Remember the famous "Who's On First" comedy routine that Abbott and Costello used to do years ago? If you weren't around back in the 1930s and 40s you probably don't. I've seen video and heard old radio broadcasts of the skit, and to me it's as confusing as it is funny. But it is funny. About 40 years after the big-time comics made it famous, Chris Simonsen and I felt it was time for our generation to get its own kicks out of the back and forth, so we decided to sign up for the Madison Central High School talent show. Honestly, it didn't go so good. Thank God it wasn't a Gong Show. We would've never made it to the next base. (What's on second...)
I like a good talent show. It's fun to watch people who don't normally stand in front of a crowd, stand in front of a crowd. Their song or dance or monologue or feat may be crippled by their nervousness, but they stand there and give it all they've got. It's fun to root for the best and cheer on the worst. They're not all winners. But they're all tryers, and usually it's an honest show.
I'll admit that I've had my fascinations with American Idol. Some genuinely remarkable talent and some of today's biggest music names have come out of the TV talent show, and if nothing else, it has proven the old adage; It's not what you know. It's who you know. But the however-many-seasons-the-show-has-been-evolving-on-the-air-show has proven too that it is not completely honest - at least not up front. Still, you've got several million people who carve a notch in the middle of their week to take it in.
I'm sure most people who watch the show know that Randy, Paula, Simon, and now Kara don't take the time to listen to the tens of thousands who show up to audition. We're kinda led to believe that they do. But they don't. The couple of hundred singers who eventually do get to sing to the stars have been strung along and pumped up for weeks by the show's producers, since their first visit to the city. Even the tremendously tone-deaf who get the call-back have been misled into believing that they could possibly be the next amazing phenom in the pop music world. That's why so many bad singers walk away in tears after they were first congratulated and lauded by a phone call from LA , then laughed at and poked with a stick when the arrogant celebrities come to town. But it makes for good TV, and right now, that's what this show is really all about. A more serious look at music is scripted later in the season.
Personally, I think American Idol is as much about humiliating good people who just can't sing as it is finding really good singers. Many of the best who show up at the original audition hoping to be discovered have to be passed over. The show must make room for characters. When the show meets its quota of blond/brunette or tattooed/clean-cut or black/white (and this season Hispanic) good singers, there's no more need for another good voice. Talent or not, when they're full they're full. Now, if your fashion sense is a little off or if you have bad teeth, a skin problem and greasy hair you may have a chance yet. But only if you sing like a wounded banshee.
Several months ago American Idol came to Louisville. Several weeks later the famous faces arrived to tape their parts. After a few more weeks of shooting fields, trees, barns and banjos, then creatively editing the hours of footage, some of the good and much of the embarrassing was put on TV. I'm not sure why, but the producers felt it was necessary to make our state and all of its great citizens look like back-woods hicks and country goons. We're proud Kentuckians, and we're not ashamed of our culture. We're also not stupid. I was, along with many of my friends, humiliated again by a Hollywood that gets a sick kick out of manipulating and misrepresenting good people for a greedy purpose.
On the Louisville show Paula and Simon made a big deal out of a not so talented good old boy's country way of saying goodbye. He said, "Y'all be careful." Paula and Simon exploded, "What! Was that a threat!?" I'm sure that these two judges are like most celebrities that you couldn't get to for a handshake, much less something more sinister. Granted, the simple fella who really meant no harm at all could probably shoot the hood ornament off their speeding Jaguar if he wanted to. But why waste a bullet on such hollow things?
1.30.2009
1.26.2009
news of an honest nature
I want to know what happened in the real world while I lived in my dreamy one overnight. So, most mornings my habit has me turning on the television for the early morning headlines. First the local word, which is usually pretty reliable, then the big stuff according to one of the networks. Even though most of the stories are usually sad or shocking even, the means and delivery are sometimes sort of a spectacle in themselves, and maybe just as newsworthy.
From time to time I’ll twit or blog something a little critical of one of the big news networks. It’s been revealing to learn how many people, more than I ever would’ve thought, actually attach their news source to their politics. They take it personally when you offer a bit of criticism or judgment on their favorite reporter, and that’s usually the one who slants the news in their favorite direction. I can mention CNN or MSNBC and you’d think I kneed a Democrat or a liberal in the groin. I’ve been getting more and more annoyed with Fox News lately. I mentioned it the other day when I updated my Facebook status. I was practically accused of digging up Ronald Reagan and rolling him over.
I’d love, really, really love to find a news source that is just honest. No weighting or leaning, no pro/con adjectives to tilt the story, no love/hate expressions. Just facts. Just straight-to-the-point information without a bias. If there is a network or a newspaper or a source out there anywhere that will allow me to determine the worthiness of the info, I’m having trouble finding it. I guess news is too big a business to risk something like a calm, neutral audience. NPR can’t even do it.
This morning, someone on the Today Show teased an “exclusive” interview coming up later, then they go to a commercial. I flip the channel and there is their “exclusive” interviewing with another talker on another network. As small as it seems, if the Merediths, Matts, Dianes and Harrys don’t mind fibbing a little on the small stuff, how reliable is the big story?
In the afternoons, I sometimes turn on CNN. There’s Wolf-man practically having an orgasm over our new president. It’s non-stop. If I guessed two thousand, I’d win the office pool on how many times “President Obama” can be mouthed in thirty minutes – and always with a trembling lip to prove the love. This has nothing to do with the president. But it has everything to do with “the most trusted name in news.”
Reliable info is just as scarce over at Fox, at least early in the day when I’m tuned in. They work hard on shock-and-awe there, so the teases and rhetoric is usually pretty over the top. This morning, in an attempt to keep us tuned in past the commercials, one of the guys who sits on the morning team couch just flat out lied. He was teasing a story from here in Kentucky that I’ve been keeping up with and know pretty well. The Fox guy obviously didn’t think the truth was spectacular enough, so he just made something up. Now that I caught their trick, I have to wonder if any of their words are accurate.
C-Span is a cool thing. It’s real reality TV. With no commentaries or “analysis” from talking heads who follow a political speech with, “what they were really saying,” you and I can just turn it on and watch the slow wheels of government do our business. Without the confusion of an untrustworthy reporter on a biased network we can see the nuts and bolts being turned right before our very eyes. I encourage you to take a look when you can. Sometimes it’s painfully dull, and other times it’s better than a Ringling Brothers show. But if it’s nothing else, it’s better than exaggerated, dishonest, politically tainted reporting.
From time to time I’ll twit or blog something a little critical of one of the big news networks. It’s been revealing to learn how many people, more than I ever would’ve thought, actually attach their news source to their politics. They take it personally when you offer a bit of criticism or judgment on their favorite reporter, and that’s usually the one who slants the news in their favorite direction. I can mention CNN or MSNBC and you’d think I kneed a Democrat or a liberal in the groin. I’ve been getting more and more annoyed with Fox News lately. I mentioned it the other day when I updated my Facebook status. I was practically accused of digging up Ronald Reagan and rolling him over.
I’d love, really, really love to find a news source that is just honest. No weighting or leaning, no pro/con adjectives to tilt the story, no love/hate expressions. Just facts. Just straight-to-the-point information without a bias. If there is a network or a newspaper or a source out there anywhere that will allow me to determine the worthiness of the info, I’m having trouble finding it. I guess news is too big a business to risk something like a calm, neutral audience. NPR can’t even do it.
This morning, someone on the Today Show teased an “exclusive” interview coming up later, then they go to a commercial. I flip the channel and there is their “exclusive” interviewing with another talker on another network. As small as it seems, if the Merediths, Matts, Dianes and Harrys don’t mind fibbing a little on the small stuff, how reliable is the big story?
In the afternoons, I sometimes turn on CNN. There’s Wolf-man practically having an orgasm over our new president. It’s non-stop. If I guessed two thousand, I’d win the office pool on how many times “President Obama” can be mouthed in thirty minutes – and always with a trembling lip to prove the love. This has nothing to do with the president. But it has everything to do with “the most trusted name in news.”
Reliable info is just as scarce over at Fox, at least early in the day when I’m tuned in. They work hard on shock-and-awe there, so the teases and rhetoric is usually pretty over the top. This morning, in an attempt to keep us tuned in past the commercials, one of the guys who sits on the morning team couch just flat out lied. He was teasing a story from here in Kentucky that I’ve been keeping up with and know pretty well. The Fox guy obviously didn’t think the truth was spectacular enough, so he just made something up. Now that I caught their trick, I have to wonder if any of their words are accurate.
C-Span is a cool thing. It’s real reality TV. With no commentaries or “analysis” from talking heads who follow a political speech with, “what they were really saying,” you and I can just turn it on and watch the slow wheels of government do our business. Without the confusion of an untrustworthy reporter on a biased network we can see the nuts and bolts being turned right before our very eyes. I encourage you to take a look when you can. Sometimes it’s painfully dull, and other times it’s better than a Ringling Brothers show. But if it’s nothing else, it’s better than exaggerated, dishonest, politically tainted reporting.
1.20.2009
yes, we did
We've accomplished something today. It's a very, very monumental time for our nation, and because we are leaders on the globe, for the world. As an American, I'm excited and proud and encouraged. I'm not old enough, and I'm not Catholic, but if I had been around in 1961 I hope that I would've felt the same sense of progress then that I feel today
My delight has nothing to do with politics. Barack Obama is not our first Democrat president. He's not the first president from Illinois, or the first to inspire a generation. He's not the first to be called a liberal or the first to leave the US Senate to take up White House-keeping. He's not the youngest, or first to bring with him a young family. Other long shots have won. He's a politician, so he's certainly not the first to kiss babies, make promises and choke on a word or two.
This is a historic moment though. Our 44th president is giving all of us a place to look back on, a marker of sorts. Not so significant, he's the first president to admit he's addicted to his BlackBerry, the first to have his official portrait made with a digital camera and the first to use YouTube as a major campaign tool.
But there is a very significant second that has taken place today that is made even more emotional because of its connected firsts. About two years ago when a tall, intelligent young man stood on the steps of the state capitol in the land of Lincoln and announced his intentions to be president of the United States, many disregarded him and gave him no chance. There were too many reasons why he'd never be elected, and the most obvious couldn't be fixed.
