A Tainted Legacy

"He followed the example of Jeroboam, continuing the sins of idolatry that Jeroboam had led Israel to commit. Thus, he aroused the anger of the LORD, the God of Israel." - 1 Kings 16:26

Jeroboam was NOT da man. Really.

I'm on my 2nd complete trip through the Bible, thanks to the Daily Audio Bible podcast. (Actually, it's time 2.5, since I started halfway in for my first trip, but time 2 for a complete run. This attempt at data integrity brought to you by the Proofreader, who, even though she didn't add these words, approves of them nontheless.) And in the middle of time 2...

(2.5? 2.38? 3.1414...? This is why I don't do data integrity. The Proofreader ALSO approves of this message, and adds a heartfelt "Amen.")

In the middle of what shall hereafter be called time 2, things continue to jump out at me, new stuff that didn't do so the first time around.

Like Jeroboam.

If you search his name in I and II Kings, you find a whole bunch of references that say things like, "He followed in the way of Jeroboam, doing the sleazy stuff that makes Jeroboam a monument to how to make God really, really angry to this day..."

Ok - you'll not find a single reference that puts it quite that way. Thankfully.

But attached to many other kings listed in those books is the reference that they followed in the ways of Jeroboam, leading the people to sin, worshiping idols, and doing evil in the sight of the Lord.

Now there's a legacy.

Think about it - how proud would it make you that your name can be used to immediately demonstrate just how far someone can sink in their sin? Like in a conversation...

"He's not a good man - a real Jeroboam."

"Whoa."

-----------

"You... you're... you're a... a... Jeroboam!"

"You take that back!!!!"

-----------

"You're a no-good, double-crossing, two-timing, lilly-livered, down-dirty-sneaky-shifty-nasty-stinky JEROBOAM!!"

"That's IT! Them's fightin' words!"

-----------

Yup. Like that.

How bad do you have to be for your name to become a synonym for evil of cartoonesque proportions? Not just for 15 minutes of fame in social media, but for generations?

Whoa. Mega-whoa.

(I'm trying s-o-o-o-o hard not to type the word 'Honey' here... Or 'Boo'... Or even a second 'Boo'... 

He who has ears, let him hear. And throw up a little bit. Ok, a lot.)

In our insty-fame world, I think we've lost some of the weight of legacy. Of how our lives, our actions, our examples leave impressions or ripples long after we've passed by. We're too used to "100 likes, drops down in the news feed, gone tomorrow, let's see what interesting nugget pops up today." In this media-driven culture, it's the next thing that catches our attention - what new video, new picture, new article, new blog post (Oi to the vey, he typed into his very own blog post...) will grab us and cause us to re-tweet, share, like, post, or otherwise keep the wave going...

Until tomorrow, that is, when the next little nugget drops in and it starts all over again.

Oh, the ripples and waves of yesterday's goodie are still spreading outward, still leaving an impression, and their echoes will still bounce back from time to time. But that initial surge will be past, the attention is gone, and like devouring insects, we're all looking for the next field to mow down.

Not buying it? Take a good look at your Facebook activity (or whatever other social media you dip your toe into and end up soaked) and notice how many things are funny pictures, heartwarming videos, outrageous stories, or LOL moments.

Lots, right?

Now, how many of those "I've just GOT to share this!" tidbits are still a part of your world? How many of them remain with you, to shape your life and be a bright spot in a dreary world?

*insert sound of crickets*

I didn't think so.

"Dude - lighten up! It's just Facebook!"

Exactly. We live in a disposable media culture - see it, let it tickle your fancy, drop it and move on. Nothing lasts, nothing endures, there are no waves, no ripples, no lasting consequences, no reason to think beyond today - just this moment, right now, and tomorrow will be totally different with some other tasty little tidbit to fill the void.

And that's what prompts me to toss this around the ol' noodle and see if I get soup: I think we've lost the weight of what "legacy" means - that our actions, our responses, our lives, our statements, they can leave ripples and lasting impressions that remain long after we've passed by. Instead, our present culture ends up saying, "It doesn't really matter what I do today, because something different will come around tomorrow." We go on from day to day, knowing that tomorrow the channel will change, new stories will go viral, and some celebrity someplace will do something so dumb that all attention will be snapped onto it like bugs on a porch light.

