Racing Downhill

Life may be a race. . .but it seems to me it's not exactly a track meet. It's like we're all running a little too fast down a hill, barely keeping our balance, and at the bottom there's a monstrous brick wall with only one narrow opening. The further up the hill you notice the brick wall, the more time you have to do the course corrections necessary to make it through the opening. If all you find time to do as you barrel down the hill is keep your balance, looking up at the last moment will be a little shocking.

Parenting

Have you ever tried to persuade someone to change something? I'm not talking about oil or light bulbs. . .I'm talking about their attitude and/or behavior. If so, how'd it go? Did your persuasion have sticking power, or did they just fake the behavior/attitude change in order to stop you from nagging them? If that's the case, then both parties end up feeling bad. The "forcer" feels bad (if he or she has a shred of conscience) because they imposed their will on someone else. . .that is, they've been a bully. And the "forcee" feels bad because their will has been violated. They feel like a little kid at school who's lunch money has just been extorted by Bubba. Unless the victim is extraordinarily humble, resentment and revenge are inevitable.

Parents are put in this situation all the time. When you observe your child's life you inevitably see things they can't. Things they really need to act on, or some attitude or behavior they need to change in order to be healthier in body and/or soul. When they're really young, below about 40 lbs., it's fairly simple. You just pick them up and put them where you want them. When they squirm away. . .you pick them up and perhaps distract them with some colorful toy until they forget what they were doing previously. It's tiring. . .but simple. But once they are on their own, either mentally or physically, it is much more challenging. . .and a delicate balance. The worst part is it that it requires humility and patience from both parties. It's difficult to line those two virtues up when only one soul is involved, much less two. An added bonus for the parent is that you hardly ever know if you're actually seeing things right and/or if the seeds of your words are finding "purchase in the soil of your kid's soul" . .at least perhaps not for many, many years. So it is really an act of faith AND love. It doesn't get any better than this. . .take that as you will.

To Every Season, Turn, Turn, Turn

Yesterday was Zacchaeus Sunday in the Orthodox Church. Next Sunday will be the Sunday of the Publican and the Pharisee. And then two weeks after that, we begin Great Lent. . .the most severe fasting period in the Church's liturgical year. The season of repentance is near. Of course, I'm only speaking of a "season of repentance" in terms of an ecclesiastical calendar. . .our whole life is given to us to repent. But something I am learning from the Orthodox Church is a better appreciation for the power of "seasons".

I think we all know this instinctively. For example, our culture has its own "seasons". . .more or less concerned with making this life comfortable. Seems to me two seasons in particular predominate, at least in western culture. There is the season of "education" (pre-school through graduate school), followed by the season of "settling down" (perhaps getting married, making your "mark in life" via career or passionate hobby, and acquiring stuff). I know I'm over-simplifying. . .but you probably get my point.

For good or bad, seasons tend to dictate the flavor of life. Just think of the difference between life in Alaska as opposed to life in Jamaica. I grew up in Southwest Virginia, and the changing of the natural seasons provided a rhythm to life that produced anticipation, changes in attitude, and a natural momentum that synchronized the whole culture there. As a kid, Fall meant mountains ablaze with color and football. . .Winter meant strep throat, playing in the snow, and Christmas. . .Spring meant the bare mountains got re-clothed in leaves and flowers. . .Summer meant mowing the grass and summer vacation and swimming. Maybe that's one of the purposes of seasons. . .they synchronize us and provide a context for community. Perhaps that's the wisdom of the liturgical year imposed by the Church. . .it builds community which in turn provides a “place” for the Spirit of God to dwell and work.

The Orthodox Church imposes its' own set of “supra-natural” seasons, based on events from the earthly life of Jesus and to a lesser extent, his mother. These seasons are marked by "feasts". . .the two most prominent being Nativity (birth) and Pascha (resurrection). I’ve been Orthodox long enough now that when the season starts to change, as “Zacchaeus Sunday” signaled yesterday, I find myself wistfully thinking about the coming changes. I find myself mentally starting to change my wardrobe and doing all the chores necessary to prepare for the coming season. There is something comfortable in this. . .even though Great Lent is a very demanding season.

