COMING HOME
I saw the building, drove into the sprawling parking lot, got out of my car and walked to the entrance. I knew these halls I walked, and memories of what once was bubbled up in my head. Even the air I breathed surfaced familiar recollection. I was coming back to my innocence, the school I attended, and the place where I taught for a number of years. It was Bismarck High School in Bismarck North Dakota.

“B-i-s-m–a-r-c-k, Bismarck, Bismarck High

We’re with you for you shouting away

Bismarck the warriors cry

Rah Rah Rah…..”

That was the beginning of our school song sung so many times in the old gymnasium I was now entering for the first time in years. I was overpowered by the spirit of former students, faculty and administration. I remembered the sounds of them singing, cheering and laughing while the pep band swung their instruments back and forth as they played. There was an underlying percussive continuum of chatter as they waited for the assembly to begin. The cheerleaders waved their arms like a magic wand in a choreographed beauty as they led the minions in the rallying cries of the Bismarck High School Demons. The microphone the principal used worked most of the time, but it really didn’t matter much. He had a captive crowd that swooned in the sway of school loyalty. This was Mecca for many of us, and these events were what bonded the student body together. They were preparing themselves for another game facing our rivals on cold Fall football nights at Hughes Field or wintering for basketball games at the Memorial Building downtown and the aromatic confluence of hot popcorn and sweat laden warriors.

I was coming back to a reunion of former music students in band, orchestra and choir. We rehearsed for two hours together and the little concert was the following morning. It would be held in the gymnasium that was dedicated and named for our legendary band director Gordon Knaak. A man who made it clear to me that I mattered to him. They came together through the vision of Jeanne Unkenholz and the hard work of Mary Mick, Tim Holtan, Leslee Smith and Mary Kay Pearson. I know these names are unfamiliar to my friends who are not from North Dakota, but their loving hearts made it work. I know others helped as well and forgive any omission (I’ll chalk it up to old age). I was helped in every way possible. My eyes are failing quickly and the music was blown up so I could see it better. The cello I used was special to me because a dear friend and former student, Vonne Tarnavsky was gracious enough to let me use her second cello. She went out of her way to assist me, even rosining the bow and putting the cello back in the case when we were through. I was so moved by this kindness and loved getting to play with her.

My buddy, Mike Rockne, former choir director at the school was there as well and the hugging began. Tim Holtan did an excellent job of preparing the band and the combined groups, even kindly indulging my obsessive compulsion to take a picture as they began to rehearse. Mary Kay Pearson and Mike rehearsed and directed the choir in their performance. It was wonderful. What a special treat for the string players to be led by Barb Sundahl, who played like an angel in a piece for piano and violin to the memory of students who were no longer with us.
Throughout the duration of our gathering, there were stories and remembrances both humorous and poignant. For me it was so little about the music and much more about rekindling the fire of relationships and our love for each other. The notion that we would be making a greatly refined presentation was a nonexistent muse. We all did our best and that would have to suffice. Every time I saw a new face, my eyes would well up as I remembered how special each of these lovely lives were to me. It was like being hit by an oncoming train of emotion, hugging the people I loved and basking in our rich history. Now days I’ve watched the parents of these students get old, more fragile and have seen many former moms and dads pass on. Our parents were part of this reminisce as well. We surmised that the in the former days we were all growing up together…we were in it …together… and we came back to remember…together.

I’m especially loving Pam today. I don’t have to have a reason, because just knowing her…just being with her evokes something deeply joyful…something thankful in me. The lyricist, Hal David wrote “on the day that she was born the angels got together and decided to create a dream come true”, but I don’t think any angel made this dream come true… that decision was made by a much greater authority. He surely did sprinkle moon dust in her hair and a starlight in her eyes. She’s so beautiful to me.

I’m listening to “Close To You”with Ron Isley singing David’s lyric on a beautiful bed of Burt Bachrach’s music. I’ve been in music as long as I can remember. It’s  the lining in my soul and I get amazed all over again by its ability to move my heart in ways indescribable. With only twelve notes in a scale, used by truly gifted songwriters, composers, arrangers, orchestrators, musicians and artists, their passion reaches down into my heart and take me to places I could never visit in the physical. These are special places, deep… soulful places. Regardless of genre, music of every leaning has a way of speaking to me.

I want to honor all musical styles from all over the world. Valuing the music of a others is a healthy way of learning respect for people groups, countries and cultures. It’s great to have an appreciation of a particular style of music that is meaningful to you, however some find it necessary to profess distain for music not their own, of  cultures they don’t really understand, ever  supposing their fellows too  unlettered to appreciate “real” music. Leonard Bernstein alarmed the classical purists with his obvious appreciation of various genres, but he understood the cultural relevance of other forms. Music is not a little harbor…but an expansive ocean of styles and conveyance. When people tend a narrow musical path, in a very real sense they are refusing to acknowledge the differences in the way humanity views and absorbs the theatre of life. There are many windows of divergent expression reflected in the creative’s pen and voice.

Music is found in the aggregate of an artist’s life, what they see, where they’re from, what they experience, their families and the way they were raised, their ethnicity and culture, places they’ve lived, the influence of art, music, writing and political outlook. The confluence of all of this forms a lyrical and musical philosophy. What emanates from these artists is reconstituted in their psyche, and emerges as a unique utterance.  After the technical discipline is established, the power of any creative artist is in the sum total of their life influences.

Music is a historical marker that transcends generations. It resurrects pain and soothes it all in the same breath. A combination of conscious and unconscious thought, it says what we are unable to say. It cries when we don’t have any tears left and smiles when we can’t. it puts its loving arm around us and tells us… “it’s going to be okay.” Invading our emptiness, it invites us to preternatural mornings and brilliant sunlit flowers, where once tears of despair become scintillant dew on fields of hope. We are left dumbstruck with the beauty.

