TUESDAY THOUGHTS: TECHNOLOGY

I'm usually very behind when it comes to switching to new technologies. 

I was the last person I knew among my friends, family, and acquaintances to purchase a microwave. 

My Dad had a very valid point. "There's something wrong with anything that heats up the food, but the plate stays cold..."

When my daughter graduated from college, I bought myself a graduation present. I figured it was time to put away the desktop dinosaur--especially since it had begun to sound like the engine of a very large, old truck. 

I was very proud of my decision to purchase a laptop computer. 

Last year, after 3 or so crashes, and four or so frantic searches for the startup disc that reverted it back to its original factory configuration, it bid me a final "welcome" that was really a “goodbye”.

A very savvy computer technician spared me all of the technical terms to describe my ailing computer's symptoms, and simply said, "Let it go". 
Thanks to him, I'm typing on a nice little Dell that hasn't done anything strange…yet. 

Oh. Did I mention I'm not dialing up anymore? That was always fun. Every now and then, I can still hear the sound...

I don't know what it is about me and change, when it comes to gadgets. 

Maybe it's an extension of my propensity to become comfortable with what works. 

Take television, for instance…Unless I'm traveling and in a hotel, I have no idea what life is like on cable TV. 

I have never subscribed to cable at home. 

Perhaps, since my grandmother only had 3 channels in Addis, Louisiana all those years ago, and I didn't die from a lack of variety, something stuck in my psyche. 

I can't watch all of the channels that local and national programming provide today, so even though I love television, hundreds more stations don't seem that appealing to me. 

I am frequently told about all of the things I've missed--including performances of which I was actually a part. 

I have noticed, though, that network television will always let me see what I've missed out on, eventually.

There are converter boxes and rabbit ears in my life. The other day, I looked at the corner where one of the televisions reside, and realized how outdated the whole scene was. 

I adore music, but don't own an ipod, nor mp3 player. Had my old cell phone not decided that it no longer desired an intimate relationship with the battery charger anymore, I wouldn't have purchased my Sprint Rumor. 

There was something about the little sliding keyboard that intrigued and convinced me to make a purchase. 

I was sure I saw a hint of pity on the salesman's face when he told me how long I had been overdue for an upgrade.

I'm looking at my Bose headphones now. 

I've decided. 

Bose and duct tape just don't go together--not even black duct tape, wrapped as neatly as my artsy self believed it should be. 

I'm not sure how both sides of the headphones cracked. I was sure the crazy glue would hold. 

I was wrong. Now my headphones, that are worthy of their own case, have added bulk that's not attractive at all-- but they still work. 

They just don't get to go out in public anymore. 

I suppose it's time to get some new ones, but for now, they still provide great sound, and cancel out the most annoying intruders of my listening pleasure.

I've preferred to try and retain what I've learned, and not depend upon a crutch, but I realize I am slowly creeping up on 50. 

That seeming eternity of standing and staring into the closet, refrigerator, or cabinet, and trying to remember why I'd opened the door, convinced me that I needed to take a tape recorder to rehearsal. 

I still have a small cassette recorder, but decided to take the micro cassette recorder to rehearsal last week. 

I was so proud. I had batteries, and several micro cassettes that I discovered among other things, as I busied myself indoors cleaning during the big snowapalooza/snowfecta in February. 

(I even found an unopened package of Maxell tapes. 

I wonder if the Smithsonian wants them? 

I found a CD walkman. 

I found every movie I owned on VHS. 

I even dusted off the VCR.)

The micro-cassette recorder whizzed along at the last rehearsal. I made sure that after I pressed what I guessed was play/record, (I couldn't see the tiny symbols) I didn't touch it again for the rest of the night. 

When I got home, I rewound the tape and pressed "play". 

Apparently, I had been at a rehearsal with Alvin and The Christian Chipmunks. 

After flipping the recorder over a few times, I found the microscopic little switch that controlled the tape speed. It wasn't the best sound in the world, but I had actually recorded the rehearsal. 

My daughter saw me with the recorder and shook her head. "Mommy, why didn't you take the digital one?" 

When I tweeted about listening to my tape, a friend tweeted back, "You mean CASSETTE tape?"
So. Last night, I went to rehearsal with the digital recorder in tow. I hit record one time, and just let it go. I think I only paused it once. 

I'm listening to what's on the digital recorder now. 

I have yet to hear what took place last night. 

The rehearsal for last year's Capital Jazz Super Cruise, however, sounds wonderful. 

I do recall seeing "02" last night, and that's what I'm seeing now. 

Perhaps last night's rehearsal is on this same channel. 

I don't know. 

There's no fast forward or rewind button to push. *sigh*

I did go to school, I think.

Fortunately, a fellow choir member taped the rehearsal, and once again has forwarded the mp3 files, via e-mail, to everyone. 

I want the Lord to dish out one of those life-changing blessings to him for doing it, because without the benefit of the recording he so graciously shared with everyone, I would have to rely on my memory, and I really don't want to find myself at the next rehearsal holding all of the lyrics sheets in my hands. 

I want to know the songs backward and forward by then--and I think that's the way it ought to be. 

