"J Graduated" from March 2018

Today J graduated from the Goodwill job training program. It was exactly 4 years ago, to the day, that SD and I made the decision to move to Texas. We had come through that wickedly dark season of J’s hospitalizations and struggles. We were all shell-shocked and worn out. It was my sweet mother who whispered in a text that “if you guys lived closer, we could help with J all the more”.

I remember SD and I being in our freshly remodeled living room in Nashville and I asked her “what about it—what about moving to Texas to be closer to all the family?” She asked the question right back to me and we both realized we HAD to do it, for J, but also for the other 3 of us.

Over the next couple of days I made the appropriate work calls. God bless Randy Ford and Chris Adamson for saying “Joal, live anywhere you need to to care for your family. We’ll work out the work side of it, no problem.”

It was actually April 1st when I called the Texas manager and longtime friend Mark Wade and told him what was happening. At first he thought it was an April Fool's Day spoof, but a minute later he was ecstatic and said he would make the space needed.

God was on the move for us.
Drummer buddy and handyman-extraordinaire, Charlie Petit, knocked out a decent sized punch list of house-ready-for-market details quickly. God used Rockstar-frontman-turned-realtor-and-friend Ric Florian Florian Seven to sell our house in an astounding 3 days with only like 7 showings, for asking price! And 90 days, just a blur of a short 90 days from the decision, we had sold a house, bought a house and moved with the help of so many friends. The cat came too.

We moved for today.
We moved to see J have today.

At the time, G gave up a lot.
Well, actually so did SD and I...we gave up some things, but we’ve gained SO MUCH.
We’ve gained recurring Grandma hugs like the one in the picture.

We don’t know for sure at this point about the next step in the job process, but we now know he can go to work everyday. He’s nervous, and at times it shows. But so many days in the past year he’s been so proud of his own accomplishments.

Popa Richard Devendorf and Grandma Bonnie Devendorf are such a huge part of J’s care. The regular bi-weekly weekend visits for J to hang at Popa and Grandma’s house have transformed our lives, giving him a different dynamic of care and a much needed rhythm of respite for the other 3 of us (and the cat too).

Today is a marker of a day.
An Old Testament word would be Ebenezer. Today is an Ebenezer, a marker of God’s faithfulness.
We moved for today.

"I AM THEY's "Scars""

“Get off my lawn” guy rears his head in me periodically. I have the ability to be opinionated. No comments, no “amen, bro” swipes needed, y’all. This is not a confessional-Facebook moment, as much as a set up to a musical, worship point.

Have you heard the new I AM THEY “Trial & Triumph” album? The GOML guy in me would, in years past, pass by that cd on the rack because “why do I, a middle-aged man, need to listen to a bunch of skinny-jean wearing, hipster-haircut, 20-somethings who haven’t lived enough life yet to know how to write a song that reaches me?!”

Thank you, Jesus, for Todd Wright, Bethel Bible Church, a place to serve, a wife, Sarah Burnett Devendorf, who pushes me to use my gifts for the Body even when family life is hectic...and on and on.

Last week was my rotational turn to be the acoustic guitar player at Bethel with Todd and the band. We played I AM THEY’s tune “To the One” and it rocked! Being intrigued, I downloaded the whole album...and WOW!! Please step all over my grass in your skinny jeans!

There are some real winner-tunes beyond “To the One”, but the one that necessitated this post is “Scars”. Maybe the hipster 20-somethings only known a portion of what they write and sing about, but it was exactly what I needed lately.

“...Darkest water and deepest pain, I wouldn’t trade it for anything,
‘Cause my brokenness brought me to you and these wounds are a story You’ll use...

So I’m thankful for the scars
‘Cause without them I wouldn’t know your heart
And I know they’ll always tell of who You are
So forever I am thankful for the scars...

I can see, I can see how you delivered me
In your hands, in your feet I found my victory...

I’m thankful for YOUR scars
‘Cause without them I wouldn’t know your heart
And with my life I’ll tell of who You are
So forever I am thankful...”

We, my wife and children and I, have enough life-scar-storyboard to heartfeltedly sing this tune at the top of our lungs.

I’m gonna go mow my lawn and make a little room in the proverbial front yard.

