I enjoy being able to be a part of lively and proper conversation. It seems especially to happen a lot when I share a thought or two on my Facebook and Myspace pages. I've noticed lately that some very hurtful and distasteful words are being thrown around, and too many of them claim to be inspired by and in the name of Jesus. The reckless attitudes and overly loud arguments, supposedly supported by scripture, as far as I can tell, do nothing to edify God, properly explain who He is, and cause no one to want to know Him, but in fact make Him appear pretty heartless and ugly. Who'd want such a God?
Saying, "Jesus didn't sugar coat sin," and calling out other humans as sluts and pedophiles and declaring them evil in the name of Jesus does tremendous disservice to God's original love, and demeans His creation in ways that I'm not sure He appreciates. Who, in the Scripture, did Jesus convince of God's good intentions by beating them and emotionally accosting them? Why would we inflict emotional, even physical pain on ones He chooses to heal? It was Jesus, by the way, who said he'd been sent to love the world and not condemn it. He didn't say so of the "church."
A couple of years ago I did a record that was very purposefully and strategically planned to highlight God's real grace. The record company, the publicist, the producer, the writers and everyone involved understood that this would be a collection of songs about the deepest emotion in God's heart. It has turned out to be a remarkable thing for a lot of people - people who had pretty much written off anything religious because every example of religion they knew was either hypocritical or mean, hateful even.
Woody Wright produced the record (shout out!!), and he wrote several of the songs. My favorite is, "More Than Amazing." It reminds me of the enormity of God's grace. I sing it to myself a lot. There's another Woody song on the project though that, because it's a light and happy arrangement, comes across as fun and not so deep. In fact, it's very introspective and could even be convicting if a receptive ear would notice. I share it here and now hoping that some of my friends who prefer easy and distant judgement will consider a more compassionate approach.
UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF MERCY
When a brother fell and broke the Lord's command, I was quick to judge and slow to understand. When a sister had a struggle, I said, "You're reaping what you've sown." But then I found some trouble of my own.
Now I'm under the influence of mercy. My perception has been altered by His grace. I see things in a different light. I walk by faith and not by sight. If you notice something different about me. I am under the influence of mercy.
These days I'm more inclined to lend a hand. And try to make a difference when I can. Through the tests and trials I won't grumble or complain. I'll count it joy and I will gladly say.
I am under the influence of mercy. My perception has been altered by His grace. I see things in a different light. I walk by faith and not by sight. If you notice something different about me. I am under the influence of mercy.
I've been given unconditional love. I will never be the same.
I am under the influence of mercy. My perception has been altered by His grace. I see things in a different light. I walk by faith and not by sight. If you notice something different about me. I am under the influence of mercy.
Under The Influence Of Mercy - Woody Wright © 2006 Would He Write Songs, SESAC
(administered by Gaither Copyright Management)
6.26.2009
too many rips
It's been a difficult week in Hollywood. The lovers of Ed, Farrah and Michael have been in the streets, on the phone (texting and talking) and glued to their televisions to learn what they can, and relive some of the great memories and moments that were made happier because of the laughs and the scenes and the songs we all enjoyed through these remarkable talents.
Who can not like Ed McMahon? The man sat on Johnny Carson's couch, hung in there all night with Jerry Lewis and delivered schzillion dollar checks courtesy of the sweepstakes people. No good reason not to like Ed.
Farrah was my first crush. She was an angel, and if kids my age had the money, we'd have bought her shampoo just to see what she smelled like. I didn't worship her like some have accused me, but I did sit beneath her poster and pray she'd come to life.
I wasn't allowed to dance as a kid. But gosh, it was hard not to when Michael Jackson was singing. I didn't know much about his story. I knew I LOVED his music. As we both got older I noticed that he started changing in lots of ways - some of them sorta weird. His music only got better though, and I finally gave up the notion that God didn't give us legs just to kneel on. I never quite mastered the moon walk, but my good and godly brother did.
It's sad to see these folks leave us. Some people don't think so though. To me that is even more sad.
Who can not like Ed McMahon? The man sat on Johnny Carson's couch, hung in there all night with Jerry Lewis and delivered schzillion dollar checks courtesy of the sweepstakes people. No good reason not to like Ed.
Farrah was my first crush. She was an angel, and if kids my age had the money, we'd have bought her shampoo just to see what she smelled like. I didn't worship her like some have accused me, but I did sit beneath her poster and pray she'd come to life.
I wasn't allowed to dance as a kid. But gosh, it was hard not to when Michael Jackson was singing. I didn't know much about his story. I knew I LOVED his music. As we both got older I noticed that he started changing in lots of ways - some of them sorta weird. His music only got better though, and I finally gave up the notion that God didn't give us legs just to kneel on. I never quite mastered the moon walk, but my good and godly brother did.
It's sad to see these folks leave us. Some people don't think so though. To me that is even more sad.
john 4 - religer version
So Jesus the condemner was forced to go through Samaria and came to a heathen little town called Sychar. It was near the piece of ground that the cheating liar Jacob had given to his one good son Joseph. As it turns out, Jacob's well was there.
It was about noon, and Jesus was tired, so he sat down for a bit. At some point a local, half-breed woman came to the well to get some water for the day. Jesus said, "Oh man! Of all people... Oh well, a thirsty guy has to drink. Hey slut, give me some water."
The filthy harlot said, "Um, our kinds don't talk to each other, remember? As much as I truly do desire to walk in your shadow and be in your presence and learn from your word and eat from your table and bask in your love, I'm afraid I've been too bad. I'm unworthy. I'm a whore. You're a really righteous, God fearing church goer. Your church might call a committee and have a hearing and remove you from leadership or take your Sunday school class or your choir robe. You don't want them to find out we were talking. I'm not worth it, so, thank you for asking, but for your own sake, no."
Jesus answered, "You're right. What was I thinking? You don't deserve my time or anything else. I'd rather die of thirst than take a drop from the likes of you. You're a dirty human. Besides, what kind of respectable person comes hauling water at noon? You're not only a skank, you're stupid."
Jesus dusted off his feet, and the woman died and went to Hell.
THE END
It was about noon, and Jesus was tired, so he sat down for a bit. At some point a local, half-breed woman came to the well to get some water for the day. Jesus said, "Oh man! Of all people... Oh well, a thirsty guy has to drink. Hey slut, give me some water."
The filthy harlot said, "Um, our kinds don't talk to each other, remember? As much as I truly do desire to walk in your shadow and be in your presence and learn from your word and eat from your table and bask in your love, I'm afraid I've been too bad. I'm unworthy. I'm a whore. You're a really righteous, God fearing church goer. Your church might call a committee and have a hearing and remove you from leadership or take your Sunday school class or your choir robe. You don't want them to find out we were talking. I'm not worth it, so, thank you for asking, but for your own sake, no."
Jesus answered, "You're right. What was I thinking? You don't deserve my time or anything else. I'd rather die of thirst than take a drop from the likes of you. You're a dirty human. Besides, what kind of respectable person comes hauling water at noon? You're not only a skank, you're stupid."
Jesus dusted off his feet, and the woman died and went to Hell.
THE END
6.21.2009
archbishop
According to the bible, to be a Bishop a person must be, "blameless, the husband of one wife, vigilant, sober, just, holy, temperate, not a novice or a striker, be of good behavior, a lover of hospitality, apt to teach, not given to wine, not greedy of filthy lucre, patient, not a brawler, not covetous; He must be an effective ruler of his own house with children who are not unruly but are faithful and under his subjection; He must have a good report, be a steward of God, not self-willed or easily angered, a lover of good men, and always remember the lessons he's learned..." I don't think I qualify.
Several years ago Dad, Mark and I were singing at a big outdoor festival over in western Virginia. I try to drink a lot of water before I go on stage, 'cause singers sweat and spit a lot when they're performing. That usually means though that I start feeling the urge too soon before those last couple of long, long tunes. With no backstage accommodations at this particular venue, that meant a quick dash to the public restrooms as soon as our part of the set was over.
There I am facing the wall wondering if twelve ounces will be sufficient next time. A man standing next to me asks, "What makes you think you're qualified to be a Bishop?" As awkward as it was, I was grateful for the kid behind me asking for the autograph. "Hang on little man. I'll sign your CD when..."
The inquisitive man followed me to the sink, waited for me to wash my hands, watched me write my name on another band's CD, then shadowed me out the door. "What makes you think you're qualified to be a Bishop?"
I'd been to seminary. My ministerial credentials required that I study and know the Old, the New, the history, the apologetics and the validity of the Scriptures. I knew what he was talking about, and even if I didn't the attitude on his face told me he did - or thought he did, and where he was going. He started down the list: "Blameless, just, holy, temperate, patient; not covetous, greedy, self-willed or easily angered." That last one, as it turns out, was becoming the biggie at the moment.
I honestly don't think the guy knew a thing about me. I know he didn't. All he knew was that when the emcee brought us to the stage he called us the Bishops. When the man followed me to the bus and kept pushing the point and asking why I felt Bishop qualified, it was like an invisible wall when I finally turned and confessed that I didn't. I don't qualify, not according to the biblical criterion. But my daddy, Mr. Bishop, his blood, verified by his love, says differently.
So, thanks Dad. Happy Father's Day.
Several years ago Dad, Mark and I were singing at a big outdoor festival over in western Virginia. I try to drink a lot of water before I go on stage, 'cause singers sweat and spit a lot when they're performing. That usually means though that I start feeling the urge too soon before those last couple of long, long tunes. With no backstage accommodations at this particular venue, that meant a quick dash to the public restrooms as soon as our part of the set was over.
There I am facing the wall wondering if twelve ounces will be sufficient next time. A man standing next to me asks, "What makes you think you're qualified to be a Bishop?" As awkward as it was, I was grateful for the kid behind me asking for the autograph. "Hang on little man. I'll sign your CD when..."
The inquisitive man followed me to the sink, waited for me to wash my hands, watched me write my name on another band's CD, then shadowed me out the door. "What makes you think you're qualified to be a Bishop?"
I'd been to seminary. My ministerial credentials required that I study and know the Old, the New, the history, the apologetics and the validity of the Scriptures. I knew what he was talking about, and even if I didn't the attitude on his face told me he did - or thought he did, and where he was going. He started down the list: "Blameless, just, holy, temperate, patient; not covetous, greedy, self-willed or easily angered." That last one, as it turns out, was becoming the biggie at the moment.
I honestly don't think the guy knew a thing about me. I know he didn't. All he knew was that when the emcee brought us to the stage he called us the Bishops. When the man followed me to the bus and kept pushing the point and asking why I felt Bishop qualified, it was like an invisible wall when I finally turned and confessed that I didn't. I don't qualify, not according to the biblical criterion. But my daddy, Mr. Bishop, his blood, verified by his love, says differently.
So, thanks Dad. Happy Father's Day.
6.20.2009
sixteen christian candles
Sixteen years minus one day ago it was Father's Day 1993. I remember it, at least most of it, very well. In the very early Sunday morning hours the big blue Bishops touring bus drove past the corporate office in Waco and dead-headed to my little house in Ravenna, Kentucky. That's where Debra and my mom were waiting with suitcases sitting at the door. Before the bus even stopped moving I was out the door, down the walk, onto the porch and into the house. Without even a greeting, I grabbed the bags and the wife and together we made a dash for the hospital. My boy was on his way!
Several weeks before this day the doctor had informed us that our family was going to be blessed with a little man-child. This would round our little home out perfectly since our baby girl, Casie, was already settled in. A girl for every boy in the house seemed fair. Since we'd gotten word that a he-name was necessary, Debra and I went to work trying to decide on what to call him. I'd always liked the name Nicholas, and Debra ended up liking it too. It was settled.