Until the next tomorrow, that is.

No legacy - no lasting ripples or impressions. No long-term responsibility for the here and now. I don't have to be all that worried about what I do today, 'cause the swirling cesspool of culture will sweep the evidence away in nothing flat.

The stuff of which celebrity and political careers are made.

Politicians may talk about leaving a legacy, but they're talking to the masses who view most things from a "Use it and flush it" mentality. How can you create lasting change, a lasting legacy when many people don't understand the concept of something enduring beyond tomorrow?

Celebrities may talk about their responsibility to influence others as a role model, their position allowing them to pontificate on whatever is hot on their own agenda, (or on their radar to jack up a sagging career...) but all the while the people who hang on their every word in this moment have their hands on the pull chain, ready to send Spot the pet goldfish down the swirly funeral chute into the not-so-great beyond.

Besides, today's shining role model becomes tomorrow's YouTube fodder when they're caught doing something incredibly stupid. And yet, they'll probably be back to role model status the day after...

Why?

Because our actions, our statements, our thoughts have no lasting consequences, leave no impressions, do not endure. 

Think about some recent examples of "scandals" - have you noticed the closer we get to 'today,' the less time it seems to take to go from "Public scandal" to "Just made a little mistake" to "Whatever happened to..." to "Wow, it's nice to see them getting work again"?

No legacy. No lasting impressions. No enduring consequences.

"He followed the example of Jeroboam, continuing the sins of idolatry that Jeroboam had led Israel to commit. Thus, he aroused the anger of the LORD, the God of Israel."

Hmmm... Apparently, God has a different view of legacy.

To spend any time in the overarching story of God's word is to realize the weight of legacy. The lasting impressions, the consequences of actions, the ripples spreading outward, on and on.

My generation, and those who precede me, understand the weight of legacy and the truth that some things endure. But I fear the closer we get to today, the more that significance vanishes.

Since nothing endures from all the media we are exposed to daily, and since everything gets replaced with the next bright and shiny doodad that hits the 'net tomorrow, so it is with me and my life. Nothing endures, consequences don't last, responsibility isn't needed, because it'll all be gone, swept away by the next bright and shiny doodad that comes into my world.

So what I do isn't that big of a deal, 'cause nobody will remember it tomorrow.

Except for Grumpy Cat, of course. Grumpy is forever.

Yes, I'm a fan. I never claimed to be strong - just sincere.

So, yes, I guess I'm not a huge fan of disposable culture. I'm old-fashioned enough to believe that legacy exists, that our actions have consequences, that what I do can leave impressions long after I've passed by.

I believe that if I'm not mindful about my thoughts and actions, if I'm not striving to follow God with all my heart, if I'm not out to seek justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with Him, then I will leave a tainted legacy. Perhaps not like a  Jeroboam, reaching to multiple generations, (at least I hope and pray not!) but a tainted legacy all the same.

What I do today, with my eyes on what that will mean for tomorrow, can lay the foundation for a bright legacy, even if that legacy reaches no farther than my front door. It still matters. It all matters.

I'm comforted as I look at things from here in my mid-fifties, seeing my failures and shortcomings and tempted to believe that my time is already up, that it's not too late to build a legacy, or to shine one up that's been tainted and tarnished. God has been in the business of restoration a lot longer than Extreme Makeover, after all. He's a real pro.

So think about this with me, bat-friends:

If your name, if my name were passed along to a future generation, would it be a synonym for a bright legacy, or a tainted one?

Like Jeroboam.

When Things Get Quiet...

Sorry for the extended silence on the writing front... Sometimes, when the writing stops, it means there's some mental issues popping up and I've got my head down, trying to sort out the world and get my feet back on stable ground.

And that takes a while. Thus, silence on the writing front.

Unfortunately, that really isn't a good solution, since writing is the way I process and work through most of the mental issues, so stopping the writing means stuff just piles up.

I never claimed to be smart... just sincere. 

So, let me fill in the space with a cute picture of Beka, since that's my main go-to plan when there's a blog void...

 

A friend of ours called her "regal." I second that emotion.

Regal in repose.

Regal with her packmates. Or regal while climbing the heights of Momma Mountain. Not sure which.