More Cowbell!! (from January 2018)

More Cowbell! It was such an iconic Saturday Night Live sketch that it has entered Western culture, with people uttering the phrase, not even having seen the bit. Right now, Tuesday evening, there is a cowbell being rocked at full volume in my garage. J is drumming. The garage door is down, iPod (my iPod I might add) is earbudded into his auditory canals and he is jammin—a little crash cymbal, a steady kick drum, but then a healthy dose of cowbell.

In our world, as with Ferrell and the SNL crew, the cowbell-ist finds such joy, completion and settledness in knockin’ that percussive oddity. J is thriving now. That’s due in large part to the fact that tonight he took his last, step down, dose of a medicine he’s needed for behavior control.

But he needs it no more.

And the raw energy, joy, inquisitiveness, thoughtful recollection....so much has sprung up in and out of him as he’s been being freed up from the med. Again, the drug helped for a season....but it came at a price. As we’ve stepped down incrementally with the doctor’s help, a very alive, joking, even overly energized dude has emerged. And with it, his penchant for drumming every night, often well into Daddy’s bedtime, smashing the crash and clicking the ride and utterly crackin’ the ol’ cowbell.

Tomorrow I’ll be up at 5am...I have to get on the road early to see a few customers first thing. I can already tell, here at 9:45pm, I’ll probably be tired tomorrow from staying up so late tonight. Because, again, he’s still keeping time on the 5 piece. It’s alright though. It wasn’t so long ago meds fully controlled his day and night. But no longer. Now it’s just up to the iPod running out of charge or all the drum sticks breaking-whichever comes first. And I’m good with that.

"Stillness is Hard" from 12-31-17

Stillness is hard.
Hard for me at least.
For my college years, training in music, working in a music store and part time at a church as the minister of music, I was always practicing, preparing, catching the beat, teaching the next lesson. Providence brought me to a career turn I could’ve never imagined. My dad worked in sales over most of his adult life, in various capacities. In 1998 he introduced me to his company at the time and I started doing his kind of work.
No skill.
No prior experience.
Just enough sense to do what I was told. Now I’m nearly 20 years into this sales career that is absolutely straight commission, in the best sense, and I love it.
It, too, however, doesn’t contribute to Stillness. If you don’t get-after-it and produce-all-the-time, you’ll have no moola next week, no bonus next quarter.
It’s that simple.

Today, New Years Eve 2017, Sunday, I’m at home nursing myself back to health after a head cold jumped me Thursday evening. My kids have been fighting it. A client or two last week also had plenty of germs covering their skin when we shook hands. It’s just part of the gig. All that to say, I’ve been laying low, medicating with decongestants, vitamins and essential oils for days while resting, even napping, and being fairly...Still.

Stillness.

But...
There are debts to pay—so you better get to work hard Tuesday, Joal.
There are house projects to fix, complete, remodel—so you better make that list.
There are receipts to tabulate so taxes can be filed soon enough—so you better clear the table and get cracking.
And on and on it goes.

Apple Music has this “For You” tab that daily assembles playlists based on your library profile preferences. As I’m typing this, I’m listening to today’s “Chill Mix”. Honestly, it’s a bit too poppy for me. It’s not exactly chillin-me-out. Hold on a second.

There.
I just opened today’s jazz playlist.
Ah...,Better.
“Tokyo Adagio” by Haden & Rubalcaba

Stillness.

I’m determining today that 2018 will have many-more-intentional-moments of Stillness, where I turn every device off, Jazz included, and let whatever naturally occurring sounds be the only thing filtering through.

As a believer, I take the Scripture verse literally that God, as Spirit, speaks to his children in a Still Small Voice. I need that voice, that Word, that direction, even that warning. I’m realizing I need it Daily.

And 2017 taught me in a myriad of ways that there is great benefit in Stillness.
Quiet.
Thinking.
Reading.
Resting.
Observing.
Being....Still.
Practicing being still.

I’ll take more decongestant in a few hours.
I’ll read a bit more later.
By the way, “Tokyo Adagio” is apparently a live record, but the audience is so Still, I didn’t realize it until track 2 or 3.
I’ll keep resting on the couch.

Stillness.

"What I wish I had said to the man in the sandwich shoppe"-from Sarah

(Sarah wrote this years ago...I re-read it often)

What I wish I had said to the man in the sandwich shoppe

So here's the truth: I blog because I'm incredibly shy and would rather take a bullet than interrupt a stranger's lunch. I'm a quiet person. I don't talk on the phone much. I'm not a conversation carrier. I'm good on paper. I write.

With this in mind...