A few months before the big birthday (literally), the Bishops were working on a new record. As was the custom, each member of our group jotted a few lines of thanks and kudos to include in the liner notes. Knowing that the record would not hit the shelves until after my boy was several months into his eating, sleeping and pooping routine, I mentioned what wonderful joy little Nic had brought into my life. I knew his effect even before he was born.
On the day "Nicholas" arrived in the flesh Debra and I changed our minds. Maybe it was because it was Sunday. Maybe it was because I'd recently been reading about Moses and the Hebrew's wilderness adventures and the spies that had been sent to check out the Promised Land and the disappointing report when they returned and all. I became a fan of Joshua and Caleb, two of the twelve undercover agents who'd slipped in and out of the country. They disagreed with the consensus view that the land couldn't be taken. They saw opportunities instead of obstacles. I was inspired by their optimistic view. Besides, to me their names worked well together.
I suggested to Debra that we name our son Joshua Caleb Bishop. She said if we're gonna do Bible, she'd like to use a New and an Old Testament name. I agreed. Within a couple of minutes we decided on the name Christian Caleb Bishop.
BTW, a few years later, after the record with the liner notes was old news, I got a very kind and sympathetic note from a sweet lady who shared with me her story of losing a child. She referred to my mention Nicholas and deduced that since I never spoke of him again that something tragic must have happened. She just wanted to let me know that she understood and knew the pain of our loss. It was a very kind gesture on her part, and I made sure to thank her for it. I didn't explain any further.
When our family was still traveling and singing, I used to tell people that my young and prone-to-break-things-and-lie-about-it son, Christian, was very much like a lot of other Christians I know. And also like them, he should have no doubt that his daddy would love him regardless. It's been going on like that for sixteen years now - and counting. Happy birthday Pal!
Several weeks before this day the doctor had informed us that our family was going to be blessed with a little man-child. This would round our little home out perfectly since our baby girl, Casie, was already settled in. A girl for every boy in the house seemed fair. Since we'd gotten word that a he-name was necessary, Debra and I went to work trying to decide on what to call him. I'd always liked the name Nicholas, and Debra ended up liking it too. It was settled.
A few months before the big birthday (literally), the Bishops were working on a new record. As was the custom, each member of our group jotted a few lines of thanks and kudos to include in the liner notes. Knowing that the record would not hit the shelves until after my boy was several months into his eating, sleeping and pooping routine, I mentioned what wonderful joy little Nic had brought into my life. I knew his effect even before he was born.
On the day "Nicholas" arrived in the flesh Debra and I changed our minds. Maybe it was because it was Sunday. Maybe it was because I'd recently been reading about Moses and the Hebrew's wilderness adventures and the spies that had been sent to check out the Promised Land and the disappointing report when they returned and all. I became a fan of Joshua and Caleb, two of the twelve undercover agents who'd slipped in and out of the country. They disagreed with the consensus view that the land couldn't be taken. They saw opportunities instead of obstacles. I was inspired by their optimistic view. Besides, to me their names worked well together.
I suggested to Debra that we name our son Joshua Caleb Bishop. She said if we're gonna do Bible, she'd like to use a New and an Old Testament name. I agreed. Within a couple of minutes we decided on the name Christian Caleb Bishop.
BTW, a few years later, after the record with the liner notes was old news, I got a very kind and sympathetic note from a sweet lady who shared with me her story of losing a child. She referred to my mention Nicholas and deduced that since I never spoke of him again that something tragic must have happened. She just wanted to let me know that she understood and knew the pain of our loss. It was a very kind gesture on her part, and I made sure to thank her for it. I didn't explain any further.
When our family was still traveling and singing, I used to tell people that my young and prone-to-break-things-and-lie-about-it son, Christian, was very much like a lot of other Christians I know. And also like them, he should have no doubt that his daddy would love him regardless. It's been going on like that for sixteen years now - and counting. Happy birthday Pal!
5.29.2009
217 candles
I love traveling to exotic and exciting places, but I like to living in a comfortable, cozy place. Home to me is like the song that greets the Derby every spring. It's my old Kentucky home, and this month she's toutin' 217 years of independent living.
On June 1, 1792 the fifteenth United States state was born. Up until then we ran through a bit of an identity crisis trying to settle on a proper name. First we were Cane-tuck-ee, then Cantucky, then Kain-tuck-ee, then Kentuckee and finally Kentucky County, part of Virginia since the end of the Revolutionary War. Daniel Boone was one of the first settlers to get here way back when this part of the country was considered western territory. He's still here to this day, buried on a hillside overlooking the state capitol. Before Dan, the original keepers were the Native Americans; the Shawnees and Cherokees.
Mr. Washington was about half way through his first presidential term when mother Virginia allowed her chick to leave the nest. The nation was still saluting its first flag, but that changed when the fifteenth state got a star AND a stripe. Later on, someone got wise and convinced the flag rule makers that it would probably be a good idea to keep the stripes as originally was (thirteen) and reward each new state with just a star. So Kentucky lost its stripe on Old Glory. We were the last state to get one of our own, even if it was just for a while.
I live in a nifty little place. We don't make the big news a lot, and too much of the world thinks chicken buckets, fast horses and banjos are all we're about. But we've got over two hundred candles on our cake, so I'm thinking we have a few things to be proud of. And I'll be very happy to brag.
On June 1, 1792 the fifteenth United States state was born. Up until then we ran through a bit of an identity crisis trying to settle on a proper name. First we were Cane-tuck-ee, then Cantucky, then Kain-tuck-ee, then Kentuckee and finally Kentucky County, part of Virginia since the end of the Revolutionary War. Daniel Boone was one of the first settlers to get here way back when this part of the country was considered western territory. He's still here to this day, buried on a hillside overlooking the state capitol. Before Dan, the original keepers were the Native Americans; the Shawnees and Cherokees.
Mr. Washington was about half way through his first presidential term when mother Virginia allowed her chick to leave the nest. The nation was still saluting its first flag, but that changed when the fifteenth state got a star AND a stripe. Later on, someone got wise and convinced the flag rule makers that it would probably be a good idea to keep the stripes as originally was (thirteen) and reward each new state with just a star. So Kentucky lost its stripe on Old Glory. We were the last state to get one of our own, even if it was just for a while.
I live in a nifty little place. We don't make the big news a lot, and too much of the world thinks chicken buckets, fast horses and banjos are all we're about. But we've got over two hundred candles on our cake, so I'm thinking we have a few things to be proud of. And I'll be very happy to brag.
5.14.2009
1-866-idol-7something
I'm not addicted to it, but I am truly fascinated by this season's American Idol. Last year I thought little David was the greatest young voice to ever come along. Such control and texture. I still think he's incredible with his voice, I just wish whoever put his last (first) record together didn't.
The '09 version of the show is kinda crazy-cool-weird to me. I've been offering my own running commentary on Twitter and Facebook (be my friend), and I learned very quickly that not everyone agrees. I enjoy the variety of opinions and I appreciate the input, so I hope it continues. I've learned a lot about us in these typed conversations, both in the public postings and the privates.
Music's effect and value, I think, is a matter of taste and fad. Johnny Cash was huge in the sixties, seventies and early eighties. His music was popular and his fans were loud about it. Eventually though his star faded, and just as eventually so did his music. Thirty years later when his story became a movie and stole the tix box it was cool to be a Cash fan again. Johnny's first round of success was about his music and his style. I think the last time was a fad.
I'm guessing back in the day there were a good number of honest but paranoid church folks who thought Johnny was born in Hell. For one thing he was a backslider. He started out singing gospel, but no one bought it. So he cranked up the volume and turned his attention to singing the devil's music in the devil's yard. Who knows, maybe the congregation was right. Johnny certainly had his issues with drugs and stuff, and it more than likely had a lot to do with the distance he'd put between himself and God. He said as much. But I'm betting it wasn't the Christians with the sticks and stones that convinced him to come back to faith.
I was and am a big Johnny Cash fan. I liked his dark persona, his dark clothes and his dark music. A few weeks ago when Adam Lambert took on the Cash classic "Ring of Fire" on American Idol, you better know the stuff and the fan collided. You'd've thought Johnny's grave was falling in. People were screaming. They were passing out. They were breathing into paper bags. How could he?!?!?!
I thought it was awesome.
The genius creativity and delivery and sultriness of the Lambert version of "...Fire" was one of the most alluring and exciting and almost spooky musical things I've heard in quite a while. Right away I was taken past the song he was singing and tuned into what he was doing and how he was doing it. Beyond personal taste, I don't see how anyone who studies and loves the art of melody and music couldn't have been impressed. Another thing that stoked me about the whole drama was Adam's refusal to back down from the traditionalist critics. And personally, I think the man in black would've absolutely loved it - hearing his 1963 song in a new, 2009 way. A lot of his fans may be uptight, but that doesn't mean he was. And you know June would've been all about those royalty checks.
Years ago when my family first started in the music business, our record company was sending our songs to radio stations everywhere and they were getting some air time. There was a good chance that anybody who heard one of them had no idea who we were or what we looked like. One of our first singing trips out of Kentucky took us to a neat little church in Missouri. We pulled up, set our sound, put our one record out to sell, changed our clothes, and walked on the stage. The preacher wanted to know where the lady was. He'd heard her on the radio. He was sure there was a girl in there somewhere. Evidently the church was partial to real singing families with a singing mom, a singing dad and singing kids. Until we pulled into their parking lot that's what they thought we were. Although they liked what they heard on the radio before, we weren't their preference, and no doubt they heard us differently once they knew we were ladyless.
Several years later a promoter in Chicago called our booking agent and scheduled us for an appearance. A couple of weeks later when he received the promotional materials he called back to say there had been a mistake. He wanted a black group, and the song he'd been hearing on the radio gave him the impression that we were black. He told the agent that he enjoyed our sound but he very kindly and graciously expressed that we were just not what his market would pay for. We understood. You can bet that he heard Bishops music differently after that.
What if we didn't know anything about the American Idols? What if we weren't aware of their back stories, their tragedies, or indiscretions? What if we knew nothing about their religious beliefs or where they're from or who they're attracted to or how old they are? What if we didn't know what color their skin was or what their hair or their clothes or their nails look like? What if "American Idol" was a radio show?
Adam has been an Idol lightning rod this season, especially on celebrity and religious web sites. If you follow my Twitter tweets and my Facebook updates you know that I'm a big fan. I'm fascinated by his voice, his control, his pitch, his poise and his placement. To me, the top of his range is incredible. A couple of people have called it screaming, but I know for a fact that they've stood themselves on stages with some of the most popular professional screamers in the biz. So I don't necessarily consider their evaluation as a negative.
I've noticed too that there are a fair number of people who prefer to judge looks instead of talent. Most of them don't like Adam's style. "He looks evil." "Devil worshippers wear black nails and eye liner." "I think he's a bad role model," they say. Regardless of his talent, they've decided he doesn't deserve to be the winner because he'd stick out in their choir.
On the other hand, Danny and Kris actually do fit the robes. I think it's great. Their music started or was cultivated in church. And although they've not made it a point of distinction, they've also not hidden it, especially Danny. I'm proud of them. I'm happy for them. I think they have tremendous talent. But I don't think either of them is the best singer on the show. And I'm not going to cast a dishonest vote just because I like their faith. If the contest is about who is the better Christian, I'm afraid we're not qualified to decide. I'm sure too that if we knew the whole, honest, human and probable sinful side of the eventual winner we'd waste good wood and nails on them.
I've made it a point, when I tweet and Facebook about AI, to offer my thoughts on the performances. It's become routine though when the comments start for the conversation to quickly become a debate on which singer seems most like Jesus. Sometimes the words get ugly. Sometimes the "Christian" commenter comes across as less Christ-like than their unholy target. I also get a lot of private messages. They either express outright anger toward the free-living liberals who'll let any old thing live and prosper, or disgust with the arrogant and righteous who prefer to kill it and bury it before it spreads.
I'm sure that each Idol wannabe is aware that scrutiny and judgement of their personal lives is part of the package. Since the producers have made it more than a talent show by taking us into the homes and worlds of the singers, their pre-Idol life becomes part of the deal. You can bet too when you sign up for the biggest show on television that your "friends" are going to shop around and sell anything they have that has your fingerprint on it, any picture you've posed for (or not), or any film with so much as an appearance by your shadow. Even with my limited brushes with semi-fame, I know the critics, the profiteers and the cynics are aplenty.
So, It doesn't matter to me if Adam loves Eve or Steve. (I've been dying to say that.) If Danny and Kris are believers or atheists, that doesn't raise or lower my critique of their talent. I plan to text my vote for the best performer. If I've committed a sin I trust that Jesus has the remedy. Then again, maybe he and I are rooting for the same guy.
The '09 version of the show is kinda crazy-cool-weird to me. I've been offering my own running commentary on Twitter and Facebook (be my friend), and I learned very quickly that not everyone agrees. I enjoy the variety of opinions and I appreciate the input, so I hope it continues. I've learned a lot about us in these typed conversations, both in the public postings and the privates.
Music's effect and value, I think, is a matter of taste and fad. Johnny Cash was huge in the sixties, seventies and early eighties. His music was popular and his fans were loud about it. Eventually though his star faded, and just as eventually so did his music. Thirty years later when his story became a movie and stole the tix box it was cool to be a Cash fan again. Johnny's first round of success was about his music and his style. I think the last time was a fad.
I'm guessing back in the day there were a good number of honest but paranoid church folks who thought Johnny was born in Hell. For one thing he was a backslider. He started out singing gospel, but no one bought it. So he cranked up the volume and turned his attention to singing the devil's music in the devil's yard. Who knows, maybe the congregation was right. Johnny certainly had his issues with drugs and stuff, and it more than likely had a lot to do with the distance he'd put between himself and God. He said as much. But I'm betting it wasn't the Christians with the sticks and stones that convinced him to come back to faith.
I was and am a big Johnny Cash fan. I liked his dark persona, his dark clothes and his dark music. A few weeks ago when Adam Lambert took on the Cash classic "Ring of Fire" on American Idol, you better know the stuff and the fan collided. You'd've thought Johnny's grave was falling in. People were screaming. They were passing out. They were breathing into paper bags. How could he?!?!?!
I thought it was awesome.
The genius creativity and delivery and sultriness of the Lambert version of "...Fire" was one of the most alluring and exciting and almost spooky musical things I've heard in quite a while. Right away I was taken past the song he was singing and tuned into what he was doing and how he was doing it. Beyond personal taste, I don't see how anyone who studies and loves the art of melody and music couldn't have been impressed. Another thing that stoked me about the whole drama was Adam's refusal to back down from the traditionalist critics. And personally, I think the man in black would've absolutely loved it - hearing his 1963 song in a new, 2009 way. A lot of his fans may be uptight, but that doesn't mean he was. And you know June would've been all about those royalty checks.
Years ago when my family first started in the music business, our record company was sending our songs to radio stations everywhere and they were getting some air time. There was a good chance that anybody who heard one of them had no idea who we were or what we looked like. One of our first singing trips out of Kentucky took us to a neat little church in Missouri. We pulled up, set our sound, put our one record out to sell, changed our clothes, and walked on the stage. The preacher wanted to know where the lady was. He'd heard her on the radio. He was sure there was a girl in there somewhere. Evidently the church was partial to real singing families with a singing mom, a singing dad and singing kids. Until we pulled into their parking lot that's what they thought we were. Although they liked what they heard on the radio before, we weren't their preference, and no doubt they heard us differently once they knew we were ladyless.
Several years later a promoter in Chicago called our booking agent and scheduled us for an appearance. A couple of weeks later when he received the promotional materials he called back to say there had been a mistake. He wanted a black group, and the song he'd been hearing on the radio gave him the impression that we were black. He told the agent that he enjoyed our sound but he very kindly and graciously expressed that we were just not what his market would pay for. We understood. You can bet that he heard Bishops music differently after that.
What if we didn't know anything about the American Idols? What if we weren't aware of their back stories, their tragedies, or indiscretions? What if we knew nothing about their religious beliefs or where they're from or who they're attracted to or how old they are? What if we didn't know what color their skin was or what their hair or their clothes or their nails look like? What if "American Idol" was a radio show?
Adam has been an Idol lightning rod this season, especially on celebrity and religious web sites. If you follow my Twitter tweets and my Facebook updates you know that I'm a big fan. I'm fascinated by his voice, his control, his pitch, his poise and his placement. To me, the top of his range is incredible. A couple of people have called it screaming, but I know for a fact that they've stood themselves on stages with some of the most popular professional screamers in the biz. So I don't necessarily consider their evaluation as a negative.
I've noticed too that there are a fair number of people who prefer to judge looks instead of talent. Most of them don't like Adam's style. "He looks evil." "Devil worshippers wear black nails and eye liner." "I think he's a bad role model," they say. Regardless of his talent, they've decided he doesn't deserve to be the winner because he'd stick out in their choir.
On the other hand, Danny and Kris actually do fit the robes. I think it's great. Their music started or was cultivated in church. And although they've not made it a point of distinction, they've also not hidden it, especially Danny. I'm proud of them. I'm happy for them. I think they have tremendous talent. But I don't think either of them is the best singer on the show. And I'm not going to cast a dishonest vote just because I like their faith. If the contest is about who is the better Christian, I'm afraid we're not qualified to decide. I'm sure too that if we knew the whole, honest, human and probable sinful side of the eventual winner we'd waste good wood and nails on them.
I've made it a point, when I tweet and Facebook about AI, to offer my thoughts on the performances. It's become routine though when the comments start for the conversation to quickly become a debate on which singer seems most like Jesus. Sometimes the words get ugly. Sometimes the "Christian" commenter comes across as less Christ-like than their unholy target. I also get a lot of private messages. They either express outright anger toward the free-living liberals who'll let any old thing live and prosper, or disgust with the arrogant and righteous who prefer to kill it and bury it before it spreads.
I'm sure that each Idol wannabe is aware that scrutiny and judgement of their personal lives is part of the package. Since the producers have made it more than a talent show by taking us into the homes and worlds of the singers, their pre-Idol life becomes part of the deal. You can bet too when you sign up for the biggest show on television that your "friends" are going to shop around and sell anything they have that has your fingerprint on it, any picture you've posed for (or not), or any film with so much as an appearance by your shadow. Even with my limited brushes with semi-fame, I know the critics, the profiteers and the cynics are aplenty.
So, It doesn't matter to me if Adam loves Eve or Steve. (I've been dying to say that.) If Danny and Kris are believers or atheists, that doesn't raise or lower my critique of their talent. I plan to text my vote for the best performer. If I've committed a sin I trust that Jesus has the remedy. Then again, maybe he and I are rooting for the same guy.
4.20.2009
more sensational susan
Now that most of the world, at least the parts with Internet, has heard Susan Boyle do her remarkable thing, the press has done what it does and tried to dig deep enough to find something that would make us feel duped, then hate her. What they found though was more wow.
Evidently, several years ago, an aspiring, single, virgin Susan spent all her savings on a two song recording. She said she didn't have enough money to make a lot of copies, so she gave just a few close friends and neighbors an opportunity to discover her before the rest of us. They obviously dropped the ball, and evidently so did some other deaf talent scouts across the pond. The rejection letters arrived soon after she mailed her demo. Not being mean, but knowing how the entertainment world thinks, they prolly looked at her pub-shot and tossed the tape.
If you want to read about it go here.
4.14.2009
i'd read that book
I am a big, big fan of the theater, especially musical theater. I've lived the life of a professional singer. For a lot of years I did my thing in the very controlled environment of the studio, and in some of the most unpredictable stage environments you could imagine. I used to tell people, the real talent of a traveling performer is not as much being able to deliver an effective song, but making it work under just about any conditions. But even so, all I had to do was add my part and blend with the guys. No scripted speaking parts or hitting the mark or singing upside down. (Although there are a few Gospel groups out there who can make some really cool steps.)
I did some musical theater when I was in high school. In Oklahoma I was supposed to have a bit part, and did until the night of the opening. Then the guy playing Judge Andrew Carnes got sick and I was asked to step in and save the show. OK, I exaggerate. But I did memorize the lines and the marks with only about an hour and a half or study time. Then there was The Sound of Music. My original casting was a bit more significant this time. Friedrich was the oldest of the Von Trapp sons, and his part was fairly significant in the musical telling of his family's life. I was dashing in my little sailor scrubs and curtain clothes. I decided to retire from the stage after that. I thought it best to walk away while I was still on top. I've actually been approached about doing some local theater close to home, but I worry about having the time.
There are a slew of actors who've crossed into TV and movies who owe their start to the stage. But it is the legends of the theater, names like Carol Channing and Mary Martin and Patti Lupone that still give me chills to this day.
Another name that could be added to that legend's list is Elaine Page. She's more famous in the old country than she is here. There she is considered the First Lady of British Musical Theatre. Her voice and her interpretations bring her characters alive. She is the model for everyone who wants to do music and the stage right.
Then there is Susan Boyle.
You may be familiar with the TV show America's Got Talent. You may not know that the US version is not the original. That would be Britain's Got Talent. Some familiar faces sit in the English version of the judges chairs. The ever-so-critical Simon Cowell who blurts out painful but honest criticism on American Idol is one of them. Celebrity Apprentice and all around TV show host Piers Morgan is too. Amanda Holden is the pretty one.
About Susan, the frumpy little 47 year old woman from somewhere in Scotland, West Lothian I believe, wants to be a singer. Her hair is sorta unkempt. No performer would wear that dress to the stage. Absent any makeup to speak of, and a walk that looks a bit awkward, it's the perfect scenario for a reality TV show. The producers had to be giddy with this character. She was the perfect goof to make fun of. As a matter of fact, all of the footage of her eating a sandwich and shuffling around and tripping over her words proved that she was there only to be crushed in front of millions of people. And to make it worse, when she was asked who she'd like to emulate, her answer was that remarkable Elaine Page. When she said it some smirked, some rolled their eyes, everyone laughed.
Now, please, please take about 7 minutes and watch this.
I did some musical theater when I was in high school. In Oklahoma I was supposed to have a bit part, and did until the night of the opening. Then the guy playing Judge Andrew Carnes got sick and I was asked to step in and save the show. OK, I exaggerate. But I did memorize the lines and the marks with only about an hour and a half or study time. Then there was The Sound of Music. My original casting was a bit more significant this time. Friedrich was the oldest of the Von Trapp sons, and his part was fairly significant in the musical telling of his family's life. I was dashing in my little sailor scrubs and curtain clothes. I decided to retire from the stage after that. I thought it best to walk away while I was still on top. I've actually been approached about doing some local theater close to home, but I worry about having the time.
There are a slew of actors who've crossed into TV and movies who owe their start to the stage. But it is the legends of the theater, names like Carol Channing and Mary Martin and Patti Lupone that still give me chills to this day.