I also want to remember all of the instructions for the dynamics, and any changes made from the first rehearsal, too. 

If I had to depend on the tape I thought I was making last night, I'd be a little short. 

And there's another thing. Richard has been more than prepared. He's given very concise instructions. The songs are beautiful. There's a level of respect that I have for anyone who labors to teach. 

I was a teacher. Nothing was more infuriating than finding out that people weren't paying attention, didn't study, or that time was wasted. I can't become what I used to dislike. I want to be a good student. That means I need to live with the material. That means I need a good recording of the rehearsal. That means embracing newer technology.

I couldn't sleep last night, so I put on my pitiful headphones and listened to the mp3's as they played on my computer's Windows Media Player. 

The sound is so clear and present. 

At one point it's clarity startled me because I knew I was alone, but the sound of someone's speaking voice was amazingly lifelike.

The digital recorder is rolling. It's up to channel 18 now. The date on channel 02 was October 9, 2009. It now reads October 13, 2009. It's the rehearsal aboard the Grandeur of the Seas for the Patti Austin/Jonathan Butler concerts. It sounds great and is bringing back wonderful memories, but last night's rehearsal is still saying "Look for me".

Note to self: Find the owner's manual for the digital recorder, and send a "Thank You" note to everyone who sends mp3's.

The digital recorder was ringing. I picked it up and stared at it, then looked at my cell phone lying quietly nearby. So it WAS the recorder playing back the ringing of someone's cell phone. Wow. That was creepy. I'm just glad I didn't put it up to my ear and say, "Hello?"

I just remembered that yesterday, the television politely turned itself off in the middle of my unmteenth viewing of "Quiz Show" (on VHS). Maybe it's on its last leg, too.
It's official. It’s time to walk kicking and screaming into the 21st century.

I'm still not hearing anything from last night, but I am enjoying listening to last October's rehearsal. 

I have to figure out a way to save it before I accidentally erase it. 

Patti was delightful, Jonathan was amazing, and the thought of that opportunity is making me smile all over again. 

It was so much fun singing background vocals. 

Harmony is a wonderful thing--and I suppose, so is new technology. 

I'm up to Channel 21, and there's still no inkling of last night. 
Oh well. 

Time to burn a CD of the mp3 files (and pray that members with new technology don't miss any rehearsals).

EVERYBODY NEEDS A HERO

My phone rang early this morning. I had the common, immediate assumption as I reached for the phone. "Who died?"
I didn't feel like talking, and looked at the caller ID. The caller wouldn't ordinarily phone so early if it weren't an emergency. I answered, all the while hoping there was no matter of emergency hospitalization or death. Fortunately, it was neither, but from the tone of the caller's voice, both would have been more welcome. 
Happiness, self-worth and security were under attack. A heart was breaking, and a mind was confused. I heard, "I'm tired". I knew it wasn't physical exhaustion, but emotional impatience. I was being asked for advice. I didn't feel qualified. I listened. I could have agreed with everything that I heard. There was certainly justification for anger, an unforgiving spirit, and bitterness. This was, however, not the time for right-fighting, or jumping to conclusions. This wasn't the time for criticism and bashing. It was time for rational, reasonable thought. It wasn't time to say what the caller wanted to hear just to end the call and return to the dream I'd been enjoying. The enemy was up to something way too early in the morning. This was a trick, and I had to wake up. I couldn't take sides. I had to be honest and objective. The only side to take was God's. The only things to say would be what He would say. God's word would be the saving grace in the situation. It didn't need a referee, cheerleader, or instigator. It needed a hero.
As the call continued, two things came to mind. The first was the series on "Effective Love" that Pastor Keith Battle has been teaching from Dr. Gary Chapman's book, "5 Love Languages". http://www.zionchurchonline.com/meet

The second, was my favorite new song- Alex Williams' "Everybody Needs A Hero". http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SfEsCQuUo-g

As the frustrated caller spoke, I could hear the sentiment of Alex's lyrics, "The enemy has come to destroy me, to kill me, and to steal what you gave to me--my destiny, my happiness--and I want it back. Help me..."

It's Monday morning. Whatever was absorbed in the caller's heart and mind while at church on Sunday, must have had the potential to make a family stronger, more resilient, and bring them even closer to God. Of course the pointy-headed enemy of God hates stuff like that. Saved parents almost always mean saved children, so satan goes after families with a vengeance. In a matter of hours he concocted a situation which had the potential to steal every word that had been preached and taught before they could take root. Communication had broken down, and self-preservation had kicked in. Past offenses were being resurrected, but there was no examination of self taking place.

I am not a natural morning person. I'm only morphing into one as I get older. Morning and problems don't sit well with me, whether they be those of someone else, or my own. I knew immediately, though, that if someone who knows me was calling so early, it wasn't catty agreement that was being sought, but reason.
I talked until I could literally hear relief. As sleepy as I was, I knew the words weren't mine. I talked until the replies I heard were filled with more hope, more faith, more God. I talked until the focus was no longer placed squarely on the selfish, thoughtless things that someone else had done. By the conversation's end, the mission was, "What can I do and say differently? What behavior can I change? How am I contributing to the problem? How do I demonstrate the love of Christ?"