A few weeks ago, I was over on the other side of town (a phrase that means I had made the 15 minute drive to literally the other side of town), where there is a sandwich shoppe that I like. It happened to be nearing lunch, so I decided to grab a chicken salad sandwich and dine in alone. I deeply treasure those rare times when I get to enjoy a meal alone. A. I can eat cheap. Or not. When you aren't paying for several people, you can get just what you want. B. I can be quietly occupied on my phone, and enjoy my meal at my own pace. C. If you sit there long enough, sipping on a sweet tea, you are bound to observe some interesting people and overhear some interesting conversations.

And so it was on my particular day. 

Two gentlemen sat near me. As they sat down, waiting for their lunches to be delivered, taking long slurps of tea, one says to the other "I had no idea how terrible our medical insurance was until Anna was diagnosed with Autism." 

Yes, my mannerly mother taught me that nosily  listening in on other people's conversations is the epitome of impolite but what can I say--his topic grabbed me like a magnet and while I was looking at the screen of my phone, I was 100% faking it, immediately hoping to get the rest of his story. 

He lamented to his friend that since his daughter had been diagnosed with Autism, his insurance carrier had decided not to cover much of the needed testing and therapy and he wasn't sure why they (he and the wife) should continue to pay for coverage if what their child needed wasn't going to be covered. 

Through the relating of his story it became apparent that his daughter was very young (4) and his wife was somewhat devastated by the diagnosis. He shared with his friend that it seemed that everything in their lives had become laser-focused on their daughter's needs and both he and his wife were overwhelmed and exhausted. And it had only been a few months. 

Now you are starting to see why he had my listening ears, right?

It was pretty clear that his friend had little to say but he was paying attention. For listening attentively, I give him props. I mean what can you really say. It's a hard road. 

I know it's a hard, hard road because I've walked it. For 20 years. Well, technically about 8 years because Julian was not accurately diagnosed until he was 12. The path was incredibly difficult from age 3, when we came to realize that a seizure disorder was a part of our lives and that other things weren't right. A couple of diagnostic missteps led us down other roads but finally, when he was 12, a trusted psychiatrist looked at me and said "Julian has Autism Spectrum Disorder, specifically Pervasive Development Delay."

A parent doesn't forget something of this magnitude. And yes, it's certainly a life-changer. 

So on this fall day in East Texas, as I guiltily eavesdropped on this conversation, a wishful but admittedly very small part of me wanted to speak to him, even though he falls into the "total stranger" category. It was surreal. I could have hugged him. 'Cause ya know, that wouldn't be awkward or anything.

I wish I could tell you that I spoke up and we had this extraordinary conversation about parenting an Autistic child, the evils on insurance denials, the little hurdles she will eventually conquer and the obsessions that will take over. Unfortunately, my shy side won the fight and I didn't say a word. Eventually, the guys left and I did the only thing I could do--I started writing down what I could have said. 

These are just a few of my thoughts:

Don't even waste a moment thinking you are equipped to raise this child alone. You are not. Your wife is not. You will both need a big big village--don't waste time fighting that. There's a meme going around that declares "you are enough". Trust me. It's a lie. You are not enough. If you have to move to be near people who want to be in your village, do so. You can't do this alone.

And that's ok.

This is the struggle of your life. You thought you were a man before...but this...this will grow you up and make you into a serious person.  Welcome to a whole new world of adulting that you will never walk back from.

And that's ok.

You are going to mourn the loss of all the plans and presumptives that arrived on the scene when your daughter was born--those neuro-typical child achievements that you just assumed your child would enjoy, even without giving voice to them. Those are going to look very different. 

And that's ok.

What once was, is no more. You will slowly and repeatedly mourn these losses for your sweet girl, because she doesn't know to. Mourning does not pass easily so don't expect it to. It will take its grievous toll on your body and your relationships. Mourning will take up a space in your life, likely for the rest of your life.

And that's ok.

Your marriage will become more precious to you than you ever previously imagined because you share this very special child with your wife. Surely, yes, that's true for every married set of parents, but it's even more true for you because you will fight together for this child and you will fight about the care of this child more than any others. You will need each other more as you walk through this every day. 

And that's ok.

Your marriage will come under fire more often because parenting your daughter takes its toll on both of you, together and separately. Hopefully, you are already committed to your wife so deeply that this new role will not rip at the fabric of your relationship until there's nothing left. Fight for it. You can prevent this diagnosis from shredding your marriage and putting the two of you smack into the seventy percent of marriages that don't survive the title of "special needs parents". But you will have to be intentional and protective like you have never been before. And there will be times when you might need help.