Another name that could be added to that legend's list is Elaine Page. She's more famous in the old country than she is here. There she is considered the First Lady of British Musical Theatre. Her voice and her interpretations bring her characters alive. She is the model for everyone who wants to do music and the stage right.
Then there is Susan Boyle.
You may be familiar with the TV show America's Got Talent. You may not know that the US version is not the original. That would be Britain's Got Talent. Some familiar faces sit in the English version of the judges chairs. The ever-so-critical Simon Cowell who blurts out painful but honest criticism on American Idol is one of them. Celebrity Apprentice and all around TV show host Piers Morgan is too. Amanda Holden is the pretty one.
About Susan, the frumpy little 47 year old woman from somewhere in Scotland, West Lothian I believe, wants to be a singer. Her hair is sorta unkempt. No performer would wear that dress to the stage. Absent any makeup to speak of, and a walk that looks a bit awkward, it's the perfect scenario for a reality TV show. The producers had to be giddy with this character. She was the perfect goof to make fun of. As a matter of fact, all of the footage of her eating a sandwich and shuffling around and tripping over her words proved that she was there only to be crushed in front of millions of people. And to make it worse, when she was asked who she'd like to emulate, her answer was that remarkable Elaine Page. When she said it some smirked, some rolled their eyes, everyone laughed.
Now, please, please take about 7 minutes and watch this.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lp0IWv8QZY
In a remarkable and pleasant way, this book doesn't even resemble its cover.
4.08.2009
43
I was born on a Friday 15,706 days ago. I've lived 516 months or 2,243 weeks or 376,944 hours or 22,616,640 minutes or 1,356,998,400 seconds from the moment of my birth to exactly 43 years later. And I still can't hold my breath any longer than 90 seconds. If I were a dog I'd be 185 years old. (using the old conventional wisdom of dog/human years I'd be 301.) I don't know how old I'd be if I was a cat, or an elephant or llama or cock roach. I've always wondered how otter years work.
I was born the Zodiac year of the horse in a small Kentucky town in a rural Catholic hospital. That's back when it was run by nuns in their full nun garb. I don't remember a thing about that day, but I do remember being back there when my little brother was born. Those sisters were bitter. It was a mission work that served lots and lots of families in the hills and hollows of the area. We lived in Richmond, which really wasn't a hill or a hollow, but it was only a half hour or so away and Mom liked the care she got from the sisterhood. So my very first breath was Catholic air.
On that day Lyndon Johnson lived in the White House. He was a Democrat. Ned Breathitt was my governor. He was a Democrat too.
The big international news on the day I was born was about Buddhists in South Vietnam protesting that the new government hadn't set a date for free elections. I'll bet Walter Cronkite didn't break in for that one.
1966 and MCMLXVI are one in the same. A lot happened that year.
Adam West was Batman. Star Trek started. So did Hollywood Squares, The Monkees and Mission Impossible. The Sound of Music was hitting big.
Man of La Mancha owned Broadway and the Tonys.
Frank Sinatra, Paul McCartney, the Mamas and the Papas, Ray Charles and Porter Wagoner racked up at the Grammys. Two days after I was born Elizabeth Taylor and Paul Scofield were crowned queen and king of the Oscars. The blowout movies were A Man For All Seasons and Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
My team, the Kentucky Wildcats, faced Texas Western for the NCAA basketball title in College Park, Maryland. UK Coach Adolph Rupp started five white guys. TX Western's Don Haskins started five black guys. The Miners beat the Cats by seven points. Sad for us UK fans, but great for African American athletes since the upset motivated colleges to start more aggressively recruiting racial minorities.
Depending on who you ask, Notre Dame was the school to beat on the football field. Baltimore was the World Series champ, Boston took the NBA, and Green Bay won the Super Bowl. (Vince Lombardi's third straight win!) Kauai King wore the Derby roses.
There were lots of famous people born in 1966. People like Patrick Dempsey, Cindy Crawford, Stephen Baldwin, Darius Rucker (Hootie & the Blowfish), Janet Jackson, Mike Tyson, Matthew Fox, Martina McBride, Halle Berry, Lee Ann Womack, Tim Hardaway, Adam Sandler, Curt Schilling, Troy Aikman, Sinead O'Conner, Kiefer Sutherland and Crazy Legs the Puerto Rican breakdancer.
Walt Disney died. (but Mickey lives!!) George Harrison and Patty Boyd tied the knot. Cassius Clay became Muhammad Ali and a Muslim. That evil Daylight Saving Time was instituted. That evil church of Satan was formed. The St. Louis Arch was opened. The National Organization for Women was founded. Ronald Reagan became CA governor. John Lennon says he's more famous than Jesus, then says he's not. The US Dept. of Transportation started up. The Grinch stole Christmas. Kwanzaa kicked off. The FDA said yes to the "Pill". (Not to be confused with the little blue one men take these days. The two do completely different things.) The Pope released Catholics to eat meat... except on Fridays. (I heard that somewhere.)
The US was $328.5 billion in the hole. A nickle would send a letter to any of the 196,560,338 documented peeps in the US. Out of every hundred workers, four and a half were jobless. $23,300 would get you a new house. A gallon of milk (.99) cost more than a gallon of gas (.32). If you had sixty cents you could own a dozen eggs.
In: mini skirts, bell bottoms, haircuts that didn't look like haircuts (men only), black power, Captain Kangaroo, flower children, the Temptations, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix, Cher (timeless!), astrology, the Vietnam War, anything Batman, LSD (same as anything Batman), the draft, The Beverly Hillbillies, Ouiji boards, hippies, party lines, the space race, Red Skelton, Lucy, Dick Van Dyke, the Smothers Brothers, Yogi Bear and Martin Luther King. Oh yeah, and Jerry Lewis started his Labor Day telethons.
Not yet: Cable TV, cell phones (or cordless for that matter), microwaves, The Internet, computers to get to the Internet, hybrid cars, rap music, cruise control, American Idol, MRIs, face transplants, CDs, FedEx, global warming, about 80 million new people, VHS or DVDs or HD or Tivo or DVR or home satellite dishes, body wash, digital clocks, Hannah Montana, smart cars, those tube things that suck the money holder things at the drive-thru at the bank, GPS, the "Moral Majority", text messaging, Fonzie, JJ Walker, George Foreman grills, karaoke, plastic shopping bags, Google, a black president...
I was born the Zodiac year of the horse in a small Kentucky town in a rural Catholic hospital. That's back when it was run by nuns in their full nun garb. I don't remember a thing about that day, but I do remember being back there when my little brother was born. Those sisters were bitter. It was a mission work that served lots and lots of families in the hills and hollows of the area. We lived in Richmond, which really wasn't a hill or a hollow, but it was only a half hour or so away and Mom liked the care she got from the sisterhood. So my very first breath was Catholic air.
On that day Lyndon Johnson lived in the White House. He was a Democrat. Ned Breathitt was my governor. He was a Democrat too.
The big international news on the day I was born was about Buddhists in South Vietnam protesting that the new government hadn't set a date for free elections. I'll bet Walter Cronkite didn't break in for that one.
1966 and MCMLXVI are one in the same. A lot happened that year.
Adam West was Batman. Star Trek started. So did Hollywood Squares, The Monkees and Mission Impossible. The Sound of Music was hitting big.
Man of La Mancha owned Broadway and the Tonys.
Frank Sinatra, Paul McCartney, the Mamas and the Papas, Ray Charles and Porter Wagoner racked up at the Grammys. Two days after I was born Elizabeth Taylor and Paul Scofield were crowned queen and king of the Oscars. The blowout movies were A Man For All Seasons and Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
My team, the Kentucky Wildcats, faced Texas Western for the NCAA basketball title in College Park, Maryland. UK Coach Adolph Rupp started five white guys. TX Western's Don Haskins started five black guys. The Miners beat the Cats by seven points. Sad for us UK fans, but great for African American athletes since the upset motivated colleges to start more aggressively recruiting racial minorities.
Depending on who you ask, Notre Dame was the school to beat on the football field. Baltimore was the World Series champ, Boston took the NBA, and Green Bay won the Super Bowl. (Vince Lombardi's third straight win!) Kauai King wore the Derby roses.
There were lots of famous people born in 1966. People like Patrick Dempsey, Cindy Crawford, Stephen Baldwin, Darius Rucker (Hootie & the Blowfish), Janet Jackson, Mike Tyson, Matthew Fox, Martina McBride, Halle Berry, Lee Ann Womack, Tim Hardaway, Adam Sandler, Curt Schilling, Troy Aikman, Sinead O'Conner, Kiefer Sutherland and Crazy Legs the Puerto Rican breakdancer.
Walt Disney died. (but Mickey lives!!) George Harrison and Patty Boyd tied the knot. Cassius Clay became Muhammad Ali and a Muslim. That evil Daylight Saving Time was instituted. That evil church of Satan was formed. The St. Louis Arch was opened. The National Organization for Women was founded. Ronald Reagan became CA governor. John Lennon says he's more famous than Jesus, then says he's not. The US Dept. of Transportation started up. The Grinch stole Christmas. Kwanzaa kicked off. The FDA said yes to the "Pill". (Not to be confused with the little blue one men take these days. The two do completely different things.) The Pope released Catholics to eat meat... except on Fridays. (I heard that somewhere.)
The US was $328.5 billion in the hole. A nickle would send a letter to any of the 196,560,338 documented peeps in the US. Out of every hundred workers, four and a half were jobless. $23,300 would get you a new house. A gallon of milk (.99) cost more than a gallon of gas (.32). If you had sixty cents you could own a dozen eggs.
In: mini skirts, bell bottoms, haircuts that didn't look like haircuts (men only), black power, Captain Kangaroo, flower children, the Temptations, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix, Cher (timeless!), astrology, the Vietnam War, anything Batman, LSD (same as anything Batman), the draft, The Beverly Hillbillies, Ouiji boards, hippies, party lines, the space race, Red Skelton, Lucy, Dick Van Dyke, the Smothers Brothers, Yogi Bear and Martin Luther King. Oh yeah, and Jerry Lewis started his Labor Day telethons.
Not yet: Cable TV, cell phones (or cordless for that matter), microwaves, The Internet, computers to get to the Internet, hybrid cars, rap music, cruise control, American Idol, MRIs, face transplants, CDs, FedEx, global warming, about 80 million new people, VHS or DVDs or HD or Tivo or DVR or home satellite dishes, body wash, digital clocks, Hannah Montana, smart cars, those tube things that suck the money holder things at the drive-thru at the bank, GPS, the "Moral Majority", text messaging, Fonzie, JJ Walker, George Foreman grills, karaoke, plastic shopping bags, Google, a black president...
4.07.2009
mark 9:38-40
John: Jesus! Jesus! You would've been proud of us. We saw this strange guy using your words to do miracles and round up converts. No worry though, we put a stop to it.
Jesus: Whadya stop him for?
John: He’s not one of us.
Jesus: But he’s not against us.
John: But he’s not one of us. He doesn’t look like us. He doesn’t talk like us. He doesn’t act like us.
Jesus: Is he supposed to?
John: Come on, Jesus. We don’t know anything about him. We don’t even know where he’s from. He might be preaching the wrong stuff. He might be using you just to make money. He might give you a bad rep. We’re already having it hard with the religious police.
Jesus: I’m not led by the legal opinions and hypocrisy of shallow spirits. They don’t get my stuff anyway.
John: We have to set some sort of rules. We can’t just let anybody get up and spout your name.
Jesus: Why not?
John: It’s bad for business. It confuses people. It just looks bad.
Jesus: Whatever made you think this was a business?