Although planned, the history we've witnessed today is ironic and fascinating. Abraham Lincoln, the man who risked and gave his life so that others who didn't look like him, but more like the man who would nearly a century and a half later assume his old Washington, DC address, left his bible behind. 147 years, 10 months and 16 days ago it was used to swear in the nation's first Republican president. Today we get to see it for the first time, in the dark hands of a black presidential family that sees the truth of its freeing and liberating power.
You did very well, Mr. Lincoln. I'm sure if you were here you'd be thrilled to say it, "Yes, we did!"
My delight has nothing to do with politics. Barack Obama is not our first Democrat president. He's not the first president from Illinois, or the first to inspire a generation. He's not the first to be called a liberal or the first to leave the US Senate to take up White House-keeping. He's not the youngest, or first to bring with him a young family. Other long shots have won. He's a politician, so he's certainly not the first to kiss babies, make promises and choke on a word or two.
This is a historic moment though. Our 44th president is giving all of us a place to look back on, a marker of sorts. Not so significant, he's the first president to admit he's addicted to his BlackBerry, the first to have his official portrait made with a digital camera and the first to use YouTube as a major campaign tool.
But there is a very significant second that has taken place today that is made even more emotional because of its connected firsts. About two years ago when a tall, intelligent young man stood on the steps of the state capitol in the land of Lincoln and announced his intentions to be president of the United States, many disregarded him and gave him no chance. There were too many reasons why he'd never be elected, and the most obvious couldn't be fixed.
Although planned, the history we've witnessed today is ironic and fascinating. Abraham Lincoln, the man who risked and gave his life so that others who didn't look like him, but more like the man who would nearly a century and a half later assume his old Washington, DC address, left his bible behind. 147 years, 10 months and 16 days ago it was used to swear in the nation's first Republican president. Today we get to see it for the first time, in the dark hands of a black presidential family that sees the truth of its freeing and liberating power.
You did very well, Mr. Lincoln. I'm sure if you were here you'd be thrilled to say it, "Yes, we did!"
1.19.2009
what a day for mlk!
These days presidents are sworn in on the west side of the US Capitol building. Forty five years ago it all happened on the opposite side. So it's impossible that the gentler, more inspiring face of the civil rights movement could've looked across the Mall from the Lincoln Memorial in 1963 to see a black president's inauguration. But dreamers don't have to see it to believe it, and Martin Luther King, Jr. was certainly a dreamer.
Not everyone agreed with his premise that the Constitution provides, guarantees even, equal liberty and opportunity for every American. Personally, I don't see how it's possible to read it any other way. But even if you can find a loophole in our nation's founding law, how is it possible to read Jesus' words or observe his deeds/heart and still believe that a person's skin determines their worth.
Had Dr. King lived twice as long as he did, tomorrow would be a tremendous and monumental day for the great inspirer. He'd surely feel that he had come as close as possible to seeing his Dream turn into reality. What a way to celebrate an 80th b'day!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:
My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.
Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,
From every mountainside, let freedom ring!
And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.
And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire
Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.
Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.
Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.
But not only that:
Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.
From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:
Free at last! Free at last!
Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!
Not everyone agreed with his premise that the Constitution provides, guarantees even, equal liberty and opportunity for every American. Personally, I don't see how it's possible to read it any other way. But even if you can find a loophole in our nation's founding law, how is it possible to read Jesus' words or observe his deeds/heart and still believe that a person's skin determines their worth.
Had Dr. King lived twice as long as he did, tomorrow would be a tremendous and monumental day for the great inspirer. He'd surely feel that he had come as close as possible to seeing his Dream turn into reality. What a way to celebrate an 80th b'day!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:
My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.
Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,
From every mountainside, let freedom ring!
And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.
And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire
Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.
Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.
Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.
But not only that:
Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.
From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:
Free at last! Free at last!
Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!
1.01.2009
new start
Can we start over? Can we forget everything I’ve said and done up to this point? I’d like to erase, delete and disregard all of the minutes of my past now please. I want my next step to be my first. Can we start over?
One of the big movies of the holiday season features Brad Pitt as Benjamin Button. Ben is living life backwards. He’s starting at the end and working toward the beginning. It’s an impossible thing of course, but the idea is weirdly interesting. The movie’s synop says it’s about a man who is “born under unusual circumstances” and he’s unable to stop time. Who among us is?
I wasn’t born in my current place, in this present time. It’s taken me a while to get here. Like you, I was a user. I went through my share of diapers and bottles and cradles and grades and birthday cakes and library books and diplomas and jobs and speeding tickets and arguments and parties and dentist appointments and sermons and setbacks and on and on and on. Whether we’ve been fortunate enough to stumble into it, (Although I prefer to think of it as God getting me here even while I ignorantly made it more complicated than it should’ve been.) or we’ve worked our tails off to make our successes, it took some time, stubbornness and sweat to get to where we are.
So, thinking about it, if we could, would we really want to start over? I don’t want to do school again. I like being able to read, write, articulate, cipher, and drive. I don’t want to do the career ladder thing again either. I’m pleased with where I am, and I like the connections I have, and I’m not about to go back to my starting salary. I’ve worked hard to gradually trade up to a nicer car. Most things in my life are the culmination of hard work, strategy and patience. I don’t think I’m prepared to start them again.
I’ve done a few things I’m ashamed of and some I’m very proud of. I’d truly like to forget some of the embarrassing stuff. Some memories make me angry or sad, but some of my accomplishments pump me up. It’s all a part of who I am now. All the marks, whether they’re scars, wrinkles or medals, combine to form the tiny bits that make up all my parts and form my person, for good or bad.
Now, ask me if I’d like to go back to when my kids were young and I was thinner. Offer me the opportunity to rock my babies to sleep and I’ll jump right on it. Tell me it’s fashionably safe to pull the old suits back out and I’m a new man. Allow me to go back to the days of less stress, lighter loads and simpler solutions and I’ll buy a ticket. But be sure to quote the price first.
One of the big movies of the holiday season features Brad Pitt as Benjamin Button. Ben is living life backwards. He’s starting at the end and working toward the beginning. It’s an impossible thing of course, but the idea is weirdly interesting. The movie’s synop says it’s about a man who is “born under unusual circumstances” and he’s unable to stop time. Who among us is?
I wasn’t born in my current place, in this present time. It’s taken me a while to get here. Like you, I was a user. I went through my share of diapers and bottles and cradles and grades and birthday cakes and library books and diplomas and jobs and speeding tickets and arguments and parties and dentist appointments and sermons and setbacks and on and on and on. Whether we’ve been fortunate enough to stumble into it, (Although I prefer to think of it as God getting me here even while I ignorantly made it more complicated than it should’ve been.) or we’ve worked our tails off to make our successes, it took some time, stubbornness and sweat to get to where we are.
So, thinking about it, if we could, would we really want to start over? I don’t want to do school again. I like being able to read, write, articulate, cipher, and drive. I don’t want to do the career ladder thing again either. I’m pleased with where I am, and I like the connections I have, and I’m not about to go back to my starting salary. I’ve worked hard to gradually trade up to a nicer car. Most things in my life are the culmination of hard work, strategy and patience. I don’t think I’m prepared to start them again.
I’ve done a few things I’m ashamed of and some I’m very proud of. I’d truly like to forget some of the embarrassing stuff. Some memories make me angry or sad, but some of my accomplishments pump me up. It’s all a part of who I am now. All the marks, whether they’re scars, wrinkles or medals, combine to form the tiny bits that make up all my parts and form my person, for good or bad.
Now, ask me if I’d like to go back to when my kids were young and I was thinner. Offer me the opportunity to rock my babies to sleep and I’ll jump right on it. Tell me it’s fashionably safe to pull the old suits back out and I’m a new man. Allow me to go back to the days of less stress, lighter loads and simpler solutions and I’ll buy a ticket. But be sure to quote the price first.
12.25.2008
naughty mary!
It’s just crazy how these things happen. From over here, across the street, everything looked just fine. Their yard was always neat, their car always clean. You never heard any yelling or loud music from their house. I don’t know when’s the last time they missed church. They seem like the perfect, got-it-all-together family. You never know what goes on behind closed doors though.
I’m not sure if you’ve heard. Word is, lean in, I’ll whisper. Word is the girl is pregnant. And she’s not married! How sad. And such a sweet family too. Oh Lord! I hope our property value doesn’t slide. Maybe we should move. Maybe they should. I think I’ll keep the kids close to home for a while. Maybe her parents will send her away. I may suggest that. Yeah, Mary needs to go away for a while.
Up until now I don’t think she’s ever given her parents or anyone the first ounce of trouble. She always seemed so sweet and quiet – and responsible. She was our best bible quizzer. I loved her solos with the choir. My kids say she’s smart in school, a teacher’s pet. I wonder what went wrong.
I hear she’s talking out of her head now and seeing things. She claims she talks to angels, and they TALK BACK! And then there’s something about a “holy ghost,” whatever that is. Does she have any idea of the shame she’s bringing on her family?
You know how things like this get blown out of proportion, but there’s all kinds of stuff floating around out there. Not that it’s any of my business, but evidently the girl refuses to accept any kind of responsibility for her recklessness. She won’t say who the kid belongs to, except that it’s “God’s plan for her.” Pardon the finger-quotes here, but unmarried teenagers having babies is NEVER God’s plan!! She needs to just own up to it, tell us who the daddy is and make him take some responsibility. If he was a real man he would. Then again, a real man wouldn’t… Ah, I’ll bet it’s that Joe guy she’s been seeing. They had wedding plans didn’t they? I’ll bet he’s embarrassed. He should be.
Evidently there’s some weird story going on with the rest of her family too. Someone told me her Aunt Liz is expecting in a few weeks and her Uncle Zach, the preacher, is mute all of the sudden. They’re both hearing voices, and Liz’s baby is doing summersaults in her belly. Personally, I think the whole family is going nuts. Thank God I’m not related.
That’s the part that bothers me most. They keep invoking God. They’re blaming Him for all of this silliness. One thing I know, God wouldn’t want to be associated with the likes of people like that who do things like that. Maybe the church should consider some sort of intervention, maybe even just ask them to leave. The deacons ought to at least say something. We can’t have sinners and crazies hanging around the church. What will people think??
*I enjoy sharing a few of my thoughts as a contributing writer to several web sites and print publications. This writing was seen far and wide recently at sgmradio.com.
I’m not sure if you’ve heard. Word is, lean in, I’ll whisper. Word is the girl is pregnant. And she’s not married! How sad. And such a sweet family too. Oh Lord! I hope our property value doesn’t slide. Maybe we should move. Maybe they should. I think I’ll keep the kids close to home for a while. Maybe her parents will send her away. I may suggest that. Yeah, Mary needs to go away for a while.
Up until now I don’t think she’s ever given her parents or anyone the first ounce of trouble. She always seemed so sweet and quiet – and responsible. She was our best bible quizzer. I loved her solos with the choir. My kids say she’s smart in school, a teacher’s pet. I wonder what went wrong.
I hear she’s talking out of her head now and seeing things. She claims she talks to angels, and they TALK BACK! And then there’s something about a “holy ghost,” whatever that is. Does she have any idea of the shame she’s bringing on her family?
You know how things like this get blown out of proportion, but there’s all kinds of stuff floating around out there. Not that it’s any of my business, but evidently the girl refuses to accept any kind of responsibility for her recklessness. She won’t say who the kid belongs to, except that it’s “God’s plan for her.” Pardon the finger-quotes here, but unmarried teenagers having babies is NEVER God’s plan!! She needs to just own up to it, tell us who the daddy is and make him take some responsibility. If he was a real man he would. Then again, a real man wouldn’t… Ah, I’ll bet it’s that Joe guy she’s been seeing. They had wedding plans didn’t they? I’ll bet he’s embarrassed. He should be.
Evidently there’s some weird story going on with the rest of her family too. Someone told me her Aunt Liz is expecting in a few weeks and her Uncle Zach, the preacher, is mute all of the sudden. They’re both hearing voices, and Liz’s baby is doing summersaults in her belly. Personally, I think the whole family is going nuts. Thank God I’m not related.
That’s the part that bothers me most. They keep invoking God. They’re blaming Him for all of this silliness. One thing I know, God wouldn’t want to be associated with the likes of people like that who do things like that. Maybe the church should consider some sort of intervention, maybe even just ask them to leave. The deacons ought to at least say something. We can’t have sinners and crazies hanging around the church. What will people think??
*I enjoy sharing a few of my thoughts as a contributing writer to several web sites and print publications. This writing was seen far and wide recently at sgmradio.com.
12.23.2008
ronnie
Some people have sad, even tragic stories. You probably know someone who's worked hard and believed that one day things will be good, or at least better. Their todays look remarkably like their yesterdays, but they make the effort and really believe that they'll rise above their current place sometime, hopefully soon.
I don't think Ronnie's story is tragic, not even sad. It's actually very inspiring and contagious. He's a hard working achiever who's done just that - achieved. Through dreaming and learning, he realized the world was much, much bigger than the one he'd always known, and his options and opportunities for success were really real.
It's not all he talks about, but I've heard my friend tell of his life as a kid in southeastern Kentucky. He's the first in his family to attend, much less graduate college. According to him, no one around his house ever saw the need. He did though, and he's doing quite well because of it.
That makes it even more of an honor for me to say, "Happy birthday Dr. Ronnie!"
I don't think Ronnie's story is tragic, not even sad. It's actually very inspiring and contagious. He's a hard working achiever who's done just that - achieved. Through dreaming and learning, he realized the world was much, much bigger than the one he'd always known, and his options and opportunities for success were really real.
It's not all he talks about, but I've heard my friend tell of his life as a kid in southeastern Kentucky. He's the first in his family to attend, much less graduate college. According to him, no one around his house ever saw the need. He did though, and he's doing quite well because of it.
That makes it even more of an honor for me to say, "Happy birthday Dr. Ronnie!"
12.10.2008
the boy, er, reporter who cried...
There once was a shepherd boy reporter who was angry bored as he sat in on the newsroom hillside watching the American people. village sheep. To arouse amuse himself he took a camera and a mic great breath and reported, sang out, "Beware! Beware! No one is shopping!" "Wolf! Wolf! The Wolf is chasing the sheep!"
The American people villagers came running to the stores to buy all they could. up the hill to help the boy drive the wolf away. But when they arrived, the stores were full, they found no lack. at the top of the hill, they found no wolf. The reporter boy laughed at the sight of their gullible angry faces.
"Don't cry 'emergency', 'wolf', reporter man," shepherd boy," said the American people, villagers, "when there's no emergency!" wolf!" They went grumbling back to their houses. down the hill.
The next Christmas, Later, the reporter boy sang out again, "Beware! Beware! No one is shopping!" "Wolf! Wolf! The wolf is chasing the sheep!" To his naughty delight, he watched the American people villagers run to the stores to buy all they could. up the hill to help him drive the wolf away.
When the American people villagers saw no lack wolf they sternly said, "Save your frightened song for when there is really something wrong! Don't cry 'emergency' 'wolf' when there is NO emergency!" wolf!"
But the reporter boy just grinned and watched them go grumbling back to their houses down the hill once more.
The next Christmas, Later, there was he saw a REAL lack of holiday shoppers in the stores. wolf prowling about his flock. Alarmed, he leaped to his feet and reported sang out as loudly as he could, "Beware! Beware! No one is shopping!" "Wolf! Wolf!"
But the American people villagers thought he was trying to fool them again, and so they didn't come.
After Christmas At sunset, everyone wondered why the reporter shepherd boy hadn't returned to been on the TV. village with their sheep. They went to the mall up the hill to find the reporter. boy. They found him working the counter at the video game store. weeping.
"There really were no shoppers! was a wolf here! The economy is broken! flock has scattered! I cried out, "Beware!" "Wolf!" Why didn't you come?"
An old man tried to comfort the reporter boy as they strolled through the mall. they walked back to the village.
"We'll take you seriously when you report honestly," help you look for the lost sheep in the morning," he said, putting his arm around the reporter, youth, "Nobody believes a liar...even when he is telling the truth!"
The American people villagers came running to the stores to buy all they could. up the hill to help the boy drive the wolf away. But when they arrived, the stores were full, they found no lack. at the top of the hill, they found no wolf. The reporter boy laughed at the sight of their gullible angry faces.
"Don't cry 'emergency', 'wolf', reporter man," shepherd boy," said the American people, villagers, "when there's no emergency!" wolf!" They went grumbling back to their houses. down the hill.
The next Christmas, Later, the reporter boy sang out again, "Beware! Beware! No one is shopping!" "Wolf! Wolf! The wolf is chasing the sheep!" To his naughty delight, he watched the American people villagers run to the stores to buy all they could. up the hill to help him drive the wolf away.
When the American people villagers saw no lack wolf they sternly said, "Save your frightened song for when there is really something wrong! Don't cry 'emergency' 'wolf' when there is NO emergency!" wolf!"
But the reporter boy just grinned and watched them go grumbling back to their houses down the hill once more.
The next Christmas, Later, there was he saw a REAL lack of holiday shoppers in the stores. wolf prowling about his flock. Alarmed, he leaped to his feet and reported sang out as loudly as he could, "Beware! Beware! No one is shopping!" "Wolf! Wolf!"
But the American people villagers thought he was trying to fool them again, and so they didn't come.
After Christmas At sunset, everyone wondered why the reporter shepherd boy hadn't returned to been on the TV. village with their sheep. They went to the mall up the hill to find the reporter. boy. They found him working the counter at the video game store. weeping.
"There really were no shoppers! was a wolf here! The economy is broken! flock has scattered! I cried out, "Beware!" "Wolf!" Why didn't you come?"
An old man tried to comfort the reporter boy as they strolled through the mall. they walked back to the village.
"We'll take you seriously when you report honestly," help you look for the lost sheep in the morning," he said, putting his arm around the reporter, youth, "Nobody believes a liar...even when he is telling the truth!"
12.04.2008
love the sin, hate the sinner
Don't read this if you're easily provoked to anger or don't want to cry, or scream even.
Reading this morning's headline was not a good way to start the day, and I wasn't the victim or her family. I can only imagine how broken and angry they must be. The bold print was bad enough, but the details that followed made it even more difficult to comprehend. Last week, a child, a beautiful and completely innocent two year old baby girl had been raped and beaten. Yesterday she died from her injuries. The young man who has been charged with the crime, if he did it, is obviously deranged and terribly disturbed. The story says he was a friend of the baby's daddy.
If I spend much time thinking about it I become very sad. But then again, I don't have to pick out a last little dress or decide among the kid-sized caskets or look prematurely for a place to bury it. I don't have to wake up tomorrow with the numbness of a dazed parent who'd just thanked God for their baby blessing only a week ago. I don't have to figure out what to do with a newly emptied baby bed, a chest full of childless toys or a closet full of memoried toddler outfits. By week's end the press will have moved on and this story will be replaced. Most of us will no longer see little Katelynn Sinnett's baby picture smile. But all the hearts and hands that held her close will still be struggling to adjust to days and life without her.
It is a billion percent beyond me how a human being with any sense of daylight and dark can come to the place of doing such a terrible, terrible thing. At what point does the brain rationalize something so evil? The better questions is, when, in the process of such outrageous abuse does the heart, the conscience disengage? They tell me that even in a prison full of hardened offenders there is not a safe place for the child abuser, let alone a child murderer. Even to the common convicted criminal there is a line.
The story is sad, mostly because a child is gone, but partly because there are others who aren't even mentioned who grieve as well. There are parents, maybe siblings and friends of the accused who are trying today to sort out a million emotions. How does a mom or a dad show devotion to a son who has just violated and killed a baby? Knowing that most everyone who is aware of his deed wants him tortured and killed, what do you say to him? How do you love someone that everyone else hates? How much of the blame do you put on yourself? Do you even acknowledge your place in his life, or his place in yours? The newspaper never mentions them, but there are other broken humans to consider.
So far the responses from the community, with the exception of a very few, have, in my opinion, not represented God very well. After years of sermons telling us to hate the sin but love the sinner, there seems to be an exception here. The online edition of the newspaper that ran this morning's story is allowing readers to comment. I've been mostly disappointed in what I've read from my self-identified brothers and sisters in the faith.