Regal on the throne of previously clean clothes, now mysteriously covered with fine white hair.

Not quite so regal. But funny.

Thanks for filling in the empty space, Beka. Good doggie!

Phabulous Photo Um... Phriday-NOT! Anniversary Edition

This is a tribute to something I hold dear to my heart...

You're correct - I do hold her dear to my heart... But in this particular case, I speak not of Herself...

Once again, you are indeed correct - it is a well-documented fact that I loves my nieces to pieces. And my nephypoohs, just for the record. But, again, in this case, they are not of whom I speak at this time...

Wow - you do know me pretty well. Yes, my rolling companion for many miles, Big Blue, is dear to me. But again, we're not speaking of my amazing TerraTrike just now, or of my infatuation with the Musketawa Trail, or that sort of stuff.

Now you're just being silly...

*ahem* "I believe, and rightly so, that the big guy is referring, as is just and proper, to ME. At least, he'd better be if he expects to have any unshredded underwear..."

And, as she is on the rare occasion, BekaV is correct. She is whom of speak do I.

"Ta-DA! Here am I, of whom speak did you ever so obliquely and laboriously. Long-winded are you, but strong in the Force am I. Amateur Yoda wanna-be you remain."

Um... thanks.

A year ago, the day after Memorial day, we bid a VERY sad goodbye to our beloved Ezri, having loved her for 12 years. And yes, I still miss her...

But, just at the right time, we happened to be checking out the puppies from Lake Haven rescue. And just happened to pick out one, only to have him be adopted before we decided. And so...

"Good heavens and great gravy bones, man - will you just get on with it!! The folks are waiting to bask in my cuteness, and you're prattling on and on. STUFF A (shredded) SOCK IN IT!"

Um... Sorry.

So we came across another puppy, and that was pretty much that. Her name was...

"Hey hey HEY! Icksnay on the old aim-nay! I've got a contract - no naming the old name. No no no no! Bad Cal - BAD Cal!!"

Deal with it, Fuzzface. Her name was...

"DON'T DO IT!!!"

... Ziva.

"ARRRRRGGHHH!!! HE SAID IT!!!! THERE WILL BE BLOOD TONIGHT!!!!!!"

Um, Beka?

"WHAT?"

Unpaw my Proofreader, or you're never getting doggie bacon strips again... EVER.

"Oh... Well. Sorry. Um... Really. Don't know what came over me. Really. Doggie bacon strips? Had no idea what was at stake. My bad. Really. Sorry. Please continue with your tale, dearest doggie daddy...

No more doggie bacon strips." *shudder* "The very thought chills me tail..."

Within 24 hours, however, her name was changed from Ziv... Um... the artist formerly known as something ELSE....

To Beka Valentine. Named after a character from Gene Roddenberry's "Andromeda." And living up to the feisty nature of the original Beka Valentine. Yup - we picked the right name.

"Let's roll that beautiful puppy footage, shall we?"

Adoption day - June 16, 2012

"My peeps had NO idea what fun I had in store for them..."

"But I knew... Hee hee hee. And they thought I was the one that needed rescuing... Silly peeps."

Obviously, at 7 weeks old, we had NO idea what we were getting into... and yet we did and were ok with it.

"I'm sorry - were you still talking? I dozed off a bit..."

No biggie - you just take a nap right here, little girl.

And so, our sweet rescue puppy came into our little family...

And into our hearts.

And no, I still don't understand this whole leg thing...

"I told you - the leg joints weren't due in for another week. It's all good - they just were backordered. No biggie."

And our girl grew, showing us that she wasn't at all what we expected... not an Australian Cattle Dog...

"Hey - you guys never asked. I could have TOLD you right up front, but no... you never asked."

You're right - it really didn't matter. We were smitten.

"All part of the plan, man."

We went on vacation...

"No, peeps - I did NOT travel in there. Just bein' clear. But it rocked for naps!"

And discovered that she really REALLY likes outdoors... green grass... backyards...

And getting us in trouble with the In-Laws.

"Did you have any idea what was down there? Seriously! I never find stuff like that in YOUR... I mean, OUR... I mean, MY yard!"

And so, our homegirl began to share her surprises with us...