And that's ok.

You will learn a new language. Therapists, doctors and counselors like to use initials and big words. Learn to write things down. It's now up to you to navigate the often choppy waters of finding what works for your girl. And just when you think you have it all worked out, something will change and you will realize that you don't, in fact, have it all worked out. So you start over.

And that's ok.

You will develop a sixth sense about people and their abilities to accept and embrace your girl as she is. Don't fight this. Trust your gut. There will be people who cross her path that you know immediately are factors of good in her life. They encourage her and bring out the best in her. Cherish those people. Occasionally, there will be a person who sets off your alarm bells and you suddenly know that they have to be removed from your daughter's world. Don't question it. There are people walking this planet who take selfish advantage of the disabilities of others. You will become well-trained as your daughter's bubble of protection against those who would treat her with contempt and as less than. 

And that's ok. 

If you are a believer in Jesus Christ, you will soon come to long deeply for heaven, where bodies are made new, there are no more tears and struggles are resolved. Hold tight to this truth. Some days this will be your only hope. 

And that's ok.  

Well-meaning people will say stupid things to you. There's no getting around it. They just do. Understand now that, in those moments, you may need to remember that they are woefully under-informed and their insensitive commentary says more about them than it does about you. 

And that's ok.

The other people in your daughter's life--her grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, siblings, friends and acquaintances will look to you to define what acceptance of your daughter looks like. Take this role very seriously. Be bold in your example. Learn to speak about your daughter's limits and needs succinctly and without using those extraordinarily big words that doctors and therapists bring into your vocabulary. Don't be afraid to show them what's what. Occasionally, they may call you bossy and over-reaching. 

And that's ok.

Cling to the joy your daughter brings into your life, no matter what it looks like, like a needy girlfriend. Cling. Normal is gone but the joy doesn't have to be. Grab onto joy when you can and document it in some tangible way so you can cling to it in times when it seems it has completely left the building. Your joy is now inextricably linked to your daughter and that will never change.

And that ok.

Laugh. This is probably the most important and universal directive I can give you. Don't forget to laugh. When she does something hilariously inappropriate, (and she will), laugh. When something she needs to accomplish is super hard, (there will be lots of this), laugh at it. Joke with her. Sing silly songs. When you want to cry, (this takes practice), laugh. When things feel way too serious,  (and they usually will), laugh. Because laughing will carry you through together. 

And that's way more than ok.

It's a different road you are now on, my friend. 

You didn't sign up for this, but you are going to be ok.  You aren't yet well-equipped to handle it, but you'll get there.

And it will be ok. 

That Time of Year (repost from 2017)

Repost from October 2017: The beanie, the dark green, especially warm one, came out of the suitcase today, landed on my head as my body, soul and spirit sat where both the land and the waves find their end as the sun rose. It, the beanie cap, wasn’t needed for the whole day, but was employed for about 2 hours this morning and back on by 6pm.

This morning one beach walker (definitely envision mall-walker in shorts) commented to me on it being ‘that time of year’.

‘That time of year’—a phrase that implies we all know what’s happening or even what’s coming. There are seasonally-appropriate inferences with ‘that time of year’ but I’ve been mulling the idea all day—that most of us have ‘that time of year’ melancholy memories unique to us; some of us (probably most of us) have concerns and aches that are directly tied to ‘that time of year’ when _____ happened; when we lost _____; when The event occurred; or even when That relationship started (yah-happy times) or ended (ugh-let me cry).

‘That time of year’ is one of those phrases though that we could redefine and use to be a Christian Community identifier...when, as we choose to live in a community of life and faith and belief, we build these mutual memories that identify we belong together. And as the years go by, and some friends may have to go and come for various reasons, we all teach and learn the rhythm of our community’s ‘that time of year’.

For the many years we lived in Nashville, I was blessed to be part of a community of guys nicknamed the Whammy Bar. It’s both a place and a group; musical (especially-guitar-player) insiders ‘get it’ and that’s the point. It’s a unique, though never closed off but always expanding, WE. Many are believers though there’s no secret handshake or favorite verse recital. It’s a gathering for life and stories and encouragement. Tonight is ‘that time of year’ for Doc-toberfest, an annual brat-n-beers kind of night. It’s low key, yet looked forward to every year by the whole WB posse.
I’ll miss it tonight.
No complaints, just a wistful ache.
It’s now been nearly 3.5 years since I moved my family away, making me part of the go-ing that happens to a community.