John and Lena are Getting Married

It's always a little awkward when guys get together for some other purpose than building something, watching something, or eating something. I'm not much of a drinker. . .but I do understand the use of alcohol is such situations. John and Lena are getting married this weekend, and the guys got together with John to send him off with a gift, the reassurance of our happiness for them, and the promise of our support as the two of them adjust to married life. Women have showers, guys in other subcultures have bachelor parties, but in our tiny Orthodox parish, the guys get together to talk from our hearts to the soon-to-be-wedded. And it always starts out a little awkward. Thankfully, we had pizza but unfortunately. . .no beer. We shouldn't overlook that next time.

Besides John, there were eight other men present. Three singles and five married. Of the five married men, three had experienced bitter divorces, and two had gone through painful separations but had managed (with their wives of course) to keep their marriages intact. I don't know the "relational histories" of the single men but they weren't exactly unscarred. . .that much was evident. Not exactly a panel of experts re: marriage. But it didn't matter. There may have been a lot of pain represented in that room but no one was cyncial about marriage. We were sober, and we offered our varied experiences to John as evidence of the serious undertaking marriage is. . .but none of us discouraged him. All of us feel grateful to love and be loved by our wives. All of us are continually bewildered why our wives love us, and ashamed that we don't do better as husbands. But we all recognize the life-creating force this dance of love is. John and Lena will both benefit from it. I usually cry at weddings, but they are sweet tears.

Going To Church

Sometimes Orthodox Church services are unbelievably long, especially when a "Feast Day" happens to butt up against the normal Sunday services. So, I was standing (there are no pews in a traditional Orthodox service. . .you stand) in Church this morning kinda dreading the fact that we were facing another 3 hours of services this morning (Royal Hours followed by Divine Liturgy followed by the Great Blessing of the Waters), another 1+ hours tonight (Vespers), and 3 hours tomorrow morning (Matins and Divine Liturgy for the feast of Theophany) followed by another couple hours driving out to the Willamette River for the service of the Great Blessing of the Waters, done again, this time outdoors in Portland's famous weather.

I was feeling sorry for myself because I'd had a bit of a cold during the past week, and I was starting to go through some pretty goofy head games. I imagined myself "having speaks" with the Priest to suggest that he KNOCK IT OFF!!. I mean, it must be against the Constitution or something to go to church this much in America. I started wondering if we were fanatics since everybody knows that spending this much time doing something other than entertaining yourself just ain't right. Well, you probably get the picture. My concentration was drifting in and out of the service and I wasn't feeling all that engaged, except with my own agitated thoughts.

But as time wore on I found myself caught up in the prayers of the service, especially during the Great Blessing of the Waters, which is something done once a year at Theophany. (Note: Theophany, which loosely translated means 'God being revealed', is the feast of the baptism of Christ. It is named "Theophany" because at Christ's baptism, God clearly reveals himself as the Holy Trinity in the following way: Christ is being baptized by John, while the Holy Spirit takes on the form of a dove, and the Father speaks in an audible voice from heaven.) As my mind and heart became more engaged in the prayers, chants, and actions of the service (water being sprinkled everywhere. . .in fairly great quantities), at some point, my body quit complaining. I don’t remember exactly how or when it happened, but somehow I was “there”. . .that is, fully engaged and “present” at the Divine Service.

When I was a child, a 45 minute church service was too much. But what I didn’t know then was that it can sometimes take hours to get past the angry/whining/bitching phase, and on to the humble/prayerful/grateful phase. Some things just take time, and there is no way around it. If our body is allowed to constantly win. . .it becomes more demanding. Ultimately, our souls are weakened by the body's tyranny. Then our whole being suffers the consequences (loss of peace, illness, morbid self-occupation, etc.) of the imbalance. Hmmm. . .all this simply because of Church. . .last night. . .this morning. . .later today. . .and tomorrow. I dunno. . .maybe I'll still have speaks with the Priest. . .in confession.

Two Perspectives

Lately, God has been blessing my wife and me. That’s not exactly right. . .I suspect it would be better to say that we’ve just been noticing that God has been blessing us. I’m not talking about material things primarily. . .although we’re grateful that we never go hungry, aren’t sleeping out in the rain, and our bodies are fairly healthy. But I’m talking mainly about intangible things like going a little deeper in our relationship. . .being put in a position where we can do things for other people. . .a little more inner calm. We’ve both noticed, and we’ve commented on it to each other. I think I've been a little surprised, almost like, “This is weird. I’m not sure this should be happening.” Or perhaps even a thought or two of, “We must finally be doing something right.” Well, that’s one perspective. But I came across another perspective while reading Letters from Fr. Seraphim this morning. In one of his letters, Fr. Seraphim started by saying, “We are well. . .being overwhelmed by God’s grace, which we feel strongly to prepare us for the difficult times soon upon us. We must all increase our fervent prayer.” That stopped me dead in my tracks. Self-congratulations or sobriety. . .those are two very different responses to God’s blessings. Thank God for the example of holy people. I can be so foolish.

