Wobbly Billboards

 

Every man likes for others to think highly of him. And whether he does it knowingly or unawares, he lives and advertises an image to his whole world. It becomes his calling card. It’s what others think about how he works, loves and plays.

 

At the beginning of the century, old warehouses and office buildings painted their billboards on a side wall. A wind that was strong enough to blow these billboards over had to be strong enough to topple the building itself.

 

Much frustration of the modern man comes from his attempt to prop up a wobbly billboard in a high wind. With no substance to hold up the image he is presenting, he stands little chance in the middle of the storm. A simple man builds, stone by stone, brick by brick, a life that is solid and reliable.

 

1 Corinthians 3:11

Legacy

Last week we buried my grandfather. He was ninety-four. During those years he did a lot of living. He raised a family and saw his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren be born. Some might say he lived a good long life. We, his family, remembered and celebrated his life during a service on Wednesday. We laughed and cried and told stories to commemorate his life. We came together as a family and said goodbye to our Papaw one last time. Two days later, we were saying goodbye to Landon McIntyre, a twenty-four-year-old young man who happened to be very dear and close to my family, as well. A sudden heart-attack took this young man's life in his prime, leaving behind a grieving fiancee', crushed family and bewildered friends. The week made for a stark contrast and much reflection on this strange and often confusing convention we call life.

Watching the old and the young taken from this life in such indiscriminate fashion left me searching for answers. My usual nature to apply some philosophical viewpoint to the situation was silenced. No words came last week. At times my thoughts would try to organize and wrap the circumstance in nice rhetoric.  Then my head would shake as I realized the sheer foolishness of trying to put in words  something I scarcely understood. 

An old man died.  A young man died.  That was all I could say for sure.  Each left his legacy and mark on his world for however long he was given to do so.  The people close around would see no more the physical actions and words that had come to define these two men.  That time was over.  Remembered now is what was done.  Forever etched now into the psyche of those that knew them is the kindness rendered and words spoken.   Nothing can be added.  Nothing can be deleted.  The legacy is cast.

The difference you make in your world, however great or small, begins each day when you wake up and breath in.  What you do with your day writes your legacy for your family and friends to live with forever.  If today was your last, what would it be?  The possibility and potential that could be, must be.  There is no time for little things.  There is no pet peeve.  Pet is short for petty.  Love your family.  Go the extra mile for a friend.  Champion the cause of the down-trodden you may have only met this morning.  At the end of each day, you should be able to look in the mirror and genuinely be proud of the way it turned out as much as it concerned you, your words and your actions. 

No more “as good as” and no more “better than.”  My life is its own mark.  No need to compare it with others.  Whether my next breath is my last or one of many more, I will treat it as if it were to mark me for eternity.  Because, in actuality, it does. 

Whitney

We were sitting in a restaurant last night with some friends when the breaking news popped up on my iPhone.  "Whitney Houston dead at 48."  My initial reaction was disbelief.  Then I began to recount the endless stories in the news about the abuse, the drugs and the saddening spiral she had slowly descended in the last few years.  It was just a matter of time, I'd always told myself.  But this morning I can't stop thinking about her talent and sheer anointing that held so much more promise and longevity. 

Anyone knows that such a gift does not come along everyday.  Some long for, even beg for the gift and spend a lifetime pursuing it.  Whitney had it and God gave it.  Honed and shaped in church while singing in the choir, this girl was destined for greatness and, as it turned out, achieved it for a brief time.    I watched "The Preacher's Wife" again just this past Christmas and hung on every note she sang.  I have never been moved by any artist like I have been moved by her.  And it wasn't just the notes she sang.  Many have come behind her since and matched her note for note.  No, it was the anointing that was with her since the church choir days that set her apart and made people listen. 

Although I would have loved to hear Whitney's later career had she remained clean, I will remember her sweetness and gifted delivery of a song.  We all have been given gifts.  Some never find their's.  Whitney did and we'll be forever grateful. 