Like the ears.

"Yes, they were leaning on each other... Hey - they were just getting started. I had to get them babies in shape before they could stand on their own!"

She showed us her crazy personality...

And crazy legs.

"Surprise!! Go look up "Ibizan Hound." Now sob quietly into your hankie. Now take me for a walk! Oh, and hand over a couple doggie bacon strips, STAT!"

And so, her true nature was revealed. Sweet, FAST, TALL, and claiming us as a part of her pack.

Including dear Auntie Hannah. She LOVES Auntie Hannah... especially her couch.

She politely informed us that the bed that was "our" bed is now "OUR" bed, which is translated as "HER" bed.

And is teaching us to get off our tushies and get outside... with her... often... like right NOW for example.

She's a companion, staying close to her packmates.

She's a cuddler, giving us all the fur therapy we need.

And her amber eyes melt my heart.

Happy anniversary, BekaV. Thanks for rescuing us.

"No problem, peeps. And, for the record, I love you. Thanks for rescuing me."

Thanks to the wonderful folks from Lake Haven Rescue for being an advocate for those who don't have a voice, for bringing 5 little puppies found in a box on the side of the road down south up to West Michigan, and for introducing us to our packmate. We're trying to honor the trust you placed in us when you let us bring Beka home.

Thank you.

When I Become Real, Round II: Fearless

Yup - that's me. Young, carefree, fearless. Or something like that.

So a while back, I wrote something called "When I Become Real." And yes, that is inspired by the amazing story "The Velveteen Rabbit" by Margery Williams.

*sniff sniff* I love that story...

*sniff sniff*

WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!! *insert sound of honkin' schnozzola being emptied into soggy hankie*

*sniff* Ok... I'm better now...

Nutshell version: When I'm using my gifts, being who I really am and doing what He really intends me to do, I become the most real that I will ever be in this world.

Really.

So on Sunday, June 2nd, I got to be really real once again, telling a story as part of our morning worship at First Cov. And any morning you cause your pastor to say, "I've never had to follow anything like that in my life," well, you know it's been a good morning.

What story, I hear you ask?

The one, the only, the most excellent...

"Tacky The Penguin" by Helen Lester!

(And, for the record, it's not the only... there are a series of books about Tacky the Penguin, but I told the original Tacky the Penguin story.)

I truly, truly love that story. It lets us all know that sometimes being an odd bird is the best kind of bird to be. And, as all the world knows, I are an odd bird.

In fact a member of a choir I directed gave me my copy of Tacky the Penguin, and wrote in the front, "To Cal - an odd bird."

Truer words were never spoken.

And I'll admit - I was a little surprised at how "all in" I went in the telling of it. The movements became a little more exaggerated, the facial expressions were a little bigger, and everything seemed a little more intense.

(Including my "Tacky face," which Herself says she doesn't remember seeing before, but it's the same expression I always use with that part, when Tacky greets others with his quirky smile, leading me to believe that it was always there, but it was buried under a little too much me to be seen...)

(*pause here for a moment for those who are still giggling over the use of the phrase "Tacky face" to catch up with us...

and...... there ya go. Welcome back.*)

As if all that wasn't enough excitement, I spontaneously added a jump.

As in, actually leaving the ground and becoming airborne for a moment. A whole whopping inch or so above the stage. Both feet.

Twice.

Whoa.

And I discovered something... Something I never realized... Something that really surprises me...

When I'm real, I'm fearless.

Whoa. Again.

When I step out of the way, allow God's good gifts to flow through me, employing them as He intended me to, there is no fear. There is no hesitation, no wondering "What in the world will they think of me?", no feeling inadequate, no questions, no baggage, no regret.

It's on like Donkey Kong, baby.

(As for "What in the world will they think of me?", let's face it - my peeps at First Cov have known me for many years, they love me for some strange reason, and if anyone in this world knows just how odd of a bird I be, it be them.

Word to yo goldfish.)

But this realization really startles me... When I'm "real," I'm fearless.

When I'm a storyteller, letting go of everything else, there's nothing in the way - it's all about the story, about blessing others with the wonderful way a story can touch people. It's a heartfelt desire to get out of the way and just be a conduit for a story, and a huge sense of wonder when the room gets quiet and the only thing being heard is the story itself.