"I'm a fairly calm, cool, and collected person. I'm a Christian... I think a splintered log rammed into his rear might be a good start. Then drop his torn and tattered butt off of the roof of the prison that he's in only to be met by several inmates that proceed to beat him to a pulp and whatever else they may choose to do to him. Then... lastly, make him crawl to the execution chamber so that the state can rid this world of such evil and filth... My prayers go out to Katelynn's family... I'm so so sorry for your loss!"
"I have never considered myself a violent person, but allow me to preside over the punishment of this pervert. In the end, he would beg for death to ease his punishment... The only comfort in this story is that the little girl died, and the Bible tells us that she is now in heaven, sitting on the right hand of Jesus..."
"Can I pull the trigger...please?"
"There is no other punishment that would fit this crime - send him straight to the execution chamber. And before all you self-righteous people go saying "no death penalty" and "eye for an eye does not make this right" answer this question - if this was your daughter, or granddaughter, or niece that this happened to, would you honestly feel that the death penalty was not the right punishment in this case? If you can honestly say you could forgive this man, I envy you. I could not."
The last poster has a good point. I've often said myself that there are only a small handful of people in this world that I'd be willing to go to jail for, and they all share my last name. I don't want to have to think about how I'd react if I were in the place of Katelynn's parents. I don't know if I'd feel satisfied in knowing that the person who hurt and terrified my baby, the last person to see her alive, was screaming from the pain of torture. I've contemplated and personally wrestled with this conflict from time to time - from a distance of course. This is what I do know; I feel great sadness for a family knowing terrible, tremendous loss. I feel great anger toward the man who did the despicable, pathetic deed. I get no joy knowing that a child did and the perpetrator will likely experience great pain.
Reading this morning's headline was not a good way to start the day, and I wasn't the victim or her family. I can only imagine how broken and angry they must be. The bold print was bad enough, but the details that followed made it even more difficult to comprehend. Last week, a child, a beautiful and completely innocent two year old baby girl had been raped and beaten. Yesterday she died from her injuries. The young man who has been charged with the crime, if he did it, is obviously deranged and terribly disturbed. The story says he was a friend of the baby's daddy.
If I spend much time thinking about it I become very sad. But then again, I don't have to pick out a last little dress or decide among the kid-sized caskets or look prematurely for a place to bury it. I don't have to wake up tomorrow with the numbness of a dazed parent who'd just thanked God for their baby blessing only a week ago. I don't have to figure out what to do with a newly emptied baby bed, a chest full of childless toys or a closet full of memoried toddler outfits. By week's end the press will have moved on and this story will be replaced. Most of us will no longer see little Katelynn Sinnett's baby picture smile. But all the hearts and hands that held her close will still be struggling to adjust to days and life without her.
It is a billion percent beyond me how a human being with any sense of daylight and dark can come to the place of doing such a terrible, terrible thing. At what point does the brain rationalize something so evil? The better questions is, when, in the process of such outrageous abuse does the heart, the conscience disengage? They tell me that even in a prison full of hardened offenders there is not a safe place for the child abuser, let alone a child murderer. Even to the common convicted criminal there is a line.
The story is sad, mostly because a child is gone, but partly because there are others who aren't even mentioned who grieve as well. There are parents, maybe siblings and friends of the accused who are trying today to sort out a million emotions. How does a mom or a dad show devotion to a son who has just violated and killed a baby? Knowing that most everyone who is aware of his deed wants him tortured and killed, what do you say to him? How do you love someone that everyone else hates? How much of the blame do you put on yourself? Do you even acknowledge your place in his life, or his place in yours? The newspaper never mentions them, but there are other broken humans to consider.
So far the responses from the community, with the exception of a very few, have, in my opinion, not represented God very well. After years of sermons telling us to hate the sin but love the sinner, there seems to be an exception here. The online edition of the newspaper that ran this morning's story is allowing readers to comment. I've been mostly disappointed in what I've read from my self-identified brothers and sisters in the faith.
"I'm a fairly calm, cool, and collected person. I'm a Christian... I think a splintered log rammed into his rear might be a good start. Then drop his torn and tattered butt off of the roof of the prison that he's in only to be met by several inmates that proceed to beat him to a pulp and whatever else they may choose to do to him. Then... lastly, make him crawl to the execution chamber so that the state can rid this world of such evil and filth... My prayers go out to Katelynn's family... I'm so so sorry for your loss!"
"I have never considered myself a violent person, but allow me to preside over the punishment of this pervert. In the end, he would beg for death to ease his punishment... The only comfort in this story is that the little girl died, and the Bible tells us that she is now in heaven, sitting on the right hand of Jesus..."
"Can I pull the trigger...please?"
"There is no other punishment that would fit this crime - send him straight to the execution chamber. And before all you self-righteous people go saying "no death penalty" and "eye for an eye does not make this right" answer this question - if this was your daughter, or granddaughter, or niece that this happened to, would you honestly feel that the death penalty was not the right punishment in this case? If you can honestly say you could forgive this man, I envy you. I could not."
The last poster has a good point. I've often said myself that there are only a small handful of people in this world that I'd be willing to go to jail for, and they all share my last name. I don't want to have to think about how I'd react if I were in the place of Katelynn's parents. I don't know if I'd feel satisfied in knowing that the person who hurt and terrified my baby, the last person to see her alive, was screaming from the pain of torture. I've contemplated and personally wrestled with this conflict from time to time - from a distance of course. This is what I do know; I feel great sadness for a family knowing terrible, tremendous loss. I feel great anger toward the man who did the despicable, pathetic deed. I get no joy knowing that a child did and the perpetrator will likely experience great pain.
12.01.2008
world aids day
It's easy to see why some events, the life changing ones, stick around in our bank of memories. I remember where I was, what the weather was like, and the sick feeling I got when I watched 9/11 happen. What's weird is how we sometimes remember one of those long-ago not-so-spectacular life moments.
I was probably a young teenager when I first heard about AIDS. Reports on television, in the newspapers and magazines were talking about it. And of course the famous TV pastors/evangelists were weighing in too.
Jerry Falwell, Jimmy Swaggart and James Dobson weren't the first to call AIDS the gay man's disease. As a matter of fact, it was the secular press that first referred to it as GRID (Gay Related Immune Deficiency). The repeated reference though gave these preachers, and others, lots of ammunition and "scientific" support for their theory that God was killing gay people - and to hear them tell it, He's having a blast.
The memory that is so vivid to me is the night our family was driving down the highway in Richmond, KY. I was probably 14 or 15 years old. We were right in front of the new McDonalds on the bypass, when Dad said something about AIDS being God's judgement on homosexuals. Understand this, my dad is the most loving, tender and patient person I know. The things he was saying were not original to him, and he said it with grief in his voice and sadness in his eyes. It was the people he had confidence in and was learning from who were telling all of their followers that God created this new disease to punish people, specifically gay people. My dad was repeating the untested words of his favorite bible teachers.
I'm not sure why that moment, those words and those surroundings still stand out to me. Our family talked about a lot of things when we were together in the car. But even as a young and very naive fella it didn't seem right to me that God would be so villainous to one group of people while being so passive to all the exploits of others.
I recently had an opportunity to be part of a conference at a church just outside of Little Rock. While I was there I met Randall Balmer. I'd heard of him, seen him on TV and flipped through a couple of his books. At the conference I got to know him and to hear him speak. He mentioned how the Christian church, specifically certain leaders on the very conservative side, have used HIV/AIDS as a rallying point - not to show compassion, but to preach painful exclusion. What could be and should be an opportunity to exhibit God's mercy and healing is instead used as a tool for godless ridicule and shame on humans who are much more in need of help than scorn.
According to what we know, what is now referred to as AIDS (Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome) is caused by HIV (the Human Immunodeficiency Virus). The virus was first detected and reported in the US in 1981 in Los Angeles among five homosexual men. A recent study states though that HIV probably moved from Africa to Haiti and then entered the United States sometime around 1969. This would mean that God was dealing deadly judgement on the people of Africa and other countries long before Americans were being punished.
In 2007 there were 33.2 million people around the world living with AIDS. That same year a little over 2 million of them died. That includes almost 330,000 children, and over 75 percent of those were in sub-Saharan Africa. Why would God have such disdain for the African children?
There are certainly consequences for reckless behavior. When anyone opens the door for disease or illness they are taking a risk. But to say that God is especially angry with a particular set of people, and chooses to inflict upon them a long, painful disease at best, or death at worst, is either ignorantly misleading or dangerously contemptible. What are the arguments for plane crashes, cancer, diabetes and rape victims? What did these people do to earn their pain and their punishment? Is God punishing black people with Sickle-Cell Anaemia? At least explain to me why those who are sick through no fault of their own have been sentenced with the disease.
Thanks in large part to the teachings of high-profile preachers, the stigma that comes with HIV/AIDS is still very real today. I know of parents who have disowned their infected child because their church said they should. This puts a sick kid on the streets in the name of God. I've read stories of people who contracted the disease and were told that God hated them, so they killed themselves. Was that really God's solution? There are so many good people who face life with HIV/AIDS, and God has chosen to embrace them while too many His people, His vessels of compassion, either out of anger, guilt, shame or ignorance, turn them away. Because of a handful of angry religious leaders who needed a villain to stir up the troops and bring in the dollars, there are millions who not only live with a terrible disease, but they do it without the very hands and hearts that were supposed to minister to them.
There is good news though. The Church of the Nazarene, the Presbyterian Church USA, the United Church of Christ, the United Methodist Church, and several other Christian denominations are hearing God's heart and reaching into the lives of those who live with HIV/AIDS. There are other regional ministries such as AIDS Ministries/AIDS Assist in northern Indiana and Alexian Brothers Bonaventure House in Chicago among others that do it on a local level. Beyond the Christian church there is the Council of Religious AIDS Networks that provides information and real help to those who wish to start or join an AIDS help team. There are also many citywide and area non-religious organizations that help HIV/AIDS victims deal with practical life and matters. Where I live in Lexington, KY it is AVOL. On a national and global scale there are awareness organizations like ONE and the US government's web site http://www.aids.gov/.
There are lots of opportunities to get involved and be the compassionate, concerned Christian or casual citizen we all want our neighbors to be. There's no better time to get started than on this 20th anniversary of World AIDS Day. Maybe you'll remember exactly where you were when you started making the difference.