John: You know what I mean. He’s not in our group.
Jesus: That’s not for you to decide.
John: There has to be a standard.
Jesus: John, here’s the way I see it. I don’t care what your skin, your hair or your clothes look like. I don’t care how you talk, where you’re from, how important you are or if you’ve got talent. Famous people, common people, people big and small, bold and shy, jailed and free, old and young, I don’t care. I don’t care who you love, as long as you love me. I don’t care if a chauffeur gets you here or you ride the bus. Jeans, shorts, a suit and tie don’t even figure in. Doctors and drop outs fit in just fine. Believe me, in a few years there’ll be a million different pods of people getting together every week sure that they’ve figured all this stuff out. Most of them though will only accept a seat next to a look alike. Every one of them will be wrong about something. But I’m not concerned with their mistakes as long as they believe in me. As a matter of fact, the way I see it, whoever is not against us is for us.
Jesus: Whadya stop him for?
John: He’s not one of us.
Jesus: But he’s not against us.
John: But he’s not one of us. He doesn’t look like us. He doesn’t talk like us. He doesn’t act like us.
Jesus: Is he supposed to?
John: Come on, Jesus. We don’t know anything about him. We don’t even know where he’s from. He might be preaching the wrong stuff. He might be using you just to make money. He might give you a bad rep. We’re already having it hard with the religious police.
Jesus: I’m not led by the legal opinions and hypocrisy of shallow spirits. They don’t get my stuff anyway.
John: We have to set some sort of rules. We can’t just let anybody get up and spout your name.
Jesus: Why not?
John: It’s bad for business. It confuses people. It just looks bad.
Jesus: Whatever made you think this was a business?
John: You know what I mean. He’s not in our group.
Jesus: That’s not for you to decide.
John: There has to be a standard.
Jesus: John, here’s the way I see it. I don’t care what your skin, your hair or your clothes look like. I don’t care how you talk, where you’re from, how important you are or if you’ve got talent. Famous people, common people, people big and small, bold and shy, jailed and free, old and young, I don’t care. I don’t care who you love, as long as you love me. I don’t care if a chauffeur gets you here or you ride the bus. Jeans, shorts, a suit and tie don’t even figure in. Doctors and drop outs fit in just fine. Believe me, in a few years there’ll be a million different pods of people getting together every week sure that they’ve figured all this stuff out. Most of them though will only accept a seat next to a look alike. Every one of them will be wrong about something. But I’m not concerned with their mistakes as long as they believe in me. As a matter of fact, the way I see it, whoever is not against us is for us.
3.31.2009
fisching
I've been a fan of John Fischer for a long time now. He sings and writes and composes and thinks out loud, all in profound ways. John sends out an email every morning that seems to say the thing I need to hear. Sometimes it tickles, sometimes is pinches. Sometimes it just nudges. If you get the chance, go to www.fischtank.com and sign up for the "Catch of the Day."
This poem was in John's catch today. He's not sure who wrote it, so he doesn't attribute it to anyone in particular. I'll thank him for sharing it.
I was shocked, confused, bewildered
As I entered Heaven's door,
Not by the beauty of it all,
Nor the lights, or its decor.
But it was the folks in Heaven
Who made me sputter and gasp--
The thieves, the liars, the sinners,
The alcoholics, and the trash.
There stood the kid from seventh grade
Who swiped my lunch money twice.
Next to him was my old neighbor
Who never said anything nice.
Herb, who I always thought
Was rotting away in hell,
Was sitting pretty on cloud nine,
Looking incredibly well.
I nudged Jesus, 'What's the deal?
I would love to hear Your take.
How'd all these sinners get up here?
God must've made a mistake.
"And why's everyone so quiet,
So somber - give me a clue."
"Hush, child,' He said, "they're all in shock.
No one thought they'd be seeing you."
This poem was in John's catch today. He's not sure who wrote it, so he doesn't attribute it to anyone in particular. I'll thank him for sharing it.
I was shocked, confused, bewildered
As I entered Heaven's door,
Not by the beauty of it all,
Nor the lights, or its decor.
But it was the folks in Heaven
Who made me sputter and gasp--
The thieves, the liars, the sinners,
The alcoholics, and the trash.
There stood the kid from seventh grade
Who swiped my lunch money twice.
Next to him was my old neighbor
Who never said anything nice.
Herb, who I always thought
Was rotting away in hell,
Was sitting pretty on cloud nine,
Looking incredibly well.
I nudged Jesus, 'What's the deal?
I would love to hear Your take.
How'd all these sinners get up here?
God must've made a mistake.
"And why's everyone so quiet,
So somber - give me a clue."
"Hush, child,' He said, "they're all in shock.
No one thought they'd be seeing you."
3.27.2009
a.m. drive time thinking
Ok, this black Audi has been promising to turn for about five miles now.
Yay! Adam Lambert is still alive on Idol!! If I could sing like that... If I could move like that...
I'm surprised that anybody is surprised to learn their political peeps are accepting cash from the bailout beneficiaries.
Note to self: buy more bananas... and apples... and grapes... and toothpaste... and batteries. Ok, I'd better leave myself a voicemail. What else do I need?
I've gotta get back to my workout tonight, but I'm still so stiff and sore from the last one. I will workout. I WILL workout. I WILL WORKOUT. (to myself)
DUDE! IF YOU'RE GONNA DRIVE IN THE FAST LANE, DRIVE FAST!!!!
I'm so embarrassed... Did I just scream that out loud?
hummmmmm..... la la la la...... One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight! Schlemiel, Schlimazel, Hasenpfeffer Incorporated... (in my head)
Why were those crazy girls skipping down the street - in the rain? Why were they singing Yiddish? (out loud)
Michael crawling across the Dunder Mifflin floor was hilarious!
Ok, people are staring. Prolly wondering why I'm laughing. That Michael!
Note to self: see if "The Office" tweets.
TURN ALREADY!!!
Did I take my vitamin?
The gym tonight... YOU can do it. You CAN do it. You can DO IT. (to myself)
They're asking WHAT for Jonas Brothers tickets? (to no one in particular)
Poor North Dakota. God, you know their stuff. Please provide for them. Thanks a bunch.
I shoulda done the bathroom thing before I left the house.
Guess I'll find out if I took my vitamin when I get to work.
It looks like the Dems are at liberty to speed across I-64 now. Two years ago it was the Repubs. The bumper stickers give it away. Guess who's governor now.
Oh man! I meant to call Christian before he got to school this morning.
I need a truck load of mulch.
Wish I had a truck.
Did I bring my gym shoes?
Whoa! What's that smell???
Yeah, gym shoes in the back.
Why won't this window go down?
Note to self: pay electric bill.
Note to self: make dentist appointment. aaaagggghhhhh...
I think I want to see Altar Boyz when I get to the city.
His tags are expired.
Does anybody think the university is going to fire Billy G. 'til the big tourney is over?
Did I feed the dog?
Why is every comment on the newspaper's web site so cynical and angry?
Oh man! This is casual day...
Is Greg's party tonight or tomorrow night?
I wish everyone had this Isaacs music. Wish I could sing and write like that.
She shouldn't be texting and driving.
Gotta cut back on some things. Think I'll let the Singing News and Met Home subs expire.
Lord, help Billie get a job. Thanks a bunch.
No. That doesn't smell like gym shoes...
ring... ring... Uh, should I take his call or not? I'm heading into a dead spot. I'll call him later.
Note to self: call Jeff later.
Note to self: text Jeff to let him know you'll call him later.
Ooh. I've not done MySpace in a long time. Bet my stuff is stacked to the cyber ceiling.
Wish I had some Advil.
Wish Starbucks had a key-fob card thingy.
I really, really wish I had time to stop at that rest area.
Which side of the fence is that cow on?
Wonder if anybody's found a way to make my Twitter updates be Facebook and Myspace updates too? That would be so cool.
Note to self: google the twitter thing.
Did I call Owen back?
Was that my exit?
Yay! Adam Lambert is still alive on Idol!! If I could sing like that... If I could move like that...
I'm surprised that anybody is surprised to learn their political peeps are accepting cash from the bailout beneficiaries.
Note to self: buy more bananas... and apples... and grapes... and toothpaste... and batteries. Ok, I'd better leave myself a voicemail. What else do I need?
I've gotta get back to my workout tonight, but I'm still so stiff and sore from the last one. I will workout. I WILL workout. I WILL WORKOUT. (to myself)
DUDE! IF YOU'RE GONNA DRIVE IN THE FAST LANE, DRIVE FAST!!!!
I'm so embarrassed... Did I just scream that out loud?
hummmmmm..... la la la la...... One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight! Schlemiel, Schlimazel, Hasenpfeffer Incorporated... (in my head)
Why were those crazy girls skipping down the street - in the rain? Why were they singing Yiddish? (out loud)
Michael crawling across the Dunder Mifflin floor was hilarious!
Ok, people are staring. Prolly wondering why I'm laughing. That Michael!
Note to self: see if "The Office" tweets.
TURN ALREADY!!!
Did I take my vitamin?
The gym tonight... YOU can do it. You CAN do it. You can DO IT. (to myself)
They're asking WHAT for Jonas Brothers tickets? (to no one in particular)
Poor North Dakota. God, you know their stuff. Please provide for them. Thanks a bunch.
I shoulda done the bathroom thing before I left the house.
Guess I'll find out if I took my vitamin when I get to work.
It looks like the Dems are at liberty to speed across I-64 now. Two years ago it was the Repubs. The bumper stickers give it away. Guess who's governor now.
Oh man! I meant to call Christian before he got to school this morning.
I need a truck load of mulch.
Wish I had a truck.
Did I bring my gym shoes?
Whoa! What's that smell???
Yeah, gym shoes in the back.
Why won't this window go down?
Note to self: pay electric bill.
Note to self: make dentist appointment. aaaagggghhhhh...
I think I want to see Altar Boyz when I get to the city.
His tags are expired.
Does anybody think the university is going to fire Billy G. 'til the big tourney is over?
Did I feed the dog?
Why is every comment on the newspaper's web site so cynical and angry?
Oh man! This is casual day...
Is Greg's party tonight or tomorrow night?
I wish everyone had this Isaacs music. Wish I could sing and write like that.
She shouldn't be texting and driving.
Gotta cut back on some things. Think I'll let the Singing News and Met Home subs expire.
Lord, help Billie get a job. Thanks a bunch.
No. That doesn't smell like gym shoes...
ring... ring... Uh, should I take his call or not? I'm heading into a dead spot. I'll call him later.
Note to self: call Jeff later.
Note to self: text Jeff to let him know you'll call him later.
Ooh. I've not done MySpace in a long time. Bet my stuff is stacked to the cyber ceiling.
Wish I had some Advil.
Wish Starbucks had a key-fob card thingy.
I really, really wish I had time to stop at that rest area.
Which side of the fence is that cow on?
Wonder if anybody's found a way to make my Twitter updates be Facebook and Myspace updates too? That would be so cool.
Note to self: google the twitter thing.
Did I call Owen back?
Was that my exit?
3.24.2009
for real
I'm perfect. Except for the unhealthy habits, I'm perfect. Well, there is the mood thing and my tendency to watch too much TV. But other than that, I'm perfect. Oh, and I've told a little white lie or two, and didn't return the too-much-change the cashier gave me. But for the sake of credibility I'm still perfect. I have yet to pay my pledge to Jerry's kids. If you don't count my oft spiritual laziness or that I've been known to wear a pair of socks for two, maybe three days; ignoring the sudden words when I stumped my toe, and disregarding the three minutes I parked in the handicapped spot, forgetting about the despicable thoughts I enjoyed when I saw THAT person and the delicious ones when that one strolled by... If you'll turn your head please, I'd like to "share" with someone. Still, it's important for you to know that I'm perfect.