God doesn't expose us to things haphazardly. I'd like to think I was prepped for the call this morning. God saw it all coming. He's always prepared to save the day. Are we?
Do we feed on mess, gossip and scandal so much that we love it more than peace, reconciliation and harmony? Will we be bold enough to stop confusion from escalating? Will we say what God wants us to say even if it means angering or losing friends, positions, or connections? Are we poised to be vicious, thoughtless antagonists in our own lives and the lives of our friends and acquaintances, or will we embrace more efficient ways to demonstrate love? Will we seek the light and strength of God and His ways of operating, or will reject His instructions, abide on shaky ground, grope in darkness and prolong the life of our problems and issues?

God was the hero this morning, and I'm so grateful for his Word. In it, there's so much hope.

P.S. I have enjoyed music for as long as I can remember. Some songs, however have an immediate impact upon me. The only way I can describe them is healing and therapeutic. They speak to a place deep inside and I embrace and revisit them often. There's a long list that includes, Richard Smallwood's "I Love The Lord", Quincy Jones' "What Good Is A Song", Stevie Wonder's "Joy Inside My Tears", Googie and Tom Coppola's "Joyous Flame", Tim Foot's "Grace", Lizz Wright's "Salt", Maurette Brown Clark's "Why Not Give the Lord A Try", "Bill Cantos' "Love Wins", Donald Lawrence's "There Is A King In You", Joe Sample and Lalah Hathaway's "When Your Life Was Low", Chaka Khan's "Love Has Fallen On Me", Bob Schneider's "World Exploded Into Love", Ledisi's "It's Alright", Stuart Townend's "My God", and Seawind's "Follow Your Road". I've recently added worship leader, Alex Williams' moving, encouraging, prayerful declaration in song, "Everybody Needs A Hero" It is now available for download at amazon.com. I encourage everyone to listen and add it to your music library.

SUNDAY THOUGHTS: POETRY PROMPT—INSPIRED

INSPIRED

In spite of all the pain it brings

Life does yield many blessed things

Solitude may come with morn

But in the silence

Hope is born

A song comes to refresh the soul

And warm the heart that's growing cold

Music, great and glorious

A precious gift to all of us

Some gifts are not to be compared

But destined to be loved, and shared

Inspiring our hands to take

Our pencils, paper, and create

Images of all the things 

that make us

Laugh

Cry

Dream

Wonder

Love

Hate

Fear

Conquer

Think

Praise

Believe

Move and

Breathe

vrwc2010

SATURDAY THOUGHTS: MAKE IT HOME

At the funeral today, I thought how wonderful it is for people to be able to stand and speak about an individual's life, and not have to fumble for words, embellish, or lie. 

I thought about how many people talk a good game, but never produce anything to back up what they say. 

I thought about an individual's ability to raise their own children, and yet have love to share as they mentor the children of others. 

I thought about what many think a Christian looks like, as opposed to the criteria that indicates what a Christian life should demonstrate.

Today, a school system that isn't often characterized by its compassion, opened the doors of 2 facilities in order to accommodate the scores of individuals who were touched by the efforts of one man--a man who could very well have lived a life amassing accolades about his own achievement, but instead, shined his light so that others could shine. 

There were horns blowing today, and they weren't making noise. 

They were harmoniously boasting for an individual who would probably never have sought that kind of fanfare for himself.

I wrote a poem last August. 

I can't remember what motivated me to sit down and write, but I remembered it today as I walked out of the school that had been briefly turned into a sanctuary. 

Today a life was celebrated, and there was so much to applaud in the way of service to others. There was even more to applaud, in that his own family reflected not a shred of neglect, and demonstrated the benefits of a present, mature, attentive, encouraging father. 

How we live our lives, and the message we will all leave behind is so critical.
Many spend so much time scraping, scratching and struggling to get, to be, to achieve, and impress, but what would all of an individual's busyness profit them if everything appears great on the outside, but is crumbling on the inside? 

"What WOULD it profit a man to gain the whole world, and lose his soul?" 

What would it profit anyone, if God in our lives is only a concept that we conveniently trot out for a weekly choreographed show on Sundays? 

I wondered today, if I'd ever seen a more profound example of discipleship minus the usual titles, and religious trappings...


MAKE IT HOME

We have all the trappings to present a fresh face to the world
But follow us home, follow us home
We know all the right things to say
And put on quite a show
But follow us home, follow us home

What will you see behind the door?
Will it testify to all you've heard before?

We have all the religious ways to sway, and change men's minds,
But no power at home, no power at home
We profess no fear of death
And say that things are fine
But no power at home, no power at home

It's not about doing what I say
Not what I do
Whether I'm good, bad or indifferent
God's Word is still true
Don't get preoccupied, or distracted by what you see
I beg of you-
Please don't miss God for judging them
Or studying me

We all have a soul's salvation that needs to be worked out,
Help me make it home, I'll help you make it home
Many chapters and verses prove that Love's what it's about.
Help me make it home, I'll help you make it home

If a goat brings the Word, just take it and let him go!
When you hear that Jesus saves, just say, "Amen. It is so!"

