" When I say... "I am a Christian"
I don't speak of this with pride.
I'm confessing that I stumble
And need Christ to be my guide.
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not trying to be strong.
I'm professing that I'm weak
And need His strength to carry on.
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not bragging of success.
I'm admitting I have failed
And need God to clean my mess.
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not claiming to be perfect,
My flaws are far too visible
But, God believes I am worth it.
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I still feel the sting of pain.
I have my share of heartaches.
So I call upon His name.
When I say... "I am a Christian"
I'm not holier than thou,
I'm just a simple sinner
Who received God's good grace, somehow!
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