The abilities of great artists and musicians have certainly been finely honed to be sure, but for me…and again I speak just for me…even though the artist is intentional to be excellent and has diligently worked themself to the bone…the marrow of talent is of spiritual content… and that for me is a gift from God.

 “Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near? 
Just like me, they long to be… close to you”

Yep.

CHANGING LANES

I drive a certain route to my bible study on Wednesday mornings at 7:00. Every time I get to my destination, I’m always in a disturbed condition. There is an intersection along the way that has two lanes, one for the cars turning on to the freeway and the left lane for those who are going straight. Because there are so many vehicles that are headed onto the freeway, that line is very long and the left lane has few cars. Every week the same thing happens, the cars in the left lane move quickly up to the place where cars are entering the freeway…and they turn their blinkers on to get in the turn lane. Every week I’ve had the same reaction…ANGER. Those drivers just feel so entitled and don’t have any sense of decorum in traffic like the rest of us. I’d get to bible study and many weeks I haven’t let it go and let my mind rest. (Another glaring weakness of an obsessive compulsive)

Finally a few weeks ago, I got hold of my sense of sensibilities and had a chat with Greg. Look what you’re doing, “Mr. nice guy”. THIS is the kindness and deference of which you have posted so often…. or should I say, ”pontificated?” For heavens sake, you’re right at 70 years old and this is the stuff you get riled up about. How pathetic!!!! Man, if people knew who you really were, what you really thought…they may think differently of you. And there you go again…worrying about peoples perception of you as opposed to a consistent desire to honor God…really…let’s get real with some perspective.

Since I’m having this conversation with you, Greg, how about a little self-examination. They say this is good for the soul. Let’s begin with, oh say, your mean spirited attitudes toward people you don’t particularly care for, maybe because they don’t think like you, or their manner is too coarse or off putting or they don’t dress appropriately enough for you. No, you don’t say it, but oh boy, you sure do think it, and it really doesn’t matter what might set you off…because it’s all about you, isn’t that pretty close to accurate? Such a need to be right….to be liked. ( So far, I’m not liking my exam too much) Oh sure, you have your good days and for the most part, you’re conveniently kindly, but even that’s sporadic really. At best, you’re full of a entitlement and puffed up  pronouncements….albeit unspoken.

You’ve nurtured these behaviors, mental processes and attitudes through the years and honed them with a unrivaled nuanced proficiency. These matters of righteous indignation, mindless criticism, disapproving looks and silent disgust come through an undisciplined spiritual life cloaked in lifetime tradition of aping Christian culture. Look at the times you take pleasure in mentally telling someone off or think unkind thoughts and wallow in them. You have become use to using harsh hurtful words, not often…but often enough to become accustom to them and think that repetition graduates them to civility. (This is worse than a prostate exam…OUCH)

A mean look or short, hurtful retort to Pam, a quick judgment of someone in the grocery store of whom you have no earthly understanding of what they’re going through or the road they’ve traveled, but that doesn’t really matter to you…because you’re…well you’re special…and they’re not. Of course nobody can hear or see what your thinking as you smile your way thru your superficial day. There is one thing of which you can be sure…at some point …no one will have to look to see this…your heart will give you up with your tongue.

So how about a little ”time out” to think about things that do matter….like justice, mercy, kindness, widows, orphans, the helpless, the suffering,….oh and how about the beauty of creation, salvation, redemption…there’s a couple you can set your mind on…and that’s just for starters. And what does God ask of you, Greg?

God asks us to think on whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.
Yes… act justly, love mercy and walk humbly with God.

Eleanor Roosevelt had it right when she said…..
“You shouldn’t worry so much about what others think of you if you realized how seldom they do.

Changing lanes……really….really?

My wife Pam has a lot of good ideas and I listen to her …that is if I’m not in Tahiti or thinking about….well… I can’t remember what I’m thinking about…that changes about every nanosecond. We were sitting out on the front porch this morning having a nice coffee and conversation when out of the blue she said, “You should have a blog so your Facebook posts aren’t so offensive. Did I hear right… offensive!!!…WHAT!!!!! What are you talking about? Oh boy…I got your “offense” right here….TO THE MOON, ALICE!!!!! I calmed down just a little….(very little) and she continued. “When you write your posts they’re usually way too long for a simple Facebook post and people don’t like that. They just want a few lines and maybe a picture or two, but they don’t need a doctoral thesis.” Well I tell ya…right then and there I had to put my foot down on the matter and tell her a thing or two…you betcha…so I said,….. Okay, honey”…and that’s why I’m writing this first blog post. I haven’t figured out how I post the notice of my blog, but just give me a few more days and I’ll figure that out. (Pam knows how to figure out stuff like that)

Here are my simple rules for this site:

I want this blog to be like my home, an inviting, loving and caring place where people feel welcome, that the words I and those that reply would be as a bouquet of flowers, full of loveliness and a beautiful fragrance. I want to write things that ask questions, speak of family and friends, are funny sometimes, hearken memories and show mercy. My hope is that respondents desire to share and build up their ideas without tearing down those with whom they disagree. Go somewhere else to do that, but not here. I’m not burying my head in the sand, I’m extremely curious and love hearing how people process their thinking.

May this be a place where people feel safe regardless of their disposition spiritually, politically or otherwise. There is so much anger, malevolence and turmoil in our society that is is slowly becoming the fabric and marrow of this country. I pray this insignificant blog can be a respite and balm from all the noise of “being right”.

And as always…..Cheers!!! (”Offensive?…………….SHEESH’)