We have even less time than we had when we began.
Do you want to go home? Do you want to go home?
For your life there's a purpose
An expected end, a plan
Do you want to go home?
God wants you to go home.

There's only one way home.
Can't get lost going home.
So much waiting at home.
Don't you want to go home?

August 27, 2009

DON'T MAKE ME GO OUTSIDE: A Joyful Inconvenience--A Message for Those Who Lead and Follow

 "How can I myself alone bear your cumbrance, and your burden, and your strife? Take you wise men, and understanding, and known among your tribes, and I will make them rulers over you. And ye answered me, and said, The thing which thou hast spoken is good for us to do". ~Deuteronomy 1:12-14

"For in the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion: in the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me; he shall set me upon a rock. And now shall mine head be lifted up above mine enemies round about me: therefore will I offer in his tabernacle sacrifices of joy; I will sing, yea, I will sing praises unto the LORD". ~Psalm 27:5-6

My grandmother believed that children needed sunlight. "Ya'll chirren need to go outside! Go run! Go play somewhere!" Often, her words came on the heels of us making too much noise, or just being underfoot. Most times, her directive was because she knew--better than the most noted child psychologist--all about the special skills and lessons children need that only being outside could teach. "Look now! Go play somewhere!" The mysterious “Somewhere”--that was a lot of territory.

We'd always complain--briefly, but respectfully, of course. One look was all it took to let us know that negotiating was hopeless. We didn't want to go outside sometimes, especially if there was something we wanted to watch on television. Outside was definitely unappealing if something painful had occurred the day before:

1. You played a game, performed, and  lost miserably.

2. No one covered you, and you got fake shot by your best friend's pretend gun--and everybody knows you can't keep running if you're supposed to be dead.

3. Your favorite toy (that wasn't supposed to be outside in the first place) was stolen or broken.

4. You fell and ripped up your favorite jeans.

5. Someone found your super-secret hiding place.

6. You became "it" and couldn't find anybody.

Even childish, non-life-threatening things keep you from wanting to go outside.

My grandmother insisted that we spend time outside. We'd tell her how hot it was. She'd say it was good for us, and we needed to sweat. We'd tell her about the flies and mosquitoes. She's tell us they were after us because we were sweet--and then give us some homemade something to slather on that not only kept the bugs away, but people too. We'd tell her that the dogs were out. She'd tell us that the Bible didn't have anything good to say about a dog, and we shouldn't be afraid. She'd say that the dogs were more afraid of us than we were afraid of them. "When they chase you, don't run. They know you're scared. That's why they keep running you." We'd tell her about the snakes. She'd show us where she kept her cane knife, and tell us we could use it too--to cut a sweet piece of cane AND kill snakes--just hold it properly, be careful and don't cut ourselves. We'd tell her that something had happened outside. 

Didn't she understand? We wanted the comfort of the indoors. We wanted to feel the cool air coming in from the fan she would place backwards in the windowsill. We wanted to be near her, in her lap, or in her arms. We wanted that closeness which guaranteed that nothing would harm us. We didn't want to have to think up something to do. Was she coming outside with us? That would be a "no". She'd been outside. If outside was so good, why wasn't she out there? What we didn’t know was that she’d already been outside while we slept. She’s washed and hung clothes to dry. She’d burned trash and raked the yard. She’d picked figs and gathered milk bottles. She may have even walked to the post office. For us, outside held too many obstacles, and presented too many variables when you really didn't want to be there. When you had no choice, you found something to do--even things that proved to be constructive, helpful, and fun.

We were bound to come back inside many hours later. We'd be soaking wet, dirty, bitten, stung, scraped up, a little browner, full of stories to tell--with sound effects--and alive. Outside hadn't been so bad after all! We'd forgotten about our excuses and mastered all that outside had to offer. We soon learned that new clothes had no place outside. We learned that outside demanded a different attitude. It wasn't an option. You were going outside. That was your domain, and you were going to conquer it. You were not going to sit in the house all day.

Laziness was a sin to my grandmother, and she despised people who did nothing but lay around when there was work to do. Sitting inside, or lying down for a nap during the day meant you had truly done some worthwhile labor, or you were sick. It was silly to try and hide to get out of doing some chore. The plan was not to answer when she called, in hopes that she would give up and find someone else to do the job. She was persistent though, and kept calling until you either answered, or she found you. The latter was worse. "I know you heard me", she'd say. Having to explain why you ignored her call left you cherishing the thought that, sometimes, it's just good to shut up. Working, to her, was one of the things in life that made you feel better. The privilege of being inside while the Lord's sun was shining was solely for grown people. You, child, were going outside. You could make the best of it, and "play", and effect change in your little world, or sit on the steps, pout like Jonah, and let the sun beat down on your head. You could sit and bake until it was time for the Sun to go and shine on some other kids on the other side of the world.

How you spent your time outside had a profound impact on the rest of your day, and how you slept that night. If you always wanted to stay inside "up under" your grandmother all of the time, you were soon called a "baby". None of our excuses for not wanting to go outside would convince her to change her mind. Only thunder, and lightening, and torrential rain were legitimate reasons not to go out. The Lord was handling his business at those times. You could get your little-self killed at worst, or spanked, at least, for playing indoors or out--or for talking too loudly while the Lord was working and speaking.

When conditions aren't favorable, no one wants to go outside. Too many extremes, of hot or cold, make it official, and you tell yourself, "I'm not going out there". The child that still lives inside, adds, "And nobody can make me". When it comes to our hearts and minds, hopes and dreams, assignments and callings, there's an "outside" that we can dread just as much, or more than the one we sometimes tried to escape as children. Everything assigned to our hands is "outside", and there are times when closing the door and leaving it all, seems like a really good idea.

Often there's a welcomed sanctuary indoors. It is so because we create it ourselves. We often start listening to everything we're thinking, and forget to edit out the stupid stuff. Our emotions take over, and we find ourselves unable and unwilling to just get up and get out. Staying inside for long periods of time can be tempting--especially in times of uncertainty, grief, overwhelming tasks, confusion, or loss. There's a peculiar sense of security that is, in reality, a deceptive mechanism which, if left unchecked, can keep one inside indefinitely. It gets easier, and even feels normal, to just retreat. It's so much deeper than just not wanting to be bothered. It's not about being fainthearted, introverted, shy, or anti-social. This condition is not the eremitic life. This has nothing to do with some sacred religious order, suffering, or sacrificing relationships for the cause of Christ. This is not an admirable vocation, or divine calling to solitude. It's just "checking out" plain and simple. Somewhere you look for the secret trap door that will open and take you away to safety. This longing is not to die, but a silent hope to quietly disappear and let everyone have "it", go on with "it", take "it" over, and do with "it" whatever they will. You almost have to repent about how much you envy Enoch. You want to walk, keep walking, and hope God takes you, too.

You envision a place where there's no one but you, the Lord, and open air. There you are- a dead ringer for Jed Clampett- minus the family. You picture yourself accompanied by a loyal, but quiet dog. There you are wearing a pair of jeans and sandals; an old comfortable shirt and hat; chewing on a piece of straw, and sitting on a bank holding a fishing pole. Even the fish cooperate. You just want to be alone and at peace.

People desire to cheer you, and drag you out of your haven, but you're not in need of cheer, and you don't want to go anywhere. You find yourself crying and aren't sure why--but it begins to feel good to cry, and you revel in it. You don't want pity. Pity means someone has seen you. You don't want to be seen. You just want out--but not "outside". Outside represents an endless river of other people's wants, wishes, desires, needs, agendas, plans, great ideas, schemes, and issues--and to them, they are all your business, responsibility and priority. You reject work and play. The root of it all, is that there are too many things, circumstances, responsibilities, and persons of which you finally declare, "I've had enough".

You hope that somewhere in the quiet, something or someone legitimate, honest, and true will appear who genuinely cares about you as an individual. You dread that whatever, or whoever shows up, is not some leech only concerned with what their lot will be if you, like Enoch, "was not", and all of your resources were suddenly unavailable, or non-existent. You dream of something consistent, and on which you can depend, all the while wondering what your own record of consistency has been. You pray that while you voluntarily check out, there will be some cosmic separating of the wheat and the tares in your life--which at some point, while you were busy "outside", you lost the ability to differentiate. There is a heavy, sometimes smothering burden that comes when you show your face "outside". You're either going to play, or be rejected for the same reason. You know that something is coming at you, waiting for you to handle it, and you don't know whether to embrace it, play with it, or find a loose board and smack the hell out of it.

Indoors, there are no expectations, no threats, no challenges, and no trouble. Indoors you can ball yourself up in a nice cocoon, surround yourself with the things you need and want--making sure that they are at arms-length--and commence with a new kind of hibernation that would be the envy of brown bears everywhere. The thing you find yourself wrapped in is way beyond hiding. Even your soul wants to be left alone. You reject the suggestion to go outside. Grandmother is no longer running the show. You choose to turn yourself outside-in, shut down, and run the risk of missing out on even the good, profitable, beneficial, and promised things that show up at your door.

It's so hard to explain to people--particularly those to whom you are close, and those who have a vested interest in you--that you need space and time. You're suddenly described as fickle, moody, mean, inconsiderate, inconsistent, cruel, and arrogant. You might be, but the bottom line is that you just don't want to go outside. You don't want to play. You don't want anybody watching you while you're inside. You don't want people constantly asking you if you're alright, and tiptoeing around you as if you're on some kind of suicide watch. What you want is a very long, very deliberate break. Some people in your life will take great offense to being excluded from your private party of one. Surely your need to be alone doesn't include them, does it? Even the "Sunshines" in your life have to accept that, they too, can't have access. They, too, must stay outside.