I was probably a young teenager when I first heard about AIDS. Reports on television, in the newspapers and magazines were talking about it. And of course the famous TV pastors/evangelists were weighing in too.
Jerry Falwell, Jimmy Swaggart and James Dobson weren't the first to call AIDS the gay man's disease. As a matter of fact, it was the secular press that first referred to it as GRID (Gay Related Immune Deficiency). The repeated reference though gave these preachers, and others, lots of ammunition and "scientific" support for their theory that God was killing gay people - and to hear them tell it, He's having a blast.
The memory that is so vivid to me is the night our family was driving down the highway in Richmond, KY. I was probably 14 or 15 years old. We were right in front of the new McDonalds on the bypass, when Dad said something about AIDS being God's judgement on homosexuals. Understand this, my dad is the most loving, tender and patient person I know. The things he was saying were not original to him, and he said it with grief in his voice and sadness in his eyes. It was the people he had confidence in and was learning from who were telling all of their followers that God created this new disease to punish people, specifically gay people. My dad was repeating the untested words of his favorite bible teachers.
I'm not sure why that moment, those words and those surroundings still stand out to me. Our family talked about a lot of things when we were together in the car. But even as a young and very naive fella it didn't seem right to me that God would be so villainous to one group of people while being so passive to all the exploits of others.
I recently had an opportunity to be part of a conference at a church just outside of Little Rock. While I was there I met Randall Balmer. I'd heard of him, seen him on TV and flipped through a couple of his books. At the conference I got to know him and to hear him speak. He mentioned how the Christian church, specifically certain leaders on the very conservative side, have used HIV/AIDS as a rallying point - not to show compassion, but to preach painful exclusion. What could be and should be an opportunity to exhibit God's mercy and healing is instead used as a tool for godless ridicule and shame on humans who are much more in need of help than scorn.
According to what we know, what is now referred to as AIDS (Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome) is caused by HIV (the Human Immunodeficiency Virus). The virus was first detected and reported in the US in 1981 in Los Angeles among five homosexual men. A recent study states though that HIV probably moved from Africa to Haiti and then entered the United States sometime around 1969. This would mean that God was dealing deadly judgement on the people of Africa and other countries long before Americans were being punished.
In 2007 there were 33.2 million people around the world living with AIDS. That same year a little over 2 million of them died. That includes almost 330,000 children, and over 75 percent of those were in sub-Saharan Africa. Why would God have such disdain for the African children?
There are certainly consequences for reckless behavior. When anyone opens the door for disease or illness they are taking a risk. But to say that God is especially angry with a particular set of people, and chooses to inflict upon them a long, painful disease at best, or death at worst, is either ignorantly misleading or dangerously contemptible. What are the arguments for plane crashes, cancer, diabetes and rape victims? What did these people do to earn their pain and their punishment? Is God punishing black people with Sickle-Cell Anaemia? At least explain to me why those who are sick through no fault of their own have been sentenced with the disease.
Thanks in large part to the teachings of high-profile preachers, the stigma that comes with HIV/AIDS is still very real today. I know of parents who have disowned their infected child because their church said they should. This puts a sick kid on the streets in the name of God. I've read stories of people who contracted the disease and were told that God hated them, so they killed themselves. Was that really God's solution? There are so many good people who face life with HIV/AIDS, and God has chosen to embrace them while too many His people, His vessels of compassion, either out of anger, guilt, shame or ignorance, turn them away. Because of a handful of angry religious leaders who needed a villain to stir up the troops and bring in the dollars, there are millions who not only live with a terrible disease, but they do it without the very hands and hearts that were supposed to minister to them.
There is good news though. The Church of the Nazarene, the Presbyterian Church USA, the United Church of Christ, the United Methodist Church, and several other Christian denominations are hearing God's heart and reaching into the lives of those who live with HIV/AIDS. There are other regional ministries such as AIDS Ministries/AIDS Assist in northern Indiana and Alexian Brothers Bonaventure House in Chicago among others that do it on a local level. Beyond the Christian church there is the Council of Religious AIDS Networks that provides information and real help to those who wish to start or join an AIDS help team. There are also many citywide and area non-religious organizations that help HIV/AIDS victims deal with practical life and matters. Where I live in Lexington, KY it is AVOL. On a national and global scale there are awareness organizations like ONE and the US government's web site http://www.aids.gov/.
There are lots of opportunities to get involved and be the compassionate, concerned Christian or casual citizen we all want our neighbors to be. There's no better time to get started than on this 20th anniversary of World AIDS Day. Maybe you'll remember exactly where you were when you started making the difference.
11.30.2008
the sun/son
Did you see the show this morning? I hope so. It was spectacular. There it was, big, bright and right on time. We knew it was coming. Several things gave it away. First of all, there was the prelude. Just as the show was about to begin the birds, who'd been quiet and still for the last several hours, started their introduction. They must have received a cue from the conductor. Then gradually, one by one the stars began their disappearing act, giving way to the real star of the show. Then it started. At first just a ray, then a peek. And before you knew it there it was, bright enough and warm enough to dry the dew and melt the fog. The sun came up this morning and what a show it put on. Not that we weren’t expecting it. We figured there’d be another day.
When you last did the laundry you must have been thinking you'd be wearing that shirt again. Otherwise you would've just thrown the dirty stuff away. Same goes for the dishes. And believe me, I'd never bother mowing the lawn if I thought there was a real chance the grass wouldn't eventually turn to weeds.
At my house it can get really hectic in the morning. I’ve learned to do as much night before preparation as I can. I set the timer on the coffee maker, lay out my clothes and even do pre-prep on tomorrow’s lunch if necessary. At the Bishop house, I expect the sun to come up at its usual time or else I wouldn't bother to set that annoying alarm. So I’m really not surprised when it actually happens. (It would be nice though if it didn't happen so early.)
So we wash and mow and clock in and shave and shower and study and answer email because we're pretty sure the sun's coming up in the morning. If we didn't think so we'd probably all stink, let the yard grow into a jungle, live ignorant and max out the inbox. As Christians we read our Bibles, have our devotions and pray because we still expect the sun to come up in the morning. If we didn't, we’d live shallow and miss a lot of great promises, all with a stinky spirit.
So the believer asks, "Kenny, how can you be so sure about this? What if Jesus comes back tonight?”
As far as I'm concerned that doesn't change a thing. Whether it's the sun or the Son, there will be a dawning. Count on it. And since I’m so sure of it I plan to carry on with the business of faith and family and friends. Then once the Son has popped over the horizon all of the chores we’ve gotten good at doing out of habit will suddenly be done. Then the things we once just believed in will be just as real as the fact that the sun or the Son just showed up.
Did you catch the show this morning… the sunrise? If not there's another performance scheduled in just a few hours. If you've seen it before you know it's worth seeing again because every show is just a little bit different. Then there's the one with no repeat performances. It's a one-time only event. Believe me, you really won't want to miss the Son rise.
*I enjoy sharing a few of my thoughts as a contributing writer to several web sites and print publications. This writing was seen far and wide several years ago in the Singing News Magazine and more recently at sgmradio.com.
When you last did the laundry you must have been thinking you'd be wearing that shirt again. Otherwise you would've just thrown the dirty stuff away. Same goes for the dishes. And believe me, I'd never bother mowing the lawn if I thought there was a real chance the grass wouldn't eventually turn to weeds.
At my house it can get really hectic in the morning. I’ve learned to do as much night before preparation as I can. I set the timer on the coffee maker, lay out my clothes and even do pre-prep on tomorrow’s lunch if necessary. At the Bishop house, I expect the sun to come up at its usual time or else I wouldn't bother to set that annoying alarm. So I’m really not surprised when it actually happens. (It would be nice though if it didn't happen so early.)
So we wash and mow and clock in and shave and shower and study and answer email because we're pretty sure the sun's coming up in the morning. If we didn't think so we'd probably all stink, let the yard grow into a jungle, live ignorant and max out the inbox. As Christians we read our Bibles, have our devotions and pray because we still expect the sun to come up in the morning. If we didn't, we’d live shallow and miss a lot of great promises, all with a stinky spirit.
So the believer asks, "Kenny, how can you be so sure about this? What if Jesus comes back tonight?”
As far as I'm concerned that doesn't change a thing. Whether it's the sun or the Son, there will be a dawning. Count on it. And since I’m so sure of it I plan to carry on with the business of faith and family and friends. Then once the Son has popped over the horizon all of the chores we’ve gotten good at doing out of habit will suddenly be done. Then the things we once just believed in will be just as real as the fact that the sun or the Son just showed up.
Did you catch the show this morning… the sunrise? If not there's another performance scheduled in just a few hours. If you've seen it before you know it's worth seeing again because every show is just a little bit different. Then there's the one with no repeat performances. It's a one-time only event. Believe me, you really won't want to miss the Son rise.
*I enjoy sharing a few of my thoughts as a contributing writer to several web sites and print publications. This writing was seen far and wide several years ago in the Singing News Magazine and more recently at sgmradio.com.
11.27.2008
thanks for...
...God and all the trimmings. Wrap your head around that. When God gets access to you and your stuff you usually get much more in return than you really expected. And what's really cool is most of it is invisible. So, sometimes I just say, "Thanks, God for you and all the trimmings."
More later.
More later.
11.16.2008
please don't, people
Christian and I had a cold blast last night. We'd been talking all season about going to a University of Kentucky football game, and this was our last regular season chance. The final home game was against Vanderbilt and was it evermore a cold one. As cold as it was down next to the field where we were I couldn't imagine how frigid it must've been up where the wind was really blowing. Even with all the layers we wrapped ourselves up in (think the kid in the movie A Christmas Story), we still did some shaking. But it was worth every bone chilling moment to hang with my best pal and cheer on some blue.
I'd say there were probably 50,000 or better in attendance last night. I always think it's fun to watch the different personalities and listen in on conversations that are too loud to be ignored. Right behind us were to older guys who I'da swore had to be those two old men who sat in the balcony on the Muppet Show. They were grouchy, sarcastic and hilarious. I don't know if they were talking so loud because they couldn't hear, or if they just didn't care to let section 126 in on their conversation. It was good play-by-play commentary though.
Besides the fact that UK lost, there was one thing that really disappointed me about the game. I know we all get emotional when our team is losing. I know we sometimes feel brave when everyone around us is wearing the same color, and every now and then the mob mentality takes over. It made me nearly sick though when I heard this kid sitting on the other side of me using pathetic, degrading names for the other team's players and even their cheerleaders. When an Asian guy in a Commodore uniform came close to where we were this kid screamed something derogatory about his eyes and told him to go back to where he came from. That would be Nashville, kid. You can guess what he had to say about the black players.
This kid didn't represent our team or our university, and he certainly didn't speak for me. But I was ashamed that someone with white skin like mine, wearing all blue like me, sitting in a seat next to me and cheering for my team would say such racist, repulsive things. He and I resembled way too much for me to be comfortable with it. Where did he pick up this sort of thinking? Who ever led him to believe that that's the way you support your own team, that it was funny, or even acceptable?
I've got a good idea that with all of the other games going on last night there were probably other kids, or even adults, at another stadium somewhere throwing out that same kind of language. When the Wildcats get to Vandy next time they may hear it themselves from a 'Dores fan. If I can't handle it being hurled at the other guys I'm sure I don't want my team to have to face it.
I'd say there were probably 50,000 or better in attendance last night. I always think it's fun to watch the different personalities and listen in on conversations that are too loud to be ignored. Right behind us were to older guys who I'da swore had to be those two old men who sat in the balcony on the Muppet Show. They were grouchy, sarcastic and hilarious. I don't know if they were talking so loud because they couldn't hear, or if they just didn't care to let section 126 in on their conversation. It was good play-by-play commentary though.
Besides the fact that UK lost, there was one thing that really disappointed me about the game. I know we all get emotional when our team is losing. I know we sometimes feel brave when everyone around us is wearing the same color, and every now and then the mob mentality takes over. It made me nearly sick though when I heard this kid sitting on the other side of me using pathetic, degrading names for the other team's players and even their cheerleaders. When an Asian guy in a Commodore uniform came close to where we were this kid screamed something derogatory about his eyes and told him to go back to where he came from. That would be Nashville, kid. You can guess what he had to say about the black players.
This kid didn't represent our team or our university, and he certainly didn't speak for me. But I was ashamed that someone with white skin like mine, wearing all blue like me, sitting in a seat next to me and cheering for my team would say such racist, repulsive things. He and I resembled way too much for me to be comfortable with it. Where did he pick up this sort of thinking? Who ever led him to believe that that's the way you support your own team, that it was funny, or even acceptable?
I've got a good idea that with all of the other games going on last night there were probably other kids, or even adults, at another stadium somewhere throwing out that same kind of language. When the Wildcats get to Vandy next time they may hear it themselves from a 'Dores fan. If I can't handle it being hurled at the other guys I'm sure I don't want my team to have to face it.
11.12.2008
ernie
Knowing that the variety of my careers has taken me through the thick of political work and some high-level campaigning, a lot of my friends who are not necessarily involved in, but are fascinated with it like to talk politics when we're together. I usually enjoy the conversations, and I've picked up on the value of listening closely and talking without necessarily saying anything. I've also learned not to commit to a position when I'm conversing with a very opinionated political junkie.
One of the most startling observations I've made during my time in politics is the stark difference in the way things are sometimes portrayed, either by an opponent or maybe even the press, and the way things really are. Being on the inside of a real, honest-to-goodness, high-profile political campaign gives you a perspective that most others on the outside don't usually get.
When music was my main source of income I had the fun luxury of doing some small-time political campaign work on the side. I mostly worked for Republicans, but had some Democrat clients too. I've never been hung up on a candidate's political affiliation. Rather, we'd talk issues before I decided whether or not to get involved. I feel the same way today.
It was while I was at a political fund raiser several years ago that I ran into my US Congressman, Ernie Fletcher. We'd met before at other events, mostly charitable and non-political. At this event though he mentioned to me that he had formed an exploratory committee to look at a possible run for governor. He gauged my interest in joining the campaign and told me he'd have one of his folks give me a call. Within a month I was working for him.
Honestly, I was scared to death. My first job was to basically be his handler. I had to stay close enough that he knew where I was at all times. Actually, it was completely reversed. He moved like lightning and I had to know where he was all the time. Even if he lost sight of me, he was never to be out of my view. It was while we were in the car on the way to that first event that I asked him how he'd like for me to address him. I was thinking Congressman Fletcher or Mr. Congressman or at least Mr. Fletcher. He said Ernie was just fine.
That's how we got started. In the years since then he was elected and served four years as Kentucky's governor. I thought the year and a half leading up to election day was tough. The handful of days planning and pulling off the inauguration was grueling too. But then came governing.
No one is elected unanimously. Every person who serves in public office has supporters and detractors. From the moment a politician takes office there are professional and amateur critics who have already started the kick-the-bum-out campaign. Believe it or not, there are people who wouldn't mind us all living through a bit of grief if they thought their political nemesis would get the blame and the boot. This kind of treatment wasn't new or unique to the new governor, but this was the closest I'd been to the action.
In the new administration my job was to make him as comfortable as possible. Sounds crazy I know, but after being fed hours and hours of non-stop information about everything from Medicaid to trout farming, a man has to decompress at some point. He has to have a place to retreat to and scream if he wants to. I gave him that place, at least as best I could. I ran the house that the governor lived in. And I was very, very proud to do it.
When he'd come home and we'd just chat I always tried to avoid the stuff he'd been talking about all day. He'd had enough of that. He always asked about Casie and Christian, and I was always happy to fill him in. Sometimes he just wanted to release, so I just listened. I'll never forget the late night when he we were up in the residence and he just said it. "Kenny, I really do want to do what's right for Kentucky. I want to help the kids and their parents and their grandparents. I want teachers to make more money and I want people to be happier and healthier." No reporters, cameras or microphones. No crowds of supporters. No protesters. Just me and him. And there was frustration in his voice.
I learned a whole lot from the man Ernie Fletcher. I couldn't keep up with his intellect. Sometimes he'd look at me and say something really brilliant and I'd nod like I was right there with him. But a saxophone playing engineer/fighter pilot/doctor/minister/congressman/governor knows a lot of stuff about a lot of things. More than knowledge though, he taught me about sacrifice and service and faith and patience, all to the nth degree. I also learned control. When everyone around him was telling him to take off the gloves, he'd say he was a doctor elected to heal not injure.
After he became governor I didn't ask him how he wanted to be addressed. He would've said that Ernie was just fine. I didn't think so though, and to this day, nearly a year after he got his life back, I still say happy b'day Gov!!
One of the most startling observations I've made during my time in politics is the stark difference in the way things are sometimes portrayed, either by an opponent or maybe even the press, and the way things really are. Being on the inside of a real, honest-to-goodness, high-profile political campaign gives you a perspective that most others on the outside don't usually get.
When music was my main source of income I had the fun luxury of doing some small-time political campaign work on the side. I mostly worked for Republicans, but had some Democrat clients too. I've never been hung up on a candidate's political affiliation. Rather, we'd talk issues before I decided whether or not to get involved. I feel the same way today.
It was while I was at a political fund raiser several years ago that I ran into my US Congressman, Ernie Fletcher. We'd met before at other events, mostly charitable and non-political. At this event though he mentioned to me that he had formed an exploratory committee to look at a possible run for governor. He gauged my interest in joining the campaign and told me he'd have one of his folks give me a call. Within a month I was working for him.
Honestly, I was scared to death. My first job was to basically be his handler. I had to stay close enough that he knew where I was at all times. Actually, it was completely reversed. He moved like lightning and I had to know where he was all the time. Even if he lost sight of me, he was never to be out of my view. It was while we were in the car on the way to that first event that I asked him how he'd like for me to address him. I was thinking Congressman Fletcher or Mr. Congressman or at least Mr. Fletcher. He said Ernie was just fine.
That's how we got started. In the years since then he was elected and served four years as Kentucky's governor. I thought the year and a half leading up to election day was tough. The handful of days planning and pulling off the inauguration was grueling too. But then came governing.
No one is elected unanimously. Every person who serves in public office has supporters and detractors. From the moment a politician takes office there are professional and amateur critics who have already started the kick-the-bum-out campaign. Believe it or not, there are people who wouldn't mind us all living through a bit of grief if they thought their political nemesis would get the blame and the boot. This kind of treatment wasn't new or unique to the new governor, but this was the closest I'd been to the action.
In the new administration my job was to make him as comfortable as possible. Sounds crazy I know, but after being fed hours and hours of non-stop information about everything from Medicaid to trout farming, a man has to decompress at some point. He has to have a place to retreat to and scream if he wants to. I gave him that place, at least as best I could. I ran the house that the governor lived in. And I was very, very proud to do it.
When he'd come home and we'd just chat I always tried to avoid the stuff he'd been talking about all day. He'd had enough of that. He always asked about Casie and Christian, and I was always happy to fill him in. Sometimes he just wanted to release, so I just listened. I'll never forget the late night when he we were up in the residence and he just said it. "Kenny, I really do want to do what's right for Kentucky. I want to help the kids and their parents and their grandparents. I want teachers to make more money and I want people to be happier and healthier." No reporters, cameras or microphones. No crowds of supporters. No protesters. Just me and him. And there was frustration in his voice.
I learned a whole lot from the man Ernie Fletcher. I couldn't keep up with his intellect. Sometimes he'd look at me and say something really brilliant and I'd nod like I was right there with him. But a saxophone playing engineer/fighter pilot/doctor/minister/congressman/governor knows a lot of stuff about a lot of things. More than knowledge though, he taught me about sacrifice and service and faith and patience, all to the nth degree. I also learned control. When everyone around him was telling him to take off the gloves, he'd say he was a doctor elected to heal not injure.
After he became governor I didn't ask him how he wanted to be addressed. He would've said that Ernie was just fine. I didn't think so though, and to this day, nearly a year after he got his life back, I still say happy b'day Gov!!
11.11.2008
papaw's service
Several years ago me and my brothers had to say goodbye to our last living grandparent. We called him Papaw Henry. He was Mom's dad. I don't remember Papaw as being a man with a lot of words. He always looked like he was thinking, and he never, ever seemed to sit down. As a matter of fact, he roamed a lot, mostly through the woods. He would sometimes head out the door before the sun came up, disappear into the trees and be invisible 'til sundown, sometimes sunup tomorrow. He knew how to live ruggedly and naturally. Papaw was a survivor - in more ways than I probably really knew.