I call it the storyteller's gift - when a whole room of folks get caught up in a single tale and leave everything else behind for a while. And it stuns and humbles me every time God allows me to see it in action.

Fearless and filled with wonder - pretty much my gig as a 'teller.

- BUT -

When I'm a writer, um, wow. Can I say I'm fearless?

I guess so. I hope so. I'd like to think so.

After all, when you only have 3.78 readers, it's easy to be fearless.

I jest. I kid. I ha ha ha.

It's a tough one, tho - am I fearless when I write? This one cuts closer to the bone, because most of my writing is on this blog, my personal journal and the best way for me to work through the mental chaos to clarity. To be real here is to be really real - transparent, visible...

Nekkid.

(And now we pause to wait for those who had to go use a little eye bleach, trying to ban some mental images that will haunt them to the end of days...
...
...
...  Never mind. They aren't coming back. Let's roll along, kids.)

But when I write, most anything is fair game. The ups, the downs, the weird, the crude, the wondrous. It's all on the menu. Fortunately, it gets passed through filters like decency, appropriateness, common sense, and TOO MUCH INFORMATION, MAN!!!

Cmd-Z is my friend. That's Ctrl-Z to you other folks out there.

When I look at the various and sundry stuff that I tend to pursue, the ones that God makes it clear that I'm gifted in and am to be active with, my premise holds true... When I become real, I'm fearless.

- BUT -

When I say that becoming real makes me fearless, I'm not saying there is no fear.

"Nice. You've once again headed the wrong way down a linguistic cul-du-sac, tried to make a U-turn, and ended up in some poor lady's begonias. Way to go, fearless writer boye."

Thank ya. Thank ya very muchhhhh. Uh HUH!

No one in their right mind (which usually leaves me out) isn't nervous, apprehensive, or a little afraid when hanging everything out there for others to see, observe, and pontificate upon. Stand up in front of a whole bunch of others and tell a story. Write about how your digestive track has been redecorated. Do something that you're gifted in, under the scrutiny of others - a couple others, a group of others, a crowd of others, or a whole honkin' boatload of others with the power to LIKE or UNLIKE you at the click of a mouse!

It's like painting a bullseye on your tuckus.

(Don't bother with the bleach - it's much too late now.)

When I say that when I become real, I'm fearless, it means that although I have the same butterflies in my tum-tum that everyone else would, when I'm real those little things don't stop me. They don't freeze me, intimidate me, make me second guess myself, or wonder why I'm even doing this.

Being real, doing and being exactly what God designed me for, so that His gifts flow through me without hesitation, well...

That's when I'm fearless.

And, perhaps you are too. Only one way to know - get out there, dive in where He's gifted you, swim as He designed you to, and watch the familiar shoreline disappear...

Be fearless.

Music = Screwdriver

Although this is a music-related post, there is a broader point of application or at least reflection... Feel free to skip to the end, or strap on your waders and dive in. Your choice.

Dedicated to my musical friends from college and at First Cov, with whom I make sweet music indeed, and to Amelia, Tina, and Suzie - friends who know the joy of jamming on the keyboard that uses letters instead of notes.

------------------------------------------

A while back, a friend asked me to come over, hang out, and jam. No, I'm not talking about a session of laying down fruit preserves, but rather laying down some tuneage just for the sheer joy of playing music.

One of my favorite e-card pictures from Facebook has a surgeon writing a note, and it says:

"Cause of death - laid down the boogie and played that funky music 'till he died."

Hee hee hah hah ho ho hee haw *snort* woo...

Anyhoot, a jam session was in the offing. And although other factors meant I couldn't go, I realized something when thinking about going...

I have no idea what to do at a jam session.

Ok - I know "what" to do. I do have some fleeting proficiency at a couple of tooters and twangers, and could add some various and sundry sounds to the festivities.

Perhaps it's closer to say I don't know "why." Why jam, why just hang out and play?

"Huh?," I hear the assembled masses cry... "Have you slipped a gear or 20? Why make music, you ask? Why just play for fun, Cal ponders? Why not enjoy something that many folks would love to be able to do - just sit and noodle around with a musical instrument, oh fount of ponderings? Why ask why??"

'lemmie 'splain.

Music has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember - it's one of those things that comes so naturally to me that it's like breathing. Which is a good thing, really, since I lack the discipline to actually work at it and improve my craft - the Lord knew that when He installed such a huge natural gift that I can slide by and be adequate in many settings.

But like so many things that come easily to us, we sometimes make a disconnect. What should be a wonderful, enriching, passionate pursuit instead becomes a tool - one of those basic, routine, everyday things that we can take for granted.

I'm not saying that's a good thing, by the way - not at all.

For me, what gets lost along the way is a love of playing, just for the sake of making music. Instead, I tend to look at the purpose - am I 'shedding for a gig? Am I working up some new songs to add to my setlist? Is this a potential addition to a CD or a single?

Music is a tool, and the only time I really reach for it is when there's something to be hammered, wrenched, chiseled, or otherwise wrangled. I practice for a purpose, not to enjoy the process or even see how it develops me as a musician.

I can't blame the psych meds, either -  I've had this disconnect for some time now. But now in my bipolar world, I need to take a look at it. Extremes are a no-no, and things need to be re-defined - how do they fit into the "new normal."

The heights and depths that the creative process contains can be dangerous ground for me, and I'm exploring how those can be accommodated without losing myself in the extremes - so that I don't get so excited about something I've created that I get overwhelmed with mania, obliterating reality and being consumed with it; or having a session where nothing is coming out nearly as good as I hear it in my head, so I throw everything under the bus, convinced that it's all crap and I'm never going to go near music again - sunk in a black well of depression.

And yes peeps, these extremes are very real for me, they're waiting around most every corner if I'm not careful, and they can rule my life if I'm not mindful and aware.

Somewhere along the way, music lost its role as art, as joy, as something to be played with and experienced, and became something I wield. I use it to help, to serve, to fill in a gap, or even as a source of income.

Now, in the moment of performance, there's a connection. I am present, listening, responding, and enjoying those joyful collisions ("happy accidents") that are a part of making music. I think I can say, with abundant modesty intended, that my playing is expressive and comes from my heart. I don't think that you'd listen and be thinking, "Dang - it just lies there. There's no passion, no emotion. Just a bunch of notes with no feeling."

On more than one occasion, I've been accused of blasting the cobwebs out of the organ pipes, not just for the sake of seeing how much volume I can get the thing to put out, but because whatever song I'm playing demanded a massive response - the sheer weight of the words drew it out of me.

Frankly, sometimes it'd be nice to be able to just lay back and not put everything I have into the music - I'd be able to just float along and not hang myself out on a limb, because my ear and my passion drove me someplace that my abilities and technique couldn't quite pull off.

I musically paint myself into a corner. A lot.

(Especially with a certain couple of hymns that are my archnemesisessusses - ones that I simply have a mental block about and that always give me fits when I try to play 'em. My dear friend Betty knows which ones they are, and always kicks in a few extra horses on the piano to help carry me through them. I love her.)

But as much as I might think about just playing it safe, doing the basics, and thus covering my utter lack of chops (or my previously-huge-but-now-deflated hiney), my heart takes over and kitty climbs the giant redwood once again.

Meow?

So when I play in public (I hate using the word "perform," since usually I'm not trying to show off, but lend my music to whatever event I'm at, especially when offering my gifts to the Lord in worship services...), I'm there. I'm putting it all out.

I also realize it depends on what role I'm filling - if I'm doing solo stuff, then it's on. Everything I've got, in the moment. (And kitty climbs the tree... again and again and again...) If I'm playing keys or organ for worship, I'm all there but it's a different type of putting everything in - it's all about serving the congregation, being a part of worship, leading where necessary, backing off when needed.

Kitty doesn't climb as many trees. Unless I get really excited, that is. Then it's every cat for himself. Meoooooouch.

If I'm rockin' the bass, I step even further back. I really think the best bass players have enormous servant's hearts - they have to. My job is to create, maintain, and ensure the foundation. I set aside flashy licks (unless that's the exact right thing for that exact right moment, then BRING IT!), I back out of the spotlight, and surrender my individuality to become a part of the structure - the rhythm section.

Can you tell I love to play? Yeah, I thought so.