Somewhere there has been a clause that you-- leader, supervisor, minister, manager, chief, parent, teacher, facilitator, or otherwise responsible party, don't, or shouldn't get a break. Help, or no help, trouble, heartache, sickness, controversy, loss or no, you have to keep plugging away until Jesus comes. Many people don't understand that even the ambassadors of God don't always want to go outside and "play" with his people. Many times, God's mortal messengers and representatives in the earth would rather turn over the anointed toys, and leave the spiritual playground altogether. Sadly, sometimes you feel like the lone player on the field. Your team is on the sidelines, and the rest of the crowd is mixed with cheerleaders and opponents. You feel as if they're all watching you throw and catch the ball, run, block, tackle, kick all of the extra points, be charged with all the penalties, score all of the touchdowns, and referee. Everyone is ecstatic about a win, but they don't understand why you don't feel like celebrating, or why you think about hanging up your helmet.

Have you ever just wanted to shut yourself in and forget about going outside? Often there are unsavory, distracting, deceptive elements just waiting on the other side of the door. If it weren't so true, it would seem like sheer paranoia. Beyond that, knowing oneself, one's limitations, and one's weaknesses is critical. Sometimes you have to acknowledge that your usual good sense, emotional stability, swift discernment, and ability to reason want to go outside and play without you.

Are there times when, staying indoors wins; you scan the list of the competent people among you, and relinquish your duties to them? How can you tell people that you just don't feel like it? How can you, who usually repeats a mantra similar to that of postal carriers, suddenly fail to show up? Isn't that just the opposite of what your disposition should be? You're almost tempted to use the awful, "It's not you, it's me" excuse. You've led people to a place; you've started a ball rolling; you've taken on a task, and others are counting on you to continue to lead or be a role model. They are depending on your unwavering faith and continuing strength to inspire them, encourage them, ease their burdens, solve their problems, or get them where they need to go. Many have no interest in mastering the use, workings, or maintenance of the vehicle that got them there. Many have not been watching the road or the signs. They've been watching you. They're happy to sleep while you drive, and they wake up refreshed at whatever the destination may be. When it becomes necessary for you to take a detour, just like the biblical multitude, they will follow.

"And the apostles gathered themselves together unto Jesus, and told him all things, both what they had done, and what they had taught. And he said unto them, Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest a while: for there were many coming and going, and they had no leisure so much as to eat. And they departed into a desert place by ship privately. And the people saw them departing, and many knew him, and ran afoot thither out of all cities, and outwent them, and came together unto him. And Jesus, when he came out, saw much people, and was moved with compassion toward them, because they were as sheep not having a shepherd: and he began to teach them many things". Mark 6:30-35

You don't want to go outside. You don't take too kindly to anyone trying to force you, but you know that you can't hide from God. David discovered that quite well, so you don't even try to. In the seventh verse of Psalm 139, he asks, "Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?" He brings up various locations where he can attempt to elude God, but quickly acknowledges that wherever he may go, God is there. So there's no ducking God, but what about his people? What about the people in your life, period? When they follow, or beat you to your secret place, or corner you outside-ready with their expectations, demands, questions, and needs, what will happen? Either your compassion will kick in, and override your desire to stay inside and away, or you'll find a brand new place to hide. Unfortunately, that new place is often found in the confines of your own mind--a mind that may be overdue for a little renewal.

When Jethro saw that Moses was overwhelmed, he came up with a plan. Either the plan was a great one, or Moses was too tired and frustrated to argue about it. Either way, a solution to an impending problem came from a trusted source--one who honestly cared about Moses' welfare. It's no wonder that people who are always tired are those who do their own work, and then go and clean up behind others, too.

Pride, the opinion that vulnerability is a sign of weakness, and lack of trust in assistants can cause leaders, or anyone for that matter, to feel as if they have to do everything themselves. You have a million and three things running around in your head on a regular basis, and believe that it all has to get done. You tell yourself that you have a legacy to leave behind, and put yourself on a brutal timetable. When you're convinced that your way is right, of course you will be the only person who can carry out a task successfully! Burnout is sure to follow someone who can't, or won't seek those to whom authority can be comfortably delegated. Knowing that responsibility for the success, or failure of everything will always land at your doorstep, can cause very real anxiety. Leaders, no, people who don't acknowledge that they need help, run the risk of damaging themselves, their relationships, and their mission.

Everyone needs times of refreshing, daily communion with God, and the presence of those who, themselves, are anointed to undertake the often unpredictable task of attending to, listening, or simply being good company. When Jesus was in the Garden of Gethsemane, it seems that he just wanted his disciples to--not do or say anything, but just be with him. Sadly, Jesus was surrounded by men who saw him in varying ways, and only one had enough Holy Ghost to recognize and declare who he really was--but even he denied Jesus when things got too hot "outside".

To be close enough to experience one's humanity and embrace the importance of protecting the anointing on the life of an individual, is a rare gift. Everyone who is drawn by the actions of an anointed individual may not be able to handle an up close, personal encounter when the mission, that required supernatural help, is over. The light of Christ shining through anyone who is used by God, is stunning, powerful, provocative and attractive. What it has the potential to attract, keeps many people isolated and shut up behind locked and dead-bolted physical, mental, and emotional doors. The truth is that touching the anointed, and being touched by the anointed can get, well, a little touchy in the absence of spiritual maturity. It's only natural to want to shed titles, roles, positions, and other trappings of notoriety just for a little while, and trust and share aspects of oneself without fear of being contaminated, used, exposed, exploited or handled inappropriately. Sometimes the risk is too great, and back inside you go. You just don't want to go outside--and God knows it. But you have to.