Like I said, I miss it; not the brats n such, but the insider, unique identification. Lightheartedly, I’ve been awarded ‘emeritus status’ at the Whammy Bar which means a stool is always there for me if/when I return. I’m realizing now, today, this week, this season, that it’s time for a new community-building-pursuit where I reside and exist and function now and that, in time, can have our own ‘that time of year’.

I’ll probably need the beanie tomorrow morning too. The sunrise is certainly worth ‘braving’ the cool beach air.

Repost from 2016: Election Sanity

Repost from 2016: Election Sanity (I just wanted to keep it somewhere)

Can I offer some words toward sanity for all of the political craziness we're facing in the U.S.?
(I rarely post anything political, and this will require you to engage your thinking capacities. For those who know me personally, I'll ask you to suspend your rhetoric long enough to remember I am man who believes God is always at work and I am not one given to rants and hyperbole.)

For the last 18 years I've been blessed and privileged to work for National Write Your Congressman (www.nwyc.com) which is a way regular Americans, in all lines of work and across the political spectrum, quickly make their voices heard to those who truly make the decisions, the Representatives and Senators in Congress. I watch people daily, from all walks of life, be part of the solution, by influencing legislation and stopping bad decisions. Now, many of the decisions in Congress are not glamorous nor are they much reported in the news. The U. S. Media would much rather cover outrageous statements and foolish behavior from politicians and pop stars alike.

But here are some facts the media doesn't tell you about nor remind you of, that might help you breathe a little easier as you're looking at the presidential craziness confronting us:

Presidents don't make laws unilaterally.
Presidents can't even confirm their cabinet members nor Supreme Court justices.
Presidents can't ratify treaties.
Presidents can't approve budgets.

Of course, some of my over-cable-news-and-talk-radioed friends from all sides of the aisle(s) may quickly say "but, but, but" to every one of these points. Let me confidently say (again) I've been in this arena for over 18 years and I have a fair understanding of many of these details.

So, here's a key point: if there's ever been a case study for the power of the presidency being severely limited by the decisions and movements of Congress, it is the current occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. President Obama has proposed a litany of ideas and plans that have NOT come to fruition. He's written executive orders that have never seen the light of day toward implementation. He spent money on paper (and in his mind and speeches) that never got approved by Congress. And agency after agency that he has expected (and demanded) to do his bidding have seen their budgets cut by Congress, particularly over the last three years.

"So what are you saying, Joal? Does it not matter who the president is? Are you saying we shouldn't vote?"

(Take a breath, friends)

No, it very much matters who the president is and please let your informed conscience guide you in voting. My concern are the "all-or-none" declarations I've heard about not voting at all this year.

See, we lose sight of the fact that when we completely give up on voting, in the presidential contest, because the choices are simply farcical, we may also impact other elections that do, in fact, have a greater impact on our day-to-day lives. My congressman matters! My senators matter! My mayor matters! If people choose to abstain from voting for the next president or choose to do a write in, I can't fault them. Some would say it's a wasted vote; others would say it's symbolic. I would say it's your right to do whatever you want to do as an American voter. BUT--don't miss the fact that we must remain engaged in the process by voting for all the other necessary offices. Folks, presidents aren't the whole deal. No bill, no law, no decision in Washington originates or solely resides with the president. They may, at times, think they're gods, but they're simply men and possibly woman who are part of the process.

As a matter of fact, here's a little encouragement (proof-positive) on two points in this direction: President Obama just had his first veto overridden by the entire Congress about a week and a half ago. Both chambers had to override the veto, which they did, but the margin of victory in the Senate was telling: 97–1. Every Republican and every Democrat, save one, told the president directly and publicly he was completely wrong. The president also has a Supreme Court nominee awaiting confirmation and the Senate has simply said "no we will not confirm this person at this time". Understand, when there is a tie in the Supreme Court, it reverts to the previous court's decision. In some of these recent instances, the previous court's decision was against the Obama administration, thereby affectively stopping the current administration's agenda.

Wrapping up these thoughts.... from all these examples and explanations, I hope you see that, though the president is important, the president is not the end of it all nor even the beginning of it all. The president is a part of the process. There's a lot more involved.

And, friends...It is going to be alright.
Once more: it's going to be alright....as long as "we the people" actively engage with the true decision-makers and leaders in our form of government, at all levels. Voting is just one step, an initial step, in doing something. But it's an absolutely necessary step all through.

And obviously, if you want to know more about how to have a greater impact, feel free to reach out to me.

Peace to all of us.

Cultivated Creativity and Insights with Aging

Cultivated Creativity and Insights with Aging

10-09-17 “Cultivated” is a podcast that explores faith and culture, especially Creative culture. There is a 2 part episode with Steve Taylor, a Christian pop/rock, satirical-at-times, singer who, after a solid 10+ year run of writing, recording, touring and producing, mostly stopped his solo music making for the better part of 20 years, and instead focused on making films. Now, later in life, music has reappeared in his life. It was 15 years ago (in the midst of his 20 year solo music hiatus) that I met him at the FedEx counter in Hillsboro Village in Nashville. We chatted briefly, I told him I was a fan from way back (the first cd I ever purchased was Steve’s “I Predict 1990”), I asked about new music and he said he was now making movies. Fan boy Joal, still wishing-to-make-it-in-music Joal, couldn’t fathom why Steve would not do music. 

My wife, children, cat and I moved to Texas, leaving Music City, a bit over 3 years ago. We moved in a holy-spirit-fueled-whirlwind of circumstances, knowing we should, but not ever having an inkling we would, until we did. (Side note—moving a cat that’s valiumed up is hysterical!)

I used to write songs. Not as a career, though I always wished it would play out that way. Most were for my own therapy; some were tied to I'm-gonna-chase-the-folk-star dreams of my 20s and the first half of my 30s. A handful of the songs were actually pretty decent, most weren't horrid, just interesting to a select few; but there was a portion that are best forgotten. Friends helped me capture some of them on an indie CD in 2008....a full 9 years ago...yet it doesn’t seem like that long ago.

Here I am, now in my mid 40's, married to the same beautiful woman for over 25 years, parenting 2 distinctly different boys for 21 and 14 years, currently leaving the cat undrugged, and working for a company I’ve grown to love for over 19 years. I’ve done this one kind of work for nearly half my life and I can tell it’s changed me.

Specifically, I haven't written a song (actually a completed musical thought) in the whole 3+ years we've lived in Texas. I haven't really tried. I have managed, however, to be a part of our church worship band, playing on average 6-8 times a year, with some fine players. I've taken a small band of musician buddies with me, twice, to teach music in Belize with World Music Mission. I've played at countless company events, rarely my own tunes, just usually pieces that fit the theme of the gathering. And in recent days, in a pursuit of a simpler life, looking to let go of things that clung to me, I've even sold off some of my guitars. (Fret not Whammy Bar brethren-I kept the Taylor and the Alvarez).

Taking a minute to reflect, I hadn’t really missed songwriting. Consciously realizing all of this, I was caught short the other day when my lack of musical creativity emotionally jumped me.....even if you're not a songwriter, you know the feeling...like you HAVE TO do something before you lose the ability or chance to do it.

Yet, I didn't go write a song.

Because, again, I hadn’t missed it. I do like playing guitar. It’s not the obsession it was, say, 30 years ago. But it is soul-soothing. After that not-writing-songs-moment hit me, I played, picked, plucked and pondered for a while, six string in hand. But I didn’t try to write.

Yet, creativity lingers. Bringing something from nothing is still in me. It’s in all of us.

Lately, in my 19 year job/career/pursuit I’ve been asked to take on ever increasing leadership responsibilities. I’ve been prepared for and grown-up-into this placement and season. One of the areas of new found work is in writing, directing and producing training videos for our sales force. I’m not the camera guy. I’m certainly not the tech genius. Those responsibilities belong to guys like my buddy Nic and my youngest son—both skilled in the video arena. Instead, I’m the concept-to-word-to-“actor”-to-behind-the-camera-director-to-final-editor-decision-guy that actually, in real time, creates content that helps men and women in my company succeed in this profession, to earn an ever-better living doing the work we do.

About a week ago (vuja-de, as a friend says) I was caught short...when my obsession with well-crafted creative scripting of a concept emotionally jumped me...and I immediately, effortlessly wrote another video script.

The creative impulse lingers.

It is finding new expression at this time of life in a place that influences, edifies, and shapes perceptions and abilities.

30 years ago, while learning those first half a dozen chords, dreaming of rock stardom, I wouldn’t have been able to even conceive of “training videos” as a creative outlet.

20 years ago, post college, music degree in hand, I couldn’t have seen the beauty and artistry in “how-to” productions.

But after an education in the arts, a married life thus far watching a photography-lover and scrapbook expert, an ever growing list of bonafide epic concert experiences and a continuing love for the Scriptures that beckon me to chase the beautiful, true, noble things....after all that, I’m good with new realms of creativity.

I’ve seen Steve Taylor’s movies. They’re good. He’s quick to admit in the podcast that they’re good, not great. But they are exactly the creative pursuit he needed at that moment of his life. Maybe Steve gets back into music. Maybe I’ll write a song next week. Either way, cultivated creativity continues the older I get.

https://www.cultivatedpodcast.com/

REVERENT WONDER AND THE EDGE'S RICKENBACKER

REVERENT WONDER AND THE EDGE'S RICKENBACKER

6-30-15 I'm on the plane heading home from Chicago and the U2 show at the United Center last night.

I needed this. Not because I'm the kind of fan who can't function without hearing their tunes. Honestly, I'm not all that good with remembering all the lyrics, even to the hits. But I have been moved by their music since I bought "The Joshua Tree" record as a teenager.

I've been blessed to see them twice before, on the last tour, in Atlanta and Nashville. Both incredible shows, seen with good friends and both worth the travel, troubles and expense. With this tour they weren't going to as many cities, but in each city they're doing 2-8 shows. So, Chicago was about my only option.....off I went. Alone. Night 4 of 5 for the tour in Chicago.

But I needed this to be more than a rock concert...I could tell.

I needed this....because I realized lately I've been living without much of a sense of "Reverent Wonder". St. Peter wrote about the things that complement basic faith in 2 Peter Ch 1 where he lists understanding, patience and discipline (they seem like the obvious pieces to me). But then, in the Message, it says we also need "Reverent Wonder, Warm Friendliness, and Generous Love".

This past year....even typing this makes me tear up....has been the most spiritually confirming of my life (God is on the move for us as a family) while being the most exhausting and, at times, thin and dry season I've ever lived. We HAD to move to get family help with my oldest son. We had to get to the next phase of his life and we're on the edge of getting him working and living a somewhat more independent life. We've also blessed Deb (Sarah's sister) and her son beyond calculation by being here. I even think Sarah is generally more healthy because she gets rest and moments to herself more regularly now.

Me, though....I've been living with basically only patience and discipline....and fatigue and shelled-up-ness. Obviously there've been reverent and wonder-filled quick, fleeting moments--like leading worship at Bethel Bible Church. And seeing my work responsibilities, abilities and rewards increase has made me feel good...for moments at least.

There just hasn't been much of this "Reverent Wonder".

Sarah was traveling with my mom and oldest son to NC....and something (or someone, like You, Holy Spirit) brought to my mind the idea of looking at U2.com. I noticed open concert dates that had tickets available in places I knew I could get to. Then a Wonder-ful moment of life and love happened when I texted the idea to Sarah and she was 100% for it.

So, a plane ticket on points, a 35th floor downtown Chicago Hampton Inn room on points, a free day rental car all led up to me being in section 332, row 5, seat 3 last night.

The Irish boys sounded goooood, I tell ya!! I could tell Bono's voice has some wear and tear on it. That's real touring rock n roll....when it isn't perfectly polished because they're giving their all night after night. They tried a few different things in the set that were true treats. But a glimpse of "Reverent Wonder" at God and His good gifts to me....to me....crept into my psyche--like Edge playing his Rickenbacker on "Mysterious Ways"-that, my friends, is a beautiful guitar...and hearing the first ever live performance of "The Crystal Ballroom"...and being there, as with most every U2 show for the last 25 years, when in the encore, Edge starts that swirling intro to "Where the Streets Have No Name" and the entire arena erupts in jubilation.

I'm not changed by being there. It wasn't a spiritual nirvana kind of thing. Instead, I'm just aware....that moments mount up. The straining ones take a toll that a 2+hour rock concert will not undo (and what a moron I'd be to think it could).

But a 2+hour show can and did remind me that beauty matters, joy in music that moves me matters, love exemplified by my bride matters.

Reverent Wonder is what I'm naming the photo....I'll print this photo in an 8x10 and frame it. It's a small Ebenezer for this moment of remembering God's goodness to me.