So why do I draw a blank if I contemplate just sitting down at the keyboard and noodling around? Why do I see just making music for fun as pointless?

Hanging out at a jam session? Why?

I'm honestly asking these questions, by the way. I'm not snarking about it or trying to drag you along as I ramble - I truly don't understand why I don't connect with making music for the sheer joy of it. And if I'm going to have any chance of puzzling through it, this here journal is where that happens.

Aren't you glad?

So here's one thought that I'll kick around my noodle for a bit and see if it bounces...

I love to play, not for music's sake, but for a purpose. And I don't love to make music alone - I prefer the company of others. Whether they are playing along, listening, or we're joining together in worship, I prefer company. Otherwise, I see the whole thing as a little pointless. I'm not sure where along the way I lost the wonder of creating music just for the joy of creating music, but there it is.

It wasn't that long ago, for example, that it was very difficult for me to sit through a service where I wasn't participating musically. I was antsy, I was fidgety, I was unsure of what to do, or what NOT to do. I didn't know how to just dive in and BE.

So, again, there's the disconnect. I was fine and dandy during the message, at least as fine as someone with ADD tendencies but not enough to really go the distance and turn pro with it can be. Sometime, we can talk about focus tools and how I use crochet to keep my head in one place.

"But it is not this day!"

(Yup - that's a movie quote. From the third of the three. That's all the help ya get - but most of my friends already knew where it was from as soon as they read it.)

And, being the wise and wonderful guy he is, Jeremy (our worship leader and master of the subtle art of teaching old dogs like me new tricks...) encouraged me to take a Sunday off once in a while - not to sleep in, but to just BE instead of DOING. And slowly, I'm learning that habit.

With lots of crochet.

("But it is NOT this day!")

So, even though I need and enjoy those times of just being present in worship, instead of doing, the disconnect remains - why do I feel no compulsion or desire to just make music for music's sake?

As I mentioned, I think one factor is that I prefer making music for a purpose, with an objective in mind or an audience to serve. But as all who play know, that's only a part of the wonder that is music...

Perhaps another factor is my instrument of choice for noodling around - keyboard.

I don't play guitar, unlike my friend at Biggby Coffee who often works with a guitar strapped on his back so that when there's an idle moment, he can spin it around, and noodle around to the delight of his loyal customers. Or innocent bystanders. Or complete strangers. Whomever.

I play whistles and such, which are fairly portable, but for some reason I don't find it compelling to aimlessly play around with a lonely melody - seems like pointless wandering to me. I tend to think in harmony - I like interesting chord combinations and the places they go, and the melody usually finds its place as the chord structure weaves its way along whatever path I find.

So one note at a time? Not so much. Same with bass - I love the role the bass plays in the foundation of music, but that always comes later, not at the beginning of a song or arrangement.

So, it's keyboard. That's my axe of choice for noodling. Ever try to carry a piano or organ to a jam session? Not exactly spontaneous-making.

Did I ever tell you about breaking a Honda station wagon by carrying a Fender Rhodes piano and its two companion speakers to gigs? Not to mention the lifelong spinal turmoil from such a pursuit?

Oi to the Vey.

So, maybe I've wound my way to the center of this maze...

I look to the piano or keyboard when I think of just messing around with music. My keyboard is lodged in my studio at home, surrounded by computer, technology, and chaos. Not an ideal setting to just sit down, fool around, and make music for music's sake.

One more log to throw on the pile...

I was thinking about when I WOULD just create, when I would just play for no other purpose than to see where the path would lead - because there was indeed a time like that, and not just in my younger days, when it was all new and fresh. A few years before my first CD came into being, and before the layoff that claimed my sanity for a few months, I would just play and see what happened. And I actually wrote some original songs in that time - ok, as original as I ever get.

(One of my friends teasingly called me "Predictable Cal" in college since, when jamming on keyboard, I'd tend to go with the safe and predictable chords and harmonies. I'd like to think I've moved a little beyond predictable, but one never knows. Being stuck in a rut means never having to say "Where the heck am I?")

Out of that time came the song I'm most proud of (in all humility, I hope), my one-hit-wonder, never to be matched or exceeded - Angelica's Waltz.