Small Stuff

Just had one of those "we're getting a little too familiar with each other, and being careless with our words" moments with my wife on the phone. It's the small stuff that counts. A slight turn one way leads to laziness, vulgarity, and boredom in a relationship. . .a slight turn in the other direction leads to hypersensitivity, self-righteousness, and lonliness. . .straight ahead is vigilance, hard work, and deep love for one another. . .behind us is. . .well, that's behind us. "Keep the weels straight, ignore the mess in the rear-view mirror, and pray for good weather darlin'. . .we're gonna need it."

Gratitude

It's ironic, but gratitude seems to be one of the first things we let go of when things are going well. Maybe it's just me. . .so I'll change this to the first person singular. When things go well for a while, I tend to replace "gratitude" with "expectation". When things are going to hell in a handbasket. . .and God rescues me. . .I'm grateful. But when things are cruising, I expect God to leave the cruise control alone.

You see, I couldn't sleep last night, and as I lay there wondering how tired I was going to be the next day I started thinking about gratitude. More specifically. . .*in*gratitude. Naturally, as I started realizing how ungrateful I am my insomnia only got worse. So, I started thanking God for *everything* in my life. . .the good, the bad, the solved, and the unsolved. . .like counting sheep in a way. I still didn't feel any sleepier. . .just more tired and morbidly introspective. But my mind had started wandering as I thanked God and gradually my thoughts turned toward the people in my life. My wife, children, church, friends. . .and I found myself considering all these folks. That did it. Getting my mind off myself eventually helped me drift off. Boy, was I grateful.

Tradition

I write songs in spurts. . .sometimes with years in-between. Sometimes I feel guilty about it. . .like I'm a slacker or something. There's probaby some truth in that, but I don't think that is what it is all about. For me, I think it's because in the past I've put too much stock in songwriting, and not enough into developing an appreciation for music. I haven't listened to much music, pop or otherwise, in many, many years. I'm always a little embarrased when somebody asks me what I've been listening to or who my favorite artist is. I just stare at the ground, shrug my shoulders, and say, "I dunno." I think somewhere along the line I bought into a lie about music. That if you're not "creating" music (and by that I mean writing your own stuff) then you're really not a musician. I don't buy that anymore. Since becoming an Orthodox Christian I've developed a taste for tradition. Granted, in that context it has to do with the tradition of Christianity passed down through "God-bearers". But as I have grown accumstomed to this, I've noticed that it is a very basic human quality. That is, the passing down of some tradition from one generation to the next. (I know, I know. . .I'm pretty slow. I should have figured this out long ago. It doesn't require converting to Christian Orthodoxy to realize this. . .that is just my path.) So I find myself standing here fairly empty-handed musically speaking, longing to be involved in some tradition of music. I feel like I need to spend some time to figure out what appeals to me. . .what genuinely appeals to me. . .rather than "what tradition will afford me an opportunity to make a record, etc." As I approach my 50th birthday, I find that I'm tired of trying to come up with something fresh sounding, etc. I just want to learn a tradition, be faithful to it, and perhaps after learning it for a few years add a few licks of my own. That just seems right.

Clinch Mountain

I grew up near this mountain and sometimes Dad took us that way on our semi-annual trip to Grandma's house in Tennessee. I never liked going that way much. . .made me kind of queasy riding in the back of a 64 Ford Fairlane, especially if it was cold and the windows were rolled up. Nothing like a heater going full blast with two smokers up front. Cured me from ever wanting to smoke though. Maybe that's why I never was interested in the culture that flowered on that mountain. Nah. . .that's too superficial. I didn't like it because I was too cool. It was the sixties and I wanted to be in San Franciso listening to the Dead and Jefferson Airplane rather than the "hick" music from the sticks of Southwest Virginia. But being cool (which I didn't really pull off to anyone except myself) cost me. Now I'm almost 50 and I find I have an irresistable urge to hear bluegrass music and the lonesome achy twang-soