House Songs

I had the radio on as I washed my truck. When the song "Our House" by Crosby, Stills, and Nash came on, I immediately thought of a friend I met during my sophomore year of college.  (This is the kind of thing music can do, and what makes it so powerful.)

Jeff was a Physical Therapy student.  He told me he became interested in the field when he stepped in a hole while running cross country in high school.  He ended up in therapy, and decided he wanted to devote his life to helping others in need of care.

One thing I appreciated about him was that he sang and played guitar, and did it quite well.  One night in a coffee house he sang "Our House".   At least I think I remember him singing it.  Or perhaps it was "House at Pooh Corner" by Kenny Loggins.  Geez.  Well, now I've got to post that song as well.

Jeff is now a pastor in NYC at the Redeemer Presbyterian Church.  True to his original calling, he is helping those in need of care, which pretty much covers everyone.

Here's something I do remember.  Jeff used to sing "Vincent" by Don McLean.

And here's another thing that is unforgettable.  There was something about Jeff that made a lasting impact on me.  Perhaps it was his gentle spirit, his kindness, or the simple fact he was a believer.  I suspect it had a lot to do with the song in his heart.

Perhaps Loggins said it best in "House at Pooh Corner":

It's hard to explain how a few precious things
Seem to follow throughout all our lives

Thanks for singing, Jeff.

Farmer's Rorschach Test

What Pleases a Father's Heart

Note:  This story first appeared in the November 2008 edition of the Manna. http://readthemanna.org.  It was written after the girls' first annual ballet recital (before I learned the value of brevity).  They just performed their fifth.

Sarah had always shown a propensity for dance.  When she was 4 or 5, she would pretend to be a ballerina.  Often in a church gathering, she would ask if she could dance.  She would go to the end of our aisle, put her little hands over her head, and twirl around.  Tina and I talked about the fact we should send her to ballet classes. 

Katherine 2012

As she grew older, she stopped asking to dance during the church meeting.  She gradually lost that lack of inhibition that young children often have.  Finally one day, her mother and I had that “If we don’t go ahead and do it now, she’s going to grow up and the opportunity will be lost” conversation.  So as she was about to turn ten, we made the decision to offer ballet classes to her.  Tina suggested that we should do the same for her sister Katherine, about to turn 12, in the interest of fairness.  That seemed appropriate, but I had doubts that our quiet Katherine would have any interest in something that would require a recital.

The day came to make our offer known to the girls.  As expected, Sarah was thrilled with the opportunity.  And unexpectedly, Katherine also expressed an interest in taking classes.  We told her she could start the class to see how she liked it, and if it wasn’t something she enjoyed, she was free to stop.  She was satisfied with that, and we set about the process of choosing a teacher.

The girls have two friends who had been taking ballet from a lovely lady who, how shall I say it, is a very mature and seasoned ballet instructor who has been teaching for many years.  These friends have been very satisfied with this particular instructor, and in fact have grown attached to her.  We had also heard that as this instructor has been doing this for some time now, she may not have the patience that some may have (a justified attitude after years of dedicated hard work).  She expects the girls to come prepared to pay attention and work.  Knowing our girls, we did not expect this to be a problem at all. 

Sarah 2012

We also became aware of an instructor who teaches a class using praise and worship music.  Now this seemed appropriate for Sarah, whose interest in dance was apparently motivated by worship.  She seemed to have a desire to express worship through dance.  The one drawback to this instruction was that it was not strictly classic ballet. 

Fortunately, these were the only two choices we really considered.  But still, which should we choose?  Classic ballet, with an older, possibly impatient instructor, or praise and worship dance, with a younger, perhaps more energetic instructor?  Either choice would have been a good one, but after some debate, there was one thing that tipped the scales.  The classic ballet class was a little cheaper, so we based the decision of our girls’ dance career on finances.  We are spiritual giants.

So off to ballet class our girls go.  The concern over their instructor’s possible impatience never materialized.  The girls listened intently and did as they were instructed.  The instructor was kind and gentle.  All was well. 

I don’t recall the exact instance, but I did have second thoughts one day when something came up about praise dance.  Had we made a mistake in not encouraging Sarah’s worship dancing, I wondered?  But that concern passed, perhaps as a result of a request by my wife for me to take the girls to class one day.

Normally, Tina would take the girls to their 5:00 class.  But for one reason or another, I ended up taking them.  I sat in a waiting area adjoining the studio.  There was a door with a glass window where you could observe the class.  Their instructor played the accompanying music loudly, and it could easily be heard from that room.  When she started the music for their dance, an unmistakable male voice began singing with quiet guitar accompaniment.  I didn’t recall hearing the song before, but I suspected immediately that I knew the artist.  The instructor’s choice of music took me by surprise.  Turns out, the class was working on a dance which they would do at their spring recital. 

After class, I immediately questioned the girls about the song.  “Oh, that’s Psalm 62,” they responded.  “Do you know who sings it?” I asked.  They didn’t, but informed me that it was a song their instructor had heard in church and really liked.  That was about all they knew.

I suspected the artist was John Michael Talbot.  Anyone who has heard him would agree that his music and voice are unmistakable.  A search of the internet confirmed that the song I had heard coming from the dance studio was indeed his.  I ordered a CD, and eagerly awaited its arrival.  “Psalm 62” was from the older album “Come to the Quiet”, with which I was familiar.  It came out in 1980, during my first year of college.  The music was proving its timelessness, just starting to make an impact on my family even now.  I doubt that Mr. Talbot could have dreamed the music would touch our hearts twenty eight years later.

About two weeks before the spring recital, I had another opportunity to take the girls to class.  I watched as they danced to the song, having progressed much further along in the choreography.  It was then that I felt it approaching.  There was a combination of thoughts and emotions that were all coming together.  Although I wasn’t quite sure what it would look like, I had a hunch it would culminate the evening of the recital.

That day finally came with the typical controlled chaos.  I had to work part of the day, and got home in time to watch their mother labor over the preparations.  There were baths to take, hair to do, Katherine’s sore foot to wrap, two little brothers to get ready, even dinner to make.  We headed down to the high school auditorium, right on time.  The girls made their way back to the “Dancer’s Only” corridor.  And the rest of us waited in anticipation. 

First out were some tiny children - just too cute.  Whether they could dance or not was immaterial.  They made their parents proud.  Two more classes of more tiny children followed, making their parents proud as well.

Finally, the program read “Psalm 62”.  Our girls filed out with six others.  John Michael Talbot’s voice and guitar rang out loud and clear.  The lights made the girls and their tutus glow.  They danced in worship on that stage before hundreds of parents and grandparents, who may as well have been kings and queens. 

Any parent can identify how I felt.  I am normally a relatively unemotional person.  But as I sat there, the emotion was irrepressible.  The tears flowed.  I basked in the feeling, and although I couldn’t quite put my finger on what I was experiencing, I knew it was good. 

To call it a “proud” moment would be overly simplistic and would not do it justice at all.  What I was feeling was much larger, much more complex.  I was thinking about our choice of where to send our girls to ballet class, and how we arrived at our decision.  I was enjoying the sentiment and tone of the song that John Michael Talbot was singing.  I was thinking about how our girls had been faithfully going to their ballet class, always seeming to enjoy it, never complaining about not wanting to go. I was thinking about the camaraderie of these two very different sisters, and how dancing together served to encourage that.  I was thinking about how excited they were the night I took them to class and they got their dresses for the recital.  I was thinking about how seriously they were taking this recital.

And now they were dancing, and they seemed to be enjoying it.  Sarah was obviously more comfortable performing, but Katherine, in her own serious manner, was taking pleasure in the dance in her own, individual way.  Did they dance flawlessly?  I had neither the ability to know, nor the desire to care.  It was irrelevant.  This was not about a performance.  It was about our girls just living.

That’s basically all they were doing, just living.  They were going about their lives, doing something challenging which they enjoyed.  Tonight, it all came to a head, and we were privileged to witness it.  It was witnessing that “just living” that brought such pleasure to my heart, and tears to my eyes. 

I make the assumption that many of the things I experience as a father are placed there by design to allow me to understand what our Heavenly Father experiences.  And I believe that this is just one of those things.  What I experienced at the girls’ recital is much like what The Lord God must experience with us.  He must take such pleasure in watching and participating in our “just living”.  We go about our lives, doing everyday things, following and learning from Him.  And then we have a recital - a moment of being pressed into some situation, and He watches, and takes great pleasure in seeing us live out the Life of His Son which He has worked into our lives.   

Those were some of the emotions I felt as our girls danced.  Life just doesn’t get any better than that.

Cucumber Canoe

Our girls just had their fifth annual ballet recital.  Of course, they were beautiful and perfect in their dancing.  More on that to follow. 

One of the younger classes performed using this song.  I had never heard it.  The group is a husband/wife team called "The Missing Piece".  Just try listening to it without smiling.  If you don't feel like smiling, I would avoid it.

Smith Island Cake for Mother's Day

It started, coincidentally, with a trip to the airport to pick up my mother and father.  Turns out, it was an unnecessary trip, as a breakdown in communication resulted in my brother arriving at the airport just after I did to pick up the very same mother and father.  We should talk more.

But it was not a complete waste of time, because my daughter Sarah and I discovered a department of tourism brochure rack, and picked up a recipe for a Smith Island cake.  So when Tina suggested we have our mothers over for lunch on Sunday, I decided to make good out of the mistaken trip to the airport.  The girls and I would make a Smith Island cake for Mother's Day.

This was a feat attempted only once by my wife.  She explained that it is labor intensive and a nuisance, as the cakes typically have at least 8 layers.  That's the whole point, I explained.  That's what makes it special.  If it were easy, everybody would do it.

So with the recipe in hand, Sarah and I whipped this thing up.  It went amazingly well, until we got to the chocolate icing, which apparently seized (cooks will know what that means...  I will spare you the horrible details.)  After a second fresh attempt, we got the same exact results. 

We reminded ourselves that if this were easy, everyone would do it.  This is what made it special.

Tina came to our aid, and discovered a way to rescue both failed attempts at chocolate icing with the use of some whipping cream and a blender. 

And then, it was finished.  I saw that it was not exactly good, but acceptable.  But it's the thought that counts, right?

Happy Mother's Day Tina, Bette Lou, and Ruth.  Hope you appreciate all the work we put forth to honor you on this special day.  It isn't every son and granddaughter who would go to such great lengths.

Chicago vs. Neil Diamond

It must have been the Christmas of 1970.  My parents thought it would be nice to give my brother and me each an album.  Buddy received Chicago's second project, simply titled "Chicago", which later became known as "Chicago II".  I, on the other hand, received Neil Diamond's Tap Root Manuscript.  Both albums had been released that year.

Buddy had been fortunate enough to actually see Chicago perform live in Lousiville, KY during a summer visit to see our Uncle Bud and Aunt Tinka.  He was only 13, and did not participate in the dope smoking that took place at the concert, or so we were told.  I was not allowed to go to the concert, as I had spent several weeks in Louisville with just my cousin Mike, before the rest of the family went out later that summer.  My uncle wanted to do "something special" with my brother, since I had already had that privilege.  I understood, but resented not being able to tag along, and may in fact still be harboring unforgiveness in my heart.

To add insult to this injury, Buddy got the Chicago album, and I got the Neil Diamond album.  I never saw Diamond in concert.  But if I had, I doubt there would have been anyone smoking pot, or any other cool people for that matter, period.  There would only have been older people tip toeing into the world of rock, but afraid to get wet because the water was too cold, or turbulent.

Nevertheless, I did my darnedness to view Neil Diamond as cool.  It was hard not to like "Crackin' Rosie" and "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother", although thus far, my road had not been that long, nor had many a winding turns, and my younger brother was, well, five years of age, and that about says it all.

So I listened to Tap Root Manuscript, but I listened to Chicago more.  And Chicago became one of my favorite albums of all time, an album I came to appreciate more and more, even in the last few years.

In the vinyl version, it is a double album.  On side 2 of the first disc, Chicago recorded essentially one big song titled "Ballet for a Girl in Buchannon", which is divided up into 7 songs.  Twelve minutes and 41 seconds of pure musical brilliance.  Many of the songs will be familiar, but probably only a select few have heard them in succession, as they were intended to be listened to.  Of course, no one has the time to listen to this, but if you feel compelled, then here it is.

Post Script:  I have not posted a link to any Neil Diamond songs, intentionally.  Interesting story... my college roommate in my sophomore year was an actual Neil Diamond fan.  Bill's exposure to Diamond came through his parents as well.  They did not give him an album, but had a secret stash of questionable music which Bill would sneak out and listen to when his mother wasn't watching.

Years later, another friend Bill informed me matter of factly that Neil Diamond was in no way cool, and never had been.  I was a little dismayed at this revelation, and now wonder if all this had something to do with my unpopularity in school with the cool kids.

Addendum to the Post Script:  Perhaps I have not been clear, as I whipped this entry up in record time.  I did not mean to imply that Neil Diamond is cool.  In my effort to be a good child and enjoy the gift of the album, I made every attempt to view it as cool.  But deep down, I think I always knew it wasn't so.  Should have gone with my gut.  It took Bill #2 to show me that I just needed to let it go.  Sorry Mom and Dad.  

Another random comment:  According to Bill #2, Neil Diamond is not a cause of uncoolness, but merely a symptom.  This is the kind of profound statement that causes me to stay in touch with Bill #2, as this is just the tip of the iceberg regarding his wisdom.