It's arguably the best song on my CD of the same name, and the only one that gets played regularly by someone other than myself at gigs, thanks to Musician Maximus Roger MacNaughton. (As for how many people play it off the CD regularly, I have no idea.)

In fact, if I was wise, I'd probably do a Mike Oldfield and release "Angelica II" - basic format, same order of tunes, some new material since your record company owns the rights to the original and you can't duplicate it; then Angelica III, wherein you get the rights back and reproduce the original with fresh new sounds; then The Orchestral Angelica, where all of it is done with an orchestra complete with horribly out of tune tympani, and The Millennium Angelica, some new, some old, and some weird.

(Refer to Tubular Bells, Tubular Bells II, Tubular Bells III, Tubular Bells 2003, The Orchestral Tubular Bells, and The Millennium Bell to see what I'm talking about... it's all the same album for the most part, slightly different in each incarnation.)

Anyway, there was a time, not so long ago in my adult life (or as close to "adult" as I ever get) where I did create music just for the joy of creating music.  But the 2 CDs tanked, my world collapsed, and I guess a lot of creativity got killed. I imagine that I've tried to awaken it, but so far it's conspicuous in its absence.

Can it be recaptured? Not sure. But at least I'm aware of the void left behind...

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Now, would you mind if I spin this a different direction that occurred to me a day or two ago as I pondered these things?

Too bad. My blog, my rules. (He said with all lovingkindness to all personkind...)

And just as with all the above ponderings, I'm asking these questions of myself. You're welcome to climb in the coaster with me as we drop down the steep hill...

How's your walk with Christ?

Is it something that you find pleasure in? Just hanging out with Him for the sheer joy of His company? Do you noodle around with the harmony and melody of a life of faith just because it's wonderful to think about?

Does spending time with the Lover of your soul bring a satisfaction, an interlude of perfect beauty to your spirit? Something that happens in the moment, spontaneous, never to be re-created just that way again?

(Yes, there will be other beautiful moments, but they'll all be different - wonderful, but not identical to this moment, this time, this place right here and right now. This is a time that will never have an identical twin.)

Do you have a Jam with Jesus session, not for a purpose, not because church is coming up on Sunday and you have to make sure your chops are ready for the gig, not because your friend is hurting and you have to bring a well-polished and poignant song of faith-as-life to reach their troubled spirit, or because the folks in your small group / Bible study / gang-around-the-water-cooler-who-know-you're-a-Jesus-follower-and-expect-better-of-you are going to be watching, so you'd better bring your A game?

(I apologize for using the phrase "Jam with Jesus." Sounds like something out of The Big Book Of Pithy Phrases For Your Church's Changeable Letter Sign Or High-Tech Display Sign. *shudder*)

(And if a big ol' sign is how your church rolls, I again apologize. Really.)

(Don't bother looking on Amazon - The Big Book Of Pithy Phrases For Your Church's Changeable Letter Sign Or High-Tech Display Sign doesn't exist, as far as I know.)

(If such a book does exist, please let me know in the comments - I'm SO getting it for my Church secretary Mother-In-Law for Christmas...)

Do you dive into your walk with Christ, not for some purpose or goal, but to just spend time and see what happens? To see your life in Him as an opportunity to create beauty, or to acknowledge the beauty He creates in you?

(At some level, I think that's one of the things that draws me to this little table at Biggby... not just to do the work that brings clarity and resolution to my mental state, but to jam, to improvise, to see what happens and where I meet Him along the path. Maybe my Jam with Jesus sessions happen right here, at a keyboard with letters instead of notes.)

(Oops - there it is again. Sorry. Refer to the section above for the expanded version of that apology.)

(I almost wrote "Oops, I did it again." I've never quoted Britney Spears in this blog, and with the Father's kindness, I never shall.)

(Oops - I almost did it... again.)

So, with whatever the Father has placed in your hands, maybe it's time to go noodle around, play for joy, and indulge in time spent with Him.

As for me, I'll set this keyboard aside for today. But I'll be back tomorrow, to see what happens next. In the meantime, my head and heart and imagination will continue to play in the background, thinking of new adventures and conversation.

Hmmm... perhaps it's time to go to my studio, take the dust cover off the keyboard that uses notes instead of letters, and play...

Just to see what happens.