Remember. He's everywhere. His Holy Spirit is indwelling. His angels are ministering, and goodness and mercy are following. It's okay. You're covered. Go. 

Go outside. As inconvenient, and uncomfortable as it may seem, there's life out there, and it can be positively joyful.

THURSDAY THOUGHTS: REMEMBERING WILLIAM BROCKENBERRY, JR.

Peace, mutual respect, discipline, manners, kindness, courtesy, and order mean a lot to me. 

I worked hard to maintain order in my classroom when I was a teacher at Patricia Roberts Harris Educational Center in far SE Washington, DC. 

I was happy to be teaching in my own neighborhood, and the area in which I'd grown up and attended elementary and junior high school. 

I wanted to change the negative narrative, feel safe and secure, and I wanted the same for my students. If they felt safe nowhere else, I wanted them to know that in my classroom, I had their backs. 

Bullies wouldn't be tolerated. 

I wouldn't turn a deaf ear to their problems-- no matter how silly they seemed. 

I was there to help, not to hurt. 

I also would not put up with foolishness of any kind, and I made that perfectly clear. 
I detest arguments and fighting. Maybe it wasn't realistic, but I was determined to have peaceful days in an environment where the maximum amount of learning could take place. 

Classroom decorum and management was critical. All that you learn in chaos is that chaos impedes learning.

I firmly believe that a classroom can be filled with the most expensive, state-of-the-art equipment that money can buy, and be facilitated by the most educated instructor, but without order, positive learning cannot and will not take place.

There were many days when some disruptive little darling made me wonder if, when deciding to be a teacher, I had literally bumped my head. 

There were days when reasoning with a child did little good, and the only alternative was to remove a child from the room. 

Stubborn children, who were laboring under the misapprehension that they were in charge, and could do and say whatever they pleased, got on my every available nerve. 

All I could draw upon was how I was raised, and what was expected of me as a student. Had I done or said what some of my students did and said, I wouldn't be alive to type this blog entry. 

Disrespectful, rude little children who were determined to waste valuable time, and hinder other children from learning, made me positively livid. Repeat offenders drained every ounce of my patience--especially when I learned that their behavior wasn't new, or exclusive to my classroom. 

On those days, all I wanted to see was the back of the rude little kid's head as they left the building with their parents--and their parents would be carrying suspension or expulsion papers. 

On those days when compassion refused to kick in, I was very glad that one Mr. William Brockenberry, Jr. was sitting at his desk at the top of the stairs. I wouldn't even have to say a word. "Don't worry about it Ms. Williams. I got 'em", he'd say. 

He DID have them, and when they came back, they had a brand new attitude--even a sincere apology to me and their classmates.

Mr. Brockenberry was so much more than a security guard. 

He was a coach, mentor, and friend to the children in the manner that friendship with children counts. 

He wasted no time chastening them if they needed it. 

Many things he did on his own time to help students and their families will never be known. He didn't have to demand respect, because he gave it. 

Many often complained that he seemed to have better control over the children than others did. Many wondered how it was that the kids would comply to his wishes when everything else failed. 

He wasn't playing with them; he was a father figure, but he did show them that he could laugh and have fun. 

When they needed an encouraging word, he gave it with the same intensity as he did when they needed their behavior checked. 

The kids wanted his approval and they listened to him. 

It had nothing to do with his size. Yes, he was a big guy, 6 feet 5, give or take an inch, and his voice would stop hallway runners and class skippers in their tracks, but his stature didn't hide his big heart. 

He cared for the children. He called them "My kids". 

He wanted them to succeed. He gave of his time, energy and personal resources. His no-nonsense approach meant that I could go back downstairs and do what I was there to do-- teach.

He would create opportunities for the children to display their talents. When the auditorium's sound system failed to work, he'd bring his own, and stand at the edge of the stage and run it himself if he had to. There were fashion shows, and talent shows, field trips, sports practices and games to play--and he was right there-- often long after everyone else was gone--working with the children indoors and out.

He was still a relatively young man- only 45 years old- but he filled his life with service to his family and others. 

I'm praying for the comfort of his loved ones, and applauding his efforts, sacrifice, commitment, and sincere concern for children. Some people say, "Children First". Mr. Brockenberry believed and demonstrated it.

The school is closed now, and many of the children I knew and taught are all grown up--some with children of their own--but we know, "Once a Falcon, Always a Falcon".