Several weeks ago I was singing in Arkansas. Not to be a rebel or anything, I usually don't do the coat and tie thing when I perform these days - unless the occasion calls for it of course. This was an occasion. Black suit (slimming) with a white shirt, black belt, shoes, socks and tie. I spent lots of time and worked very hard to put on my performing perfection, and I looked dapper, not so much as piece of lint. No one would've known there was a flaw had I not confessed. It was well hidden, and could've been a secret for my grave, except I admitted it.
For a lot of years, when I depended on the crowds to feed me and my family, I chose my admissions. People don't buy tickets to funerals, interventions, confessions or pity parties. Besides, this was good news music we were putting out there; happy, sin-stopping stuff. If we're singing the Gospel we have to display it properly. We have to put it on and wear it like a model on a runway - perfect body, perfect fit, perfect walk. Who would believe us if we didn't look the perfect part? Our public won't allow us to sell the solution to sin if they think we're vulnerable to it. We're not qualified to point the way to a good and holy life if we don't at least appear to have attained it, and completely. Honestly though, even doctors get sick.
I may disappoint some folks here, and may even lose a few friends, but I wasn't then, and I'm not now the super spiritual man of God I appeared to be. Not that I didn't and don't love, seek and study Him. I do. But I'll confess to you just as I did to the folks in Arkansas: My hair was styled. My suit was pressed. My tie was straight. My shirt was starched. But inside my shiny leather shoe, where you couldn't see it and a professional would be forced to hide it, was a hole. My sock had a hole in it. Had I taken off my shoe you could've seen it, but the whole look would've been ruined. People don't admire and often disregard the better parts when they can see the flaw. And that's too bad, 'cause we have a lot of not-so-perfect people out there singing and preaching it who, for the sake of success, can't admit it. They dare not take off their shoes. Politicians too.
I'm not all bad, but I'll tell you that my list up top is pretty abbreviated. Sometimes I'm selfish. I drink too much coffee and don't always eat right. I cheat on the treadmill when my trainer isn't looking. This past Sunday I cut off an old guy who was moving way too slow. I ran a red light just yesterday and I ate a grape long after I dropped it. You can ask, but I don't plan to get much more personal than that. Except to say that sometimes I lie when people ask me how old I am.
Several weeks ago I was singing in Arkansas. Not to be a rebel or anything, I usually don't do the coat and tie thing when I perform these days - unless the occasion calls for it of course. This was an occasion. Black suit (slimming) with a white shirt, black belt, shoes, socks and tie. I spent lots of time and worked very hard to put on my performing perfection, and I looked dapper, not so much as piece of lint. No one would've known there was a flaw had I not confessed. It was well hidden, and could've been a secret for my grave, except I admitted it.
For a lot of years, when I depended on the crowds to feed me and my family, I chose my admissions. People don't buy tickets to funerals, interventions, confessions or pity parties. Besides, this was good news music we were putting out there; happy, sin-stopping stuff. If we're singing the Gospel we have to display it properly. We have to put it on and wear it like a model on a runway - perfect body, perfect fit, perfect walk. Who would believe us if we didn't look the perfect part? Our public won't allow us to sell the solution to sin if they think we're vulnerable to it. We're not qualified to point the way to a good and holy life if we don't at least appear to have attained it, and completely. Honestly though, even doctors get sick.
I may disappoint some folks here, and may even lose a few friends, but I wasn't then, and I'm not now the super spiritual man of God I appeared to be. Not that I didn't and don't love, seek and study Him. I do. But I'll confess to you just as I did to the folks in Arkansas: My hair was styled. My suit was pressed. My tie was straight. My shirt was starched. But inside my shiny leather shoe, where you couldn't see it and a professional would be forced to hide it, was a hole. My sock had a hole in it. Had I taken off my shoe you could've seen it, but the whole look would've been ruined. People don't admire and often disregard the better parts when they can see the flaw. And that's too bad, 'cause we have a lot of not-so-perfect people out there singing and preaching it who, for the sake of success, can't admit it. They dare not take off their shoes. Politicians too.
I'm not all bad, but I'll tell you that my list up top is pretty abbreviated. Sometimes I'm selfish. I drink too much coffee and don't always eat right. I cheat on the treadmill when my trainer isn't looking. This past Sunday I cut off an old guy who was moving way too slow. I ran a red light just yesterday and I ate a grape long after I dropped it. You can ask, but I don't plan to get much more personal than that. Except to say that sometimes I lie when people ask me how old I am.
3.23.2009
the original
George was a happy man. I'm not sold on the reincarnation thing, but I've heard so many stories about my grandpa and his antics, and everyone I know who knew him well tells me that I must've taken up his mantle. I do feel an especially close kinship to the one grandparent I never knew. There were times in my younger life when I'd do something ridiculously zany, and really should've gotten at least a good scolding out of it, but Dad or someone who had known Grandpa would say, "That's exactly what Happy would do." My grandpa's nick was Happy. That tells you a lot right there. His tombstone even says it: George "Happy" Bishop 1905-1964.
I had the chance to spend a good part of the day with my parents this past Saturday. I always enjoy being with them, and it's even nicer when I have them all to myself. It's fun when the whole family is around, but talk-time with the folks isn't as personal or deep when lots of voices are chiming in. I get to ask questions when it's just me and them, questions I wouldn't ask if others were in the room. We got out the old photo albums and walked backwards for a while.
My dad grew up poor. I found an old picture of the whole Bishop clan when most of them were young. They were standing in front of an old car, all of them looking angry or disinterested, except Happy of course. They weren't dirty, but they weren't dressed for a party either. There were eight mouths to feed when there was no company in the house, and for a meat-and-potatoes family, that meant lots of starch-only meals. Dad told me of walking past the cafeteria when he was a kid and watching the other kids eat. Catching aromas and glimpses was about all he could afford. I get hungry about thirty minutes after breakfast. I don't know how managed.
Although Grandpa Bishop was a hard worker, the need to help make ends meet made it necessary for Dad to drop out of school. Later though, when he met his love, he decided he was going to make a better home for her. He found he had a chance to do something about his lot in life, so he did it. He went to a technical school and learned a trade. Kenneth and Shirley got married, started a family, and created a loving, stable, responsible environment that fostered singing and playing, enouraged ingenuity and prayer.
I wish I'd been able to meet my Grandpa Bishop. To this day I hear from folks who tell me what a character he was. I'm right proud to have inherited his personality. Dad can be funny too, he's just not very loud about it. One thing he is though is consistent. I have lots of traits that I'd gladly trade for some of his gentleness and spirit. I don't want to take it from him though, too many people rely on him. They have been for sixty-five years now, as of today. Happy b'day Dad!
I had the chance to spend a good part of the day with my parents this past Saturday. I always enjoy being with them, and it's even nicer when I have them all to myself. It's fun when the whole family is around, but talk-time with the folks isn't as personal or deep when lots of voices are chiming in. I get to ask questions when it's just me and them, questions I wouldn't ask if others were in the room. We got out the old photo albums and walked backwards for a while.
My dad grew up poor. I found an old picture of the whole Bishop clan when most of them were young. They were standing in front of an old car, all of them looking angry or disinterested, except Happy of course. They weren't dirty, but they weren't dressed for a party either. There were eight mouths to feed when there was no company in the house, and for a meat-and-potatoes family, that meant lots of starch-only meals. Dad told me of walking past the cafeteria when he was a kid and watching the other kids eat. Catching aromas and glimpses was about all he could afford. I get hungry about thirty minutes after breakfast. I don't know how managed.
Although Grandpa Bishop was a hard worker, the need to help make ends meet made it necessary for Dad to drop out of school. Later though, when he met his love, he decided he was going to make a better home for her. He found he had a chance to do something about his lot in life, so he did it. He went to a technical school and learned a trade. Kenneth and Shirley got married, started a family, and created a loving, stable, responsible environment that fostered singing and playing, enouraged ingenuity and prayer.
I wish I'd been able to meet my Grandpa Bishop. To this day I hear from folks who tell me what a character he was. I'm right proud to have inherited his personality. Dad can be funny too, he's just not very loud about it. One thing he is though is consistent. I have lots of traits that I'd gladly trade for some of his gentleness and spirit. I don't want to take it from him though, too many people rely on him. They have been for sixty-five years now, as of today. Happy b'day Dad!
3.17.2009
for pat's sake!
I'm all about a parade. Besides Mom's turkey with stuffing, sweet potato casserole and jam cake, my favorite part of T'day is the parade(s) - the cool floats and big balloons, the singers lip-syncing in front of Macy's and Santa Baby bringing up Christmas at the end. That's a sweet part of life that I look forward to every November.
I don't remember as a kid waking up on St. Patrick's Day anxious about a parade. Maybe I had no clue there was such a thing. Maybe I was ignorant to how significant the day was for some folks. Besides, what did short, green men with red beards - Leprechauns or Martians or something - bring that Santa didn't? Like Jesus, at least the big, jolly man is an American. (uh...) Their little outfits are kinda tart though. Love the shoes!!
There's even a little bit of a fight going on about which city actually put on the first Irish pride parade. New York says they did it. Boston says theirs was not only the first one in the U.S., it was the first one in the world! Somebody in Ireland oughta check that out. Seems like a smack down to me. From what I saw in Lexington tonight I don't think we have a dog in that fight.
I didn't realize how many Irish pubs and hangouts there are in my town until I saw all the pods of people clustered on the sidewalks. Downtown, just across the street from the big courthouses is Molly Brookes Irish Bar. Molly's is one of the city's favs, and getting in tonight would've been a task. Sorta like the day after Christmas at Kmart.
I'm told I have some Irish blood in me from my mom's mom's side. Looking back, I can see it. For some reason though, cultural allegiance was never reinforced in me as a kid. That's prolly because I have such a mutt-mix thing going on, and it could be why I walked past Molly's earlier tonight. A Taste of Thai is just around the corner and that was my mood. I don't think I have an Asian branch on my tree, but I wouldn't be upset (or surprised) to learn I did. I think Kwanzaa is cool too. More questions...
We wanted a seat outside, but it didn't happen. A table in the front window was perfect though for looking at people. I love people watching, and sitting inside meant we weren't being stared at by the people sitting inside who stare at the people who are outside. I don't like being stared at. I'm a hypocrite that way. The weather was gorgeous, so there were lots of characters out and about. Most everyone who passed our way was doing green in some form. Green shirts, green shorts, green hats, green hair, green faces, green beer, green lips (yep), green shoes. I was greenless. I felt ashamed that I'd snubbed the holiday, although not on purpose. My friends and I weren't trying, but it was hard to ignore the occasion.
Then, off in the distance, we heard the sound of all St. Paddy sounds. Did I mention I love a parade? I had no idea our city held a St. Patrick's Day parade. I didn't notice any streets blocked off or super-large crowds gathering on Main Street. That's usually where we hold parades. Our little table in the Lexington branch of the Thailand embassy was in a good spot to take it in. So, as the strains of "My Old Kentucky Home" got gradually louder, I got a little anxious. A surprise parade!! (BTW, evidently there's one note in our state song that bagpipes aren't equipped to make.)
I noticed lots of people from Molly's and some of the other restaurants and bars moving toward the street. About 22 seconds later they all went back. That was it!? About two dozen people in pretty kilts, hats and boots, a few on the pipes, a couple twirling batons and a handful of drums. No wonder I didn't see any TV coverage.