Songwriting

 

I sat today in my study editing demos I have recorded over the past six months. One song was written as recently as two months ago. Another I used to sing around in churches almost twenty years ago. As a songwriter, nothing is more fulfilling than finally getting all of the ingredients poured into a song---really poured in so that it has legs and begins to take on a life of its own. I now have these little children running around, like I have never seen them before---with many more of them scrawled in secret code on various charts in my study.

With a complete and independent CD release so close I can smell it, I began thinking today about the elements that have bound most of my writing together in one cohesive collection. My early Christian home, church life, teachers and mentors all served to play a part in everything I write about. Even my vocation in life, as well as, years spent directing music and choirs serve as a backdrop to many of my songs.

These are songs of a simple man. I have never wanted much more than to be a good husband and father and make a comfortable living for my family. I just wanted to see my children grow into adulthood with a sense of purpose built on the foundation of a loving home. I get the greatest enjoyment out of grabbing a lawn chair and watching the sunset on my back porch---or maybe even a walk with my dog. Simple.

I look forward to releasing these demos as a complete CD this year. They have all been recorded on my days off in my study. Nothing musically profound about that. To the very trained ear, the amateur mixing and engineering may emerge. But to the sincere listener of lyric, a familiar, yet simple man will come into view. Not a man looking to hock music or make a reputation for himself. Just a reflection of another man I came to know once.

Finished

I sat in the testing center yesterday taking my last exam of the semester. This was my first one back after a long break. It has been really amusing to me how the brain learns differently as I have gotten older.

High school's learning tactics for me were no strategy at all really. I was blessed with a good memory and preparing for tests was no huge challenge. But somewhere in my adult life, I began to pick up tricks of association that helped me remember certain things..that is, when I remembered to apply them.

So I recall smiling several times yesterday as I tackled the 110 multiple choice questions that were my final. One answer specifically involved the mental image of a dog and a potato. Another image was fireworks and a flag, go figure.

I'll admit that I was more than a little apprehensive at the beginning of the semester. Would this old brain be able to keep up? Would this former A student crash and burn when put to a new challenge? I got a really good feeling after finishing this one semester. Working "smarter not harder" is the blessing of experience.

Variable

I sat on my back porch this morning and watched the sun come up. Funny how it could have been a scene from 100 years ago.  No one ever told nature she was behind the times and needed to catch up. This orderly sunrise and crisp routine seems to still work for her.  I watched a cardinal flash streaks of crimson as it raced between the cedars.  Hardly noticed was the female, hidden by her brown coat just a couple of branches away.  Nature has a system in place that accomodates the safety and well-being of even it's smallest partners.  The man who is unaware of this is the obnoxious variable in nature. 

Maybe it is the free will thing.  Man has it, and Nature does not.  So Nature follows the design and Man is not constricted to it.  If Man chooses, he can build his house on the edge of a 900-foot cliff in a remote part of northern California---his choice entirely.  God-given common sense would tell most everyone that this was a fool's paradise.  However, should his house collapse one day on top of him, the odd tremor will get the entire blame.   

Gandhi once said, "Earth provides enough to satisfy man's need, but not everyman's greed."  That ugly counterpart to Man's good nature drives atrocities and the destitution in the world that leaves us shaking our heads in disbelief.  Some of the carnage is produced indirectly by Man's unwillingness to recognize the order of things.  He is the one out of line.  And no one likes a line cutter.  He is the variable to order, but it is his choice entirely.

Order of Things

My pear tree is in full bloom. Just a few weeks removed from the last snowfall, I suppose it felt safe enough to trust an early February prediction by a groundhog named Phil. The Farmer's Almanac gave the all-clear as well. No hint of a pre-Easter freeze anywhere.

I am usually a guy with an aversion to hype. So why am I excited about an early Spring? My pear tree is in it's sixth Spring. I am unsure when it will start producing pears. But the possibility of this year being the year has created a little school-boy glee in my otherwise laid-back demeanor.

Things ordered and set in motion fascinate me. Things ordered give incredible credence to incredible design. That my little pear tree is producing white blooms for the first time in it's short life, makes me think again---this could be the year. And if it is, one more of my theories about nature's order of things will be proven correct.