When Papaw got too old to trek through the woods he pretty much figured he was too old to live. Sitting in an air conditioned room or at a nursing home wasn't his idea of living. Life was in the trees, under the stars, beyond the ridge, over the creek. There was too much Indian in him not to enjoy the dirt and the rain and their children. So when he couldn't make it among the elements he wasn't really interested in making it at all. Sadly, that's bound to happen after so many years.
I do remember Papaw driving a variety of cars over the years. He was somewhat of a horse-trader, so trading up to him meant getting a car with a full tank of gas. Honestly, I don't think he ever carried a driver's license. I could be wrong, but it seems like someone told me once that he never bothered to get one. Evidently he didn't see the need.
Knowing what I do about him, I'll bet Papaw learned most of his lessons the hard way. When any of his young grandkids asked him what he was chewing, and even with only a couple of teeth in his head he was always chewing - and spitting, he'd cut 'em off a piece of the tobacco twist he carried around and give it to them. They'd put it in their mouth, it would burn like the dickens, they'd spit it out and never take up chewing tobacco again. It was his way of telling us to do as he says, not as he does.
Papaw lived a very, very hard working and practical life. His pets lived in the trees and under the brush. They were also his sustenance. Squirrels, rabbits, turkeys and deer were part of the provision. His own cattle, pigs and chickens were too. The eggs and bacon came from the barn. He cooked his own sorghum and grew his own vegetables. Tomorrow's milk and butter was grazing just across the little wire fence. Papaw's yelp brought the cows back across the knob every night. We knew they heard him when we heard their bells.
I try when I can to pause and remember. I sometimes think if I could go back to those days and nights at Mamaw and Papaw's house, the one tucked up in the hollow (pronounced holler), just across the creek from the narrow, dirt road, I'd be where I belong. I know for sure there was no air conditioning in that little farm house. On cold days, heat came from the coal burning stove in the front room. I'm sure it got both hot and cold in that small, square box, but I don't remember it as a miserable experience.
Papaw Henry was a veteran. He served his country as a proud, young American. That was long before I knew him. That was long before my mom knew him. I've seen pictures of him in his uniform, but I don't ever recall him making a big deal out of it. We did though. When we were planning his funeral, we made sure that he was honored with a flag and a stone to remind all of us that it is the simple, common, everyday man and woman who keeps us free.
When Papaw got too old to trek through the woods he pretty much figured he was too old to live. Sitting in an air conditioned room or at a nursing home wasn't his idea of living. Life was in the trees, under the stars, beyond the ridge, over the creek. There was too much Indian in him not to enjoy the dirt and the rain and their children. So when he couldn't make it among the elements he wasn't really interested in making it at all. Sadly, that's bound to happen after so many years.
I do remember Papaw driving a variety of cars over the years. He was somewhat of a horse-trader, so trading up to him meant getting a car with a full tank of gas. Honestly, I don't think he ever carried a driver's license. I could be wrong, but it seems like someone told me once that he never bothered to get one. Evidently he didn't see the need.
Knowing what I do about him, I'll bet Papaw learned most of his lessons the hard way. When any of his young grandkids asked him what he was chewing, and even with only a couple of teeth in his head he was always chewing - and spitting, he'd cut 'em off a piece of the tobacco twist he carried around and give it to them. They'd put it in their mouth, it would burn like the dickens, they'd spit it out and never take up chewing tobacco again. It was his way of telling us to do as he says, not as he does.
Papaw lived a very, very hard working and practical life. His pets lived in the trees and under the brush. They were also his sustenance. Squirrels, rabbits, turkeys and deer were part of the provision. His own cattle, pigs and chickens were too. The eggs and bacon came from the barn. He cooked his own sorghum and grew his own vegetables. Tomorrow's milk and butter was grazing just across the little wire fence. Papaw's yelp brought the cows back across the knob every night. We knew they heard him when we heard their bells.
I try when I can to pause and remember. I sometimes think if I could go back to those days and nights at Mamaw and Papaw's house, the one tucked up in the hollow (pronounced holler), just across the creek from the narrow, dirt road, I'd be where I belong. I know for sure there was no air conditioning in that little farm house. On cold days, heat came from the coal burning stove in the front room. I'm sure it got both hot and cold in that small, square box, but I don't remember it as a miserable experience.
Papaw Henry was a veteran. He served his country as a proud, young American. That was long before I knew him. That was long before my mom knew him. I've seen pictures of him in his uniform, but I don't ever recall him making a big deal out of it. We did though. When we were planning his funeral, we made sure that he was honored with a flag and a stone to remind all of us that it is the simple, common, everyday man and woman who keeps us free.
11.10.2008
casie, princess, angel, daddy's girl
Looking back twenty years, interestingly enough, a Bush was getting ready to take up housekeeping in the White House. Since he'd been veepin' the last eight years it was just a short move - distance wise and positionally. But any time we elect a new president it's major stuff.
Two days after the vote, it was still break room chatter. And when I darted past the waiting room I noticed it was also still the headline. But if word got out about what was happening down the maternity ward hallway at Pattie A. Clay Hospital there'd be helicopters, news trucks, cameras, microphones and eager reporters all over the place. Presidential elections are big doings, but the birth of a princess is even bigger.
I woke up feeling very melancholy today. I've been reliving November 10, 1988 like it was both yesterday and a million years ago. It was one of the most memorable and remarkable days of my life. A moment of honest awakening that I'd heard about from other people with parental experience became real to me that day. As miraculous as the earthly entrance of my baby girl was, so was the love and immediate sense of baby-Bishop-protector that instantly took hold of my heart.
She didn't have to say a thing. It was automatic love at first sight. It would've been as easy for me to tell her how I felt as it would've been for her to explain the sensation of being born. Words would've cheapened it anyway. No attempt at affection on her part was required. I didn't have to know what her talents were. I had no clue of the beautiful young lady she'd become or of her winning personality. I didn't have to. Absolutely nothing was required of Casie Bishop to win my devotion to her. I was in love with her before I'd ever seen her. But I was madly, adamantly, crazy in love when her wrinkled little face made its very first worldly appearance. I was stunned and startled to be wrapped so tightly around those seconds old tiny fingers.
We try to celebrate the occasion about this same time every year. That's not unusual. Most people remember special days like this. We throw parties and give gifts. We buy cards and make phone calls. This is daddy's girl though. I can't even begin to gift her with anything that can mean as much to her as she means to me. If someone somewhere sold it, I'd trade all my stuff to see that she got it. It sorta frustrates me because I want her to know, somehow, what a precious, precious thing she is to me.
Just last week my baby girl cast her first ever presidential vote. I couldn't imagine that twenty years ago. It never entered my mind then that people today would be talking about a new leader. Not much has changed that way. But in so many other ways that matter I'm richer, happier and more satisfied than I ever could imagine. I owe so much of that to my princess. The world should be grateful. It's a much better place because she's in it.
Happy birthday Baby Doll!!
Two days after the vote, it was still break room chatter. And when I darted past the waiting room I noticed it was also still the headline. But if word got out about what was happening down the maternity ward hallway at Pattie A. Clay Hospital there'd be helicopters, news trucks, cameras, microphones and eager reporters all over the place. Presidential elections are big doings, but the birth of a princess is even bigger.
I woke up feeling very melancholy today. I've been reliving November 10, 1988 like it was both yesterday and a million years ago. It was one of the most memorable and remarkable days of my life. A moment of honest awakening that I'd heard about from other people with parental experience became real to me that day. As miraculous as the earthly entrance of my baby girl was, so was the love and immediate sense of baby-Bishop-protector that instantly took hold of my heart.
She didn't have to say a thing. It was automatic love at first sight. It would've been as easy for me to tell her how I felt as it would've been for her to explain the sensation of being born. Words would've cheapened it anyway. No attempt at affection on her part was required. I didn't have to know what her talents were. I had no clue of the beautiful young lady she'd become or of her winning personality. I didn't have to. Absolutely nothing was required of Casie Bishop to win my devotion to her. I was in love with her before I'd ever seen her. But I was madly, adamantly, crazy in love when her wrinkled little face made its very first worldly appearance. I was stunned and startled to be wrapped so tightly around those seconds old tiny fingers.
We try to celebrate the occasion about this same time every year. That's not unusual. Most people remember special days like this. We throw parties and give gifts. We buy cards and make phone calls. This is daddy's girl though. I can't even begin to gift her with anything that can mean as much to her as she means to me. If someone somewhere sold it, I'd trade all my stuff to see that she got it. It sorta frustrates me because I want her to know, somehow, what a precious, precious thing she is to me.
Just last week my baby girl cast her first ever presidential vote. I couldn't imagine that twenty years ago. It never entered my mind then that people today would be talking about a new leader. Not much has changed that way. But in so many other ways that matter I'm richer, happier and more satisfied than I ever could imagine. I owe so much of that to my princess. The world should be grateful. It's a much better place because she's in it.
Happy birthday Baby Doll!!
11.01.2008
the rest of the story...
It’s hard to have out loud qualms with anything in the Bible. You can think it all you want I guess, but if you actually say something like, “What was God thinking when he outlawed shopping on Sunday and pork rinds?” someone very religious is likely to hear from Heaven and accept God’s call to get you saved again. So I hesitate to verbalize my little bit of disappointment in a great piece of holy text.
Being sort of a rebel myself, I’ve learned that there is a whole lot more to the prodigal story than just a good son, a bad son, a good dad, a bad son turned good son and a good son turned bad son who ended up disappointing his dad with his selfishness. The basic message of patient grace is wonderful indeed, but what about the unsaid parts?
I wonder what the younger son’s name was. I kind of wish we knew something other than just Prodigal. It would be nice to tell the story and call him Chad or Jeremy or even Kenny. Then again, attaching a name to something as deeply personal as scandal and rebellion and failure might be a bit embarrassing, especially since the story is an international best seller. Still, a proper name might help put a face on the drama. So, I’ll just call him Prod.