I admire the guys in the band. Although they should be proud of what they do, I'm sure it's not always easy to inject into a conversation, "I play the bagpipes," much less march down Main Street Kentucky in last century's Irish fashion and be the only band/float/horse/firetruck in the parade. There wasn't even a police escort.
Spring rolls done, bill paid, me and my friends strolled on down the street to catch up on the celebration with Irish coffee and deep-dish cookies. A Catholic, European holiday in a South-Midwestern city is a good enough reason to indulge.
I don't remember as a kid waking up on St. Patrick's Day anxious about a parade. Maybe I had no clue there was such a thing. Maybe I was ignorant to how significant the day was for some folks. Besides, what did short, green men with red beards - Leprechauns or Martians or something - bring that Santa didn't? Like Jesus, at least the big, jolly man is an American. (uh...) Their little outfits are kinda tart though. Love the shoes!!
There's even a little bit of a fight going on about which city actually put on the first Irish pride parade. New York says they did it. Boston says theirs was not only the first one in the U.S., it was the first one in the world! Somebody in Ireland oughta check that out. Seems like a smack down to me. From what I saw in Lexington tonight I don't think we have a dog in that fight.
I didn't realize how many Irish pubs and hangouts there are in my town until I saw all the pods of people clustered on the sidewalks. Downtown, just across the street from the big courthouses is Molly Brookes Irish Bar. Molly's is one of the city's favs, and getting in tonight would've been a task. Sorta like the day after Christmas at Kmart.
I'm told I have some Irish blood in me from my mom's mom's side. Looking back, I can see it. For some reason though, cultural allegiance was never reinforced in me as a kid. That's prolly because I have such a mutt-mix thing going on, and it could be why I walked past Molly's earlier tonight. A Taste of Thai is just around the corner and that was my mood. I don't think I have an Asian branch on my tree, but I wouldn't be upset (or surprised) to learn I did. I think Kwanzaa is cool too. More questions...
We wanted a seat outside, but it didn't happen. A table in the front window was perfect though for looking at people. I love people watching, and sitting inside meant we weren't being stared at by the people sitting inside who stare at the people who are outside. I don't like being stared at. I'm a hypocrite that way. The weather was gorgeous, so there were lots of characters out and about. Most everyone who passed our way was doing green in some form. Green shirts, green shorts, green hats, green hair, green faces, green beer, green lips (yep), green shoes. I was greenless. I felt ashamed that I'd snubbed the holiday, although not on purpose. My friends and I weren't trying, but it was hard to ignore the occasion.
Then, off in the distance, we heard the sound of all St. Paddy sounds. Did I mention I love a parade? I had no idea our city held a St. Patrick's Day parade. I didn't notice any streets blocked off or super-large crowds gathering on Main Street. That's usually where we hold parades. Our little table in the Lexington branch of the Thailand embassy was in a good spot to take it in. So, as the strains of "My Old Kentucky Home" got gradually louder, I got a little anxious. A surprise parade!! (BTW, evidently there's one note in our state song that bagpipes aren't equipped to make.)
I noticed lots of people from Molly's and some of the other restaurants and bars moving toward the street. About 22 seconds later they all went back. That was it!? About two dozen people in pretty kilts, hats and boots, a few on the pipes, a couple twirling batons and a handful of drums. No wonder I didn't see any TV coverage.
I admire the guys in the band. Although they should be proud of what they do, I'm sure it's not always easy to inject into a conversation, "I play the bagpipes," much less march down Main Street Kentucky in last century's Irish fashion and be the only band/float/horse/firetruck in the parade. There wasn't even a police escort.
Spring rolls done, bill paid, me and my friends strolled on down the street to catch up on the celebration with Irish coffee and deep-dish cookies. A Catholic, European holiday in a South-Midwestern city is a good enough reason to indulge.
3.14.2009
a resolution
On March 13, 2009 the Senate of the Commonwealth of Kentucky unanimously passed Senate Resolution 156. It reads as follows:
A RESOLUTION memorializing Angela Sue Cox and adjourning the Senate in her loving memory and honor.
WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox was a native daughter of the Commonwealth of Kentucky, raised in Hindman in Knott County; and
WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox knew the value of a good education and was a tenacious student attending Bethel Christian Academy, Alice Lloyd College, and the University of Kentucky; and
WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox dedicated her career to public service working for United States Congressman Ernie Fletcher handling myriad and diverse concerns on all topics from the thousands of constituents he represented. She took this task very seriously working each concern, simple and complex alike, with precision, earnestness, and dedication; and
WHEREAS, proving herself an able assistant to Congressman Fletcher, Angela Sue Cox continued her services to the citizens of the Commonwealth under the administration of Governor Ernie Fletcher, again addressing concerns of the citizens of the Commonwealth; and
WHEREAS, realizing her value to his administration, Governor Fletcher invested even more responsibility and trust in her efforts and capabilities and appointed Angela Sue Cox the Director of Scheduling for his office -- a position which demanded the utmost organization, diplomacy, intelligence, and commitment; and
WHEREAS, in the position of Director of Scheduling, Angela Sue Cox proved herself worthy of Governor Fletcher's trust, as she worked with the State Police in ensuring the security and well-being of the Governor, and with the National Guard in ensuring that the Governor arrived safely in his many travels within and without the bounds of the Commonwealth; and
WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox was known for her beautiful, sonorous voice whether she was singing to open one of the many official events she was asked to grace with her voice, or was praising God; and
WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox not only dedicated her life to public service, she dedicated herself to God and was a faithful attendee of the Bethel Harvest Church in Lexington, Kentucky; and
WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox was loved and respected by her many friends and family, to whom she was ever constant and generous with her own love, respect, time, and gifts; and
WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox was the loving and beloved daughter of Jesse Cox and Peggy Cox; the loving and beloved sister of Marcia Stamper and Beth Ann Cox; and the loving and beloved aunt of Curtis Cox and James Darby Stamper; and
WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox was the loving and beloved stepdaughter of Treba Cox; and
WHEREAS, on March 10, 2009, Angela Sue Cox began her Heavenly sojourn, her kindness, love, and angelic voice a perfect fit for her Heavenly home;
NOW, THEREFORE,
Be it resolved by the Senate of the General Assembly of the Commonwealth of Kentucky:
The Senate does hereby express its most profound sense of sorrow and proffers its sincerest condolences to the family and friends of Angela Sue Cox on the event of her passing.
The Senate affirms that in her time on this Earth, Angela Sue Cox's good works have benefited the citizens within and without the border of the Commonwealth of Kentucky. The Senate furthermore affirms that Angela Sue Cox's good humor, kindness, gracious spirit, and generosity will resonate, as did her beautiful voice, in the hearts and minds of her friends, family, and others fortunate to have made her acquaintance, for many years to come.
When the Senate adjourns this day, it does so in loving memory and honor of Angela Sue Cox.
A RESOLUTION memorializing Angela Sue Cox and adjourning the Senate in her loving memory and honor.
WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox was a native daughter of the Commonwealth of Kentucky, raised in Hindman in Knott County; and
WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox knew the value of a good education and was a tenacious student attending Bethel Christian Academy, Alice Lloyd College, and the University of Kentucky; and
WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox dedicated her career to public service working for United States Congressman Ernie Fletcher handling myriad and diverse concerns on all topics from the thousands of constituents he represented. She took this task very seriously working each concern, simple and complex alike, with precision, earnestness, and dedication; and
WHEREAS, proving herself an able assistant to Congressman Fletcher, Angela Sue Cox continued her services to the citizens of the Commonwealth under the administration of Governor Ernie Fletcher, again addressing concerns of the citizens of the Commonwealth; and
WHEREAS, realizing her value to his administration, Governor Fletcher invested even more responsibility and trust in her efforts and capabilities and appointed Angela Sue Cox the Director of Scheduling for his office -- a position which demanded the utmost organization, diplomacy, intelligence, and commitment; and
WHEREAS, in the position of Director of Scheduling, Angela Sue Cox proved herself worthy of Governor Fletcher's trust, as she worked with the State Police in ensuring the security and well-being of the Governor, and with the National Guard in ensuring that the Governor arrived safely in his many travels within and without the bounds of the Commonwealth; and
WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox was known for her beautiful, sonorous voice whether she was singing to open one of the many official events she was asked to grace with her voice, or was praising God; and
WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox not only dedicated her life to public service, she dedicated herself to God and was a faithful attendee of the Bethel Harvest Church in Lexington, Kentucky; and
WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox was loved and respected by her many friends and family, to whom she was ever constant and generous with her own love, respect, time, and gifts; and
WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox was the loving and beloved daughter of Jesse Cox and Peggy Cox; the loving and beloved sister of Marcia Stamper and Beth Ann Cox; and the loving and beloved aunt of Curtis Cox and James Darby Stamper; and
WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox was the loving and beloved stepdaughter of Treba Cox; and
WHEREAS, on March 10, 2009, Angela Sue Cox began her Heavenly sojourn, her kindness, love, and angelic voice a perfect fit for her Heavenly home;
NOW, THEREFORE,
Be it resolved by the Senate of the General Assembly of the Commonwealth of Kentucky:
The Senate does hereby express its most profound sense of sorrow and proffers its sincerest condolences to the family and friends of Angela Sue Cox on the event of her passing.
The Senate affirms that in her time on this Earth, Angela Sue Cox's good works have benefited the citizens within and without the border of the Commonwealth of Kentucky. The Senate furthermore affirms that Angela Sue Cox's good humor, kindness, gracious spirit, and generosity will resonate, as did her beautiful voice, in the hearts and minds of her friends, family, and others fortunate to have made her acquaintance, for many years to come.
When the Senate adjourns this day, it does so in loving memory and honor of Angela Sue Cox.
3.13.2009
angelic angela
I'd never been in my congressman's office before. I was a little nervous, although I learned about ten seconds inside the door that I had no real reason to be. The young lady at the front desk was pleasant and welcoming. Everyone I encountered was warm. I was being introduced as a new colleague, the timid new guy. Then I met Angela.
"Oh my goodness!" she said. "I know you. I have your music. I love your music. You're Kenny Bishop!" From then until our last conversation much of our talk centered around our mutual love of Gospel music. Whenever she heard a new song or discovered a new artist I'd usually get a call right away. When she became a new fan, she became a fanatic. As much as she crushed on the music and the music maker, her love was more for the Gospel than anything else.
Every constituent of Congressman Ernie Fletcher who was able to secure Angela's help for their concern was fortunate indeed. The calls that come into an elected officials office are often emotional, sometimes angry, and occasionally desperate. People don't tend to call their congressman as a first resort. Angela dealt with every case as though her own mother were on the other end. She took them personally and sacredly. If the resolution wasn't as good as hoped, she often commiserated, sometimes with tears.
Angela was the unofficial-official singer in the Sixth Congressional District office. When an event with the congressman required a voice and a song, she was the go-to girl. That particular district is one of the more historic ones in the nation. When a book was released detailing the history of the "Henry Clay District," Angela had the distinct honor of singing "The National Anthem" at the release ceremony in Mr. Clay's own back yard. I was there that day and smiled for her, even though I was a little envious. She knocked us out with her amazing rendition.
When the congressman became the governor Angela went to the state capitol. She continued to field calls from constituents for a while, a job that requires thick skin and lots of patience. As difficult as that work was, she really stepped into it when she transferred to the main desk in the governor's scheduling and travel office. There are very likely few more high-pressure government positions than that of the governor's chief scheduler. The demands, threats and subterfuge are loud and clear every day. The intense requirement of intricate detail is a constant dynamic that changes by the minute. The governor's safety and efficiency is always the top consideration. When so many others would be wringing hands and pulling hair, Angela was singing. With incredible grace, she smiled and she sang.
Ever since I met her we said we were going to sing together one day. Lots of days came and went before we finally had the opportunity. It was at the Governor's Mansion, and the occasion was Christmas when we stood at the piano and worked our voices together. The texture and the harmony were sweet and complimentary. I don't know if we got the words right, but we made a moment. I don't remember who else was in the room, but I know Angela was. You always knew when Angela was in the room.
Several weeks ago I was at a party when I got the call that Angela's house had caught fire, and thanks to a brave man who learned she was trapped, she was pulled from the smoke and flames. The local news covered the story, and as far as the world knew Angela was a survivor on her way to recovery. Those of us who were closer though learned through constant updates that her injuries were more serious, many of her treatments were not working and the infections were increasingly uncontrollable. Some days brought good news and we smiled. Other times we worried. We prayed hard for Angela's healing and just as hard for her family's strength.
A few weeks ago I had a chance to stop in to see Angela. The hour was late and the attendant was kind, but getting back to her room was not possible. I wanted to see her mother too, but she had left for the day. She'd been staying at her daughter's side for weeks, and certainly needed to rest. Peggy is another beautiful lady who was generous in passing her hearty laugh and gentle spirit on to her daughter.
This past Tuesday we all got the call that we dreaded but began to expect. It had been since before the fire that Angela was able to use her voice. At about a second past 6:15 PM she sang again.
"Oh my goodness!" she said. "I know you. I have your music. I love your music. You're Kenny Bishop!" From then until our last conversation much of our talk centered around our mutual love of Gospel music. Whenever she heard a new song or discovered a new artist I'd usually get a call right away. When she became a new fan, she became a fanatic. As much as she crushed on the music and the music maker, her love was more for the Gospel than anything else.
Every constituent of Congressman Ernie Fletcher who was able to secure Angela's help for their concern was fortunate indeed. The calls that come into an elected officials office are often emotional, sometimes angry, and occasionally desperate. People don't tend to call their congressman as a first resort. Angela dealt with every case as though her own mother were on the other end. She took them personally and sacredly. If the resolution wasn't as good as hoped, she often commiserated, sometimes with tears.
Angela was the unofficial-official singer in the Sixth Congressional District office. When an event with the congressman required a voice and a song, she was the go-to girl. That particular district is one of the more historic ones in the nation. When a book was released detailing the history of the "Henry Clay District," Angela had the distinct honor of singing "The National Anthem" at the release ceremony in Mr. Clay's own back yard. I was there that day and smiled for her, even though I was a little envious. She knocked us out with her amazing rendition.
When the congressman became the governor Angela went to the state capitol. She continued to field calls from constituents for a while, a job that requires thick skin and lots of patience. As difficult as that work was, she really stepped into it when she transferred to the main desk in the governor's scheduling and travel office. There are very likely few more high-pressure government positions than that of the governor's chief scheduler. The demands, threats and subterfuge are loud and clear every day. The intense requirement of intricate detail is a constant dynamic that changes by the minute. The governor's safety and efficiency is always the top consideration. When so many others would be wringing hands and pulling hair, Angela was singing. With incredible grace, she smiled and she sang.
Ever since I met her we said we were going to sing together one day. Lots of days came and went before we finally had the opportunity. It was at the Governor's Mansion, and the occasion was Christmas when we stood at the piano and worked our voices together. The texture and the harmony were sweet and complimentary. I don't know if we got the words right, but we made a moment. I don't remember who else was in the room, but I know Angela was. You always knew when Angela was in the room.
Several weeks ago I was at a party when I got the call that Angela's house had caught fire, and thanks to a brave man who learned she was trapped, she was pulled from the smoke and flames. The local news covered the story, and as far as the world knew Angela was a survivor on her way to recovery. Those of us who were closer though learned through constant updates that her injuries were more serious, many of her treatments were not working and the infections were increasingly uncontrollable. Some days brought good news and we smiled. Other times we worried. We prayed hard for Angela's healing and just as hard for her family's strength.
A few weeks ago I had a chance to stop in to see Angela. The hour was late and the attendant was kind, but getting back to her room was not possible. I wanted to see her mother too, but she had left for the day. She'd been staying at her daughter's side for weeks, and certainly needed to rest. Peggy is another beautiful lady who was generous in passing her hearty laugh and gentle spirit on to her daughter.
This past Tuesday we all got the call that we dreaded but began to expect. It had been since before the fire that Angela was able to use her voice. At about a second past 6:15 PM she sang again.
3.10.2009
a swell place in africa
Go ahead, ask me about Swaziland. I'm prepared. I know more about the people, the government and the culture of the tiny south African nation than I imagined I would this time last month. Know where it is? Neither did I. Get your map out and find Africa, the continent. Go south to the big country of South Africa, then look for what might be confused as a lake in the northeast edge. There it is, a small, land-locked nation tucked right up against the southwestern tip of Mozambique.
One of the really great things about my job at the state capitol is preparing for and hosting dignitaries and other VIPs when they visit with us. A few weeks ago it was parliamentarians from Croatia. This week we had a blast entertaining and hanging with several big time officials from the Kingdom of Swaziland. I have to tell you, I sorta got attached to them.
Nearly every foreign delegation that visits us here is escorted by a member of the US State Department. This gives us an opportunity to gauge our hosting skills against some of the other states that participate. We want to do things right, and we certainly want our guests to go back to their parts of the world saying Kentucky was one of their favs. We hear often that we do a good job with the southern hospitality.
As old, old, old as it is, Swaziland has only been independent of Great Britain since 1968, and is ruled by a king. He rules it too. He picks the prime minister, many of the members of the parliament and all of the judges in the courts. The rest of the legislature is made up of elected members. One thing that's cool about the Swazi government is the requirement that thirty percent of their delegates be women. Way to go Swazigirl!
Swazi life is pretty much what we'd expect. It's arid and warm there, often hot. Agriculture is mostly for self-subsistence, although the farmers there do export a fair amount of sugar cane to South Africa. Tribal customs and traditions are strong among the mostly native population, and Christianity, both Protestant and Roman Catholic, is the most practiced religion. Islam, Bahaia and Hinduism are present but not as popular.
Like most other African nations, the Swazi people are a mixture of modern society and traditional customs. Although their contemporary might seem a little outdated to us (not bad out of date though since we're already exchanging emails), their documented ancient goes father back than we North Americans can claim. Beyond all of the research and text book stuff, if the men and women I met are par for the course of the other million or so who live in Swaziland, I think it's a swell place to be.
One of the really great things about my job at the state capitol is preparing for and hosting dignitaries and other VIPs when they visit with us. A few weeks ago it was parliamentarians from Croatia. This week we had a blast entertaining and hanging with several big time officials from the Kingdom of Swaziland. I have to tell you, I sorta got attached to them.
Nearly every foreign delegation that visits us here is escorted by a member of the US State Department. This gives us an opportunity to gauge our hosting skills against some of the other states that participate. We want to do things right, and we certainly want our guests to go back to their parts of the world saying Kentucky was one of their favs. We hear often that we do a good job with the southern hospitality.
As old, old, old as it is, Swaziland has only been independent of Great Britain since 1968, and is ruled by a king. He rules it too. He picks the prime minister, many of the members of the parliament and all of the judges in the courts. The rest of the legislature is made up of elected members. One thing that's cool about the Swazi government is the requirement that thirty percent of their delegates be women. Way to go Swazigirl!
Swazi life is pretty much what we'd expect. It's arid and warm there, often hot. Agriculture is mostly for self-subsistence, although the farmers there do export a fair amount of sugar cane to South Africa. Tribal customs and traditions are strong among the mostly native population, and Christianity, both Protestant and Roman Catholic, is the most practiced religion. Islam, Bahaia and Hinduism are present but not as popular.
Like most other African nations, the Swazi people are a mixture of modern society and traditional customs. Although their contemporary might seem a little outdated to us (not bad out of date though since we're already exchanging emails), their documented ancient goes father back than we North Americans can claim. Beyond all of the research and text book stuff, if the men and women I met are par for the course of the other million or so who live in Swaziland, I think it's a swell place to be.
3.08.2009
why i'm sleepy
OK, this time thing - standard, daylight, summer (in the British vernacular), Eastern, Pacific, Greenwich... - is out of control. Just like everything else the governments of the world try to manage, the hours of our day have been taken over by "experts" and now the rest of us are confused - and sleepy. Here are my thoughts:
The inventor of Daylight saving time was a guy named William Willet, a builder in the United Kingdom. Yep, not a scientist or an astrologist or a physicist or even a clock-maker. He was a builder, but obviously one with lots of money and more than a few key connections. This one man who wanted more time to play in the sun made it his task to change the rules for all of us. Can you get much more selfish than that? BTW, some folks think DST was Benjamin Franklin's idea. Actually, BJ's solution to making candles last longer was getting up when the sun did and hitting the sack when it got dark. Good ol' American ingenuity.
A good piece of the world has decided that playing with the clock a couple of times each year just isn't necessary. Some folks even say it's unhealthy. Regardless of why, those of us nations who are reluctant to change the tick-tock tradition much more than moving it back or forth a few weeks should give it a little more serious consideration. Let's call it preventive health care. Maybe the insurance companies should hire lobbyists to address the matter.
There are others who claim that abandoning Standard time in the spring is good for the pocketbook. Merchants sell more they say. Ball games and outdoor activities thrive, and we don't use as much electricity. Farmers disagree on the help/hurt of it all, but the police say it cuts back on thieves who work dirty in the dark. That being said, I have friends who take full advantage of the switch back when last call is announced once, rescinded, then again an hour later.
Maybe shifting the clock around is a good thing overall, but for me it's just a bit annoying. I feel cheated the morning after the change, even though I slept through the sequence of events. Which causes me to question why I'm so sleepy. And if one man can mess it up, (BTW, Mr. Willett didn't live to adjust his watch.) maybe I'm the man to fix it.
The inventor of Daylight saving time was a guy named William Willet, a builder in the United Kingdom. Yep, not a scientist or an astrologist or a physicist or even a clock-maker. He was a builder, but obviously one with lots of money and more than a few key connections. This one man who wanted more time to play in the sun made it his task to change the rules for all of us. Can you get much more selfish than that? BTW, some folks think DST was Benjamin Franklin's idea. Actually, BJ's solution to making candles last longer was getting up when the sun did and hitting the sack when it got dark. Good ol' American ingenuity.
A good piece of the world has decided that playing with the clock a couple of times each year just isn't necessary. Some folks even say it's unhealthy. Regardless of why, those of us nations who are reluctant to change the tick-tock tradition much more than moving it back or forth a few weeks should give it a little more serious consideration. Let's call it preventive health care. Maybe the insurance companies should hire lobbyists to address the matter.
There are others who claim that abandoning Standard time in the spring is good for the pocketbook. Merchants sell more they say. Ball games and outdoor activities thrive, and we don't use as much electricity. Farmers disagree on the help/hurt of it all, but the police say it cuts back on thieves who work dirty in the dark. That being said, I have friends who take full advantage of the switch back when last call is announced once, rescinded, then again an hour later.
Maybe shifting the clock around is a good thing overall, but for me it's just a bit annoying. I feel cheated the morning after the change, even though I slept through the sequence of events. Which causes me to question why I'm so sleepy. And if one man can mess it up, (BTW, Mr. Willett didn't live to adjust his watch.) maybe I'm the man to fix it.
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