IN THE MORNING

It was a very quiet day
I'd done everything I said I would do
And at the end of that day
I asked if anything I'd done was pleasing to You

It was fine time for me to ask
The sun had set
And the day was practically over
Time, of course, is in His hands
I could hear Him say
I have some things to show her

Go to Psalm 5:3
And follow the lead of the Psalmist
After my heart, was he
And you, My child, I love no less
When I wake you from sleep
Talk to me and get your instructions
And at each day's end
I will bless you with safety and rest

I promise you, Lord
From that day to this
My voice shalt Thou hear in the morning
O LORD, in the morning
My prayer I'll raise to you
I'll look up and anticipate your plan for my day
I won't go left or right
Or make a single decision
My desire is to do what you want me to do

I promise you, Lord
From that day to this
My voice shalt Thou hear in the morning,
O LORD, in the morning
To you I'll fervently pray
I am eager to hear your thoughts for me
I'll look up and await what Your heart has to say

WEDNESDAY THOUGHTS: WHAT GOOD IS A SONG?

I just placed my newly downloaded files, from Monday night's rehearsal, into their own special folder. This rehearsal was as productive as the first one, held 2 weeks ago. 

I feel so fortunate...

I am madly in love with harmony. 

Solos have their place, but hearing one's voice blending with the voices of others, is such a lovely gift. 

I listened to the tape I made (yes, tape) and smiled. 

I can really appreciate listening to rehearsal now that Raymond forwarded mp3's of his digital recording of it, via file-share. Now I can listen with ease on my computer's media player.

During the great February snow-in, when early spring cleaning seemed like a good idea, I found my Radio Shack micro-cassette recorder, and some micro-cassettes. 

Monday evening, I put a pack of AA batteries in my purse, and set off to rehearsal, prepared to push play/record/pause/rewind all night. 

I hadn't used the recorder in a while, and it amazed me how I had to figure it out again.

 

When I got home, I pressed play, and heard what sounded like "Alvin and The Chipmunks Sing Gospel". 

The tape speed was set to "freight train", and I was afraid that I'd wasted my right thumb's time all night. 

I adjusted the speed when I finally figured out which switch would allow me to hear the actual sounds I heard us sing. 

 (I wonder how long it will be, until the only place one can see a micro-cassette recorder, is on display at the Smithsonian?) 

I thought about the time when the micro-cassette recorder was cutting edge, and laughed. I won't toss it, though. It still works, and it served its purpose. 

I am grateful, however, for advances in technology-- even though I always seem to hop on board with the newest gadget, with a lot less enthusiasm, and a lot later than most.

I'm enjoying listening to the new songs, as we learn and sing them for the first time. It's like a baby being born, and, as it grows week after week, it inevitably blossoms, gets stronger, and makes you marvel at the whole conception process.

Even though he's a bit of an Inspector Gadget, and has access to state-of-the-art music technology, the fragile infant "Promises" is being fed by Richard on piano alone, singing and teaching parts to each section, the same way he delivered "Adoration", "Healing", "Persuaded" "Rejoice", and "Journey". 

The harmonies are beautiful, and hearing him play unaccompanied by guitars, drums and the like, is always a treat. 

It's great watching him think and create. 

In a few months, we'll hear what the musicians in the Vision family have to offer from their instruments, and all of the other wonderful sounds that make Richard's lyrics, melodies, and our voices, shine even more.

I've been a participant in lots of rehearsals, and, unfortunately, they haven't all been pleasant experiences. 

If it weren't for home training, sometimes I've just wanted to get my things and excuse myself. 

I've wondered sometimes if I was at a rehearsal, or a get together. It's painful being in rehearsals when you know that little will be accomplished, or that the leader's heart and mind are far away from the business at hand. It's even more painful when the leader's skill, choices in music, attitude, and maturity, leave a lot to be desired. 

A rehearsal where the leader is competent, prepared, and passionate, tends to flow so smoothly, and transforms into a veritable feast for the ears, and relief for the heart and mind. 

You want to be attentive. 

You want to learn. 

You want to get it right. 

You don't notice the time passing. 

You want to retain what you've learned, because it's meaningful, beautiful and inspiring. 

Leadership is such a key element in anything. 

It is an ineffective teacher, who cannot communicate enthusiasm, a sincere interest, or love for the subject to be taught. 

An effective teacher makes learning meaningful. Even little kids can spot busy work, and know when their time is being wasted. 

There was no waste on Monday night.

It's so wonderful to learn new songs-- and love them as one learns. 

After rehearsal, Quincy Jones' "What Good Is a Song" came to mind. 

No, every song is not meant to inspire, nor does every song have a positive message to bring. 

Some songs are positively depressing, ignorant, poorly conceived, have no redeeming value, and are only fit to be filed in the "noisy noise" category. 

I know. I know. Art is subjective, and one person's serenade, is another person's clanging cymbal, but a song with substance seems to be my favorite kind these days. 

If a song fails to move me in a positive way, it's darn near impossible for me to communicate its sentiments to anyone else. 

One may as well sing the telephone book. Fortunately, I'm already in love with, and blessed by the new songs I've been taught.

"Promises", Richard's highly anticipated project with my pals called "Vision", promises to be as encouraging and inspiring as every other gem that the Lord has whispered into his ear, and sent him to his wonderful piano to play, and sing. 

I admit a little bias--okay---a lot. 

I'm just grateful to be a part of it.

"What good is a song if it can't inspire; if it has no message to bring? If a song cannot take you higher...then it's not good enough to sing." 

~Quincy Jones