I wonder if Prod ever shook the memories of his old pig-pen pals. The smells, the sights, the sounds, the moments, the people… How could those faces not be embedded deep into his recollection of the whole terrible experience? When he closed his eyes, or found a few moments of quiet, it must’ve been very easy for the one time rebel to live the emotion all over again. You don’t share your last corn husk or the loneliest days of your life with someone and not remember. He had to wonder where they were now. Did they ever escape the slop? And if they did, was there even a place for them to go? Having despair and hunger and shame in common would certainly create a bond, and it’s usually not understood by the well fed or the well respected.
Prod’s daddy owns the farm. That’s why the guys in the front office can’t figure him out. Instead of lunch at the corporate table, Prod finds a place in the back field, under a tree with the farm hands. Their calluses, their brows, their eyes all remind him of the ones he worked beside and even partied with when he was running. He feels he owes them something, even if it’s just attention – or compassion. As much as his upbringing had taught him about his rightful place in the family, it was the conversations, the empty expressions and the broken spirits he encountered in his rebellion that led him to discover his place in the world. To forget who they were and where they were and why they were there – to ignore their need and their plight would be as sinful as the rebellion itself.
It’s not just the guys in the suits who don’t understand. No one can unless they’ve risked and lost everything; slept on a cold sidewalk; stared down the barrel of a mugger’s gun; woke up in a stranger’s bed; fought the temptation to drink and shoot up; begged for a morsel and robbed for a dime; hated their very existence; wondered if anyone back home ever even thought of them… Unless they knew what he knew, Prod knew they’d never understand.
It’s crazy what being a prodigal does to you. Prod knows. The throw aways become treasures. The misunderstood are respected. The despised are embraced. Obligation becomes passion. That is the unsaid part of the story.
*I enjoy sharing a few of my thoughts as a contributing writer at sgmradio.com. As older posts are removed from that site I'll be posting them here. This writing was seen far and wide over there during the month of October.
Being sort of a rebel myself, I’ve learned that there is a whole lot more to the prodigal story than just a good son, a bad son, a good dad, a bad son turned good son and a good son turned bad son who ended up disappointing his dad with his selfishness. The basic message of patient grace is wonderful indeed, but what about the unsaid parts?
I wonder what the younger son’s name was. I kind of wish we knew something other than just Prodigal. It would be nice to tell the story and call him Chad or Jeremy or even Kenny. Then again, attaching a name to something as deeply personal as scandal and rebellion and failure might be a bit embarrassing, especially since the story is an international best seller. Still, a proper name might help put a face on the drama. So, I’ll just call him Prod.
I wonder if Prod ever shook the memories of his old pig-pen pals. The smells, the sights, the sounds, the moments, the people… How could those faces not be embedded deep into his recollection of the whole terrible experience? When he closed his eyes, or found a few moments of quiet, it must’ve been very easy for the one time rebel to live the emotion all over again. You don’t share your last corn husk or the loneliest days of your life with someone and not remember. He had to wonder where they were now. Did they ever escape the slop? And if they did, was there even a place for them to go? Having despair and hunger and shame in common would certainly create a bond, and it’s usually not understood by the well fed or the well respected.
Prod’s daddy owns the farm. That’s why the guys in the front office can’t figure him out. Instead of lunch at the corporate table, Prod finds a place in the back field, under a tree with the farm hands. Their calluses, their brows, their eyes all remind him of the ones he worked beside and even partied with when he was running. He feels he owes them something, even if it’s just attention – or compassion. As much as his upbringing had taught him about his rightful place in the family, it was the conversations, the empty expressions and the broken spirits he encountered in his rebellion that led him to discover his place in the world. To forget who they were and where they were and why they were there – to ignore their need and their plight would be as sinful as the rebellion itself.
It’s not just the guys in the suits who don’t understand. No one can unless they’ve risked and lost everything; slept on a cold sidewalk; stared down the barrel of a mugger’s gun; woke up in a stranger’s bed; fought the temptation to drink and shoot up; begged for a morsel and robbed for a dime; hated their very existence; wondered if anyone back home ever even thought of them… Unless they knew what he knew, Prod knew they’d never understand.
It’s crazy what being a prodigal does to you. Prod knows. The throw aways become treasures. The misunderstood are respected. The despised are embraced. Obligation becomes passion. That is the unsaid part of the story.
*I enjoy sharing a few of my thoughts as a contributing writer at sgmradio.com. As older posts are removed from that site I'll be posting them here. This writing was seen far and wide over there during the month of October.
10.27.2008
b&b
One of the real treats I get to enjoy as I travel is meeting wonderful people and making friends. Several weeks ago I had a chance to worship with, visit with and eat with a wonderful couple in Petersburg, Indiana. Steve & Donna Mikels are two of the most genuine and kind people you'll ever find. A glance at their eyes proves it. You can see their hearts in there.
Steve and Donna own and operate the Log Ends Bed and Breakfast in Petersburg. I had a chance to stay there this past weekend. Besides the gorgeous log house that sits so stately on the hill in the middle of their big farm, they keep a quaint but roomy little log cabin that sits just behind the main house all tidied up and ready for a traveler seeking quiet and comfort.
I've had their food. It's country fantastic. I've enjoyed their company. It's neighborly friendly. I've slept in their guest cabin. It's heaven under the downs. I'm anxious to get back to re-live the farm life as soon as I can.
Hop over to www.log-ends.com when you can and plan to visit Log Ends soon after. Tell Steve and Donna I said hello.
Steve and Donna own and operate the Log Ends Bed and Breakfast in Petersburg. I had a chance to stay there this past weekend. Besides the gorgeous log house that sits so stately on the hill in the middle of their big farm, they keep a quaint but roomy little log cabin that sits just behind the main house all tidied up and ready for a traveler seeking quiet and comfort.
I've had their food. It's country fantastic. I've enjoyed their company. It's neighborly friendly. I've slept in their guest cabin. It's heaven under the downs. I'm anxious to get back to re-live the farm life as soon as I can.
Hop over to www.log-ends.com when you can and plan to visit Log Ends soon after. Tell Steve and Donna I said hello.
10.13.2008
cherri
If you're out and about much, or if you have a life outside your TV room you've probably met people who either leave an impression or walk away as unfamiliar as they approached. Of the thousands, maybe more, people I've had the joy to meet, only a comparative few really stick out.
There are those who have been very kind to me. They've shown me love and patience and support and concern. They've prayed, given gifts, baked goodies, offered financial help, bought tickets and music, provided transportation and a variety of other gracious things. They have a place of significance in my heart and mind.
There are others who've been at least somewhat of a disappointment. I expected something more and received something less. Even when I don't want to, I tend to remember them for that reason.
In really rare moments you find, get to know, and come to love someone who becomes an extra special friend. They're special because they offered a shoulder or counsel or just patience. They're infinitely special because you know you can trust their loyalty, their advice and their confidence.
That describes Cherri. She and I met when we were both thrown into a room and tasked with making a major multi-million dollar, four year event complete with a parade, fireworks, flyovers, VIPs and dignitaries, bands, choirs and TV reporters all happen in thirty days. The team was bigger than the two of us, but Cherri and I were toward the top of the responsibility ladder. We bonded quickly and learned that we could trust each other. We watched each other's backs and didn't mind when one of us stepped in to make a quiet adjustment to the other's work.
Cherri is a dedicated, hard worker and a tireless organizer. She's comfortable with big tasks, but knows too when it's time to step back and focus on her family and her friends. Her kids think she's the best. I can see why.
My trusted and very special friend Cherri is celebrating her ** b'day today. (We have an understanding.) Although I'm not able to join her at the piano lounge like we did a couple of years ago, I'd say she's enjoying the day just the same. She knows the value of those 24 hours.
Happy birthday my sweet friend!!
There are those who have been very kind to me. They've shown me love and patience and support and concern. They've prayed, given gifts, baked goodies, offered financial help, bought tickets and music, provided transportation and a variety of other gracious things. They have a place of significance in my heart and mind.
There are others who've been at least somewhat of a disappointment. I expected something more and received something less. Even when I don't want to, I tend to remember them for that reason.
In really rare moments you find, get to know, and come to love someone who becomes an extra special friend. They're special because they offered a shoulder or counsel or just patience. They're infinitely special because you know you can trust their loyalty, their advice and their confidence.
That describes Cherri. She and I met when we were both thrown into a room and tasked with making a major multi-million dollar, four year event complete with a parade, fireworks, flyovers, VIPs and dignitaries, bands, choirs and TV reporters all happen in thirty days. The team was bigger than the two of us, but Cherri and I were toward the top of the responsibility ladder. We bonded quickly and learned that we could trust each other. We watched each other's backs and didn't mind when one of us stepped in to make a quiet adjustment to the other's work.
Cherri is a dedicated, hard worker and a tireless organizer. She's comfortable with big tasks, but knows too when it's time to step back and focus on her family and her friends. Her kids think she's the best. I can see why.
My trusted and very special friend Cherri is celebrating her ** b'day today. (We have an understanding.) Although I'm not able to join her at the piano lounge like we did a couple of years ago, I'd say she's enjoying the day just the same. She knows the value of those 24 hours.
Happy birthday my sweet friend!!
10.10.2008
ladies and gentlemen...
What a night! It was a once in a lifetime moment. The crowd was wild! All they knew to do was scream, throw flowers and beg for his autograph. People will be talking about it for years to come. Tomorrow's mothers and grandmothers who are today's little girls will talk about the night they actually witnessed it.
It was a magical moment that will go down in history as one of Prestonsburg, Kentucky's proudest. The regular kid from the mountains of eastern Kentucky who made it to the big stage did it here first. My daddy's grandson, the boy who is mine, my own flesh and blood made his professional stage debut last night. How cool!
Christian is a good singer. He can hit a note, hold a note and let go of a note. He can curl, flip it and slide into it whenever it's necessary. He stands there and sings it flat-footed. And last night he did it like a pro. I can retire now.
Way to go Pal!!!!! Woo hoo!!!
It was a magical moment that will go down in history as one of Prestonsburg, Kentucky's proudest. The regular kid from the mountains of eastern Kentucky who made it to the big stage did it here first. My daddy's grandson, the boy who is mine, my own flesh and blood made his professional stage debut last night. How cool!
Christian is a good singer. He can hit a note, hold a note and let go of a note. He can curl, flip it and slide into it whenever it's necessary. He stands there and sings it flat-footed. And last night he did it like a pro. I can retire now.
Way to go Pal!!!!! Woo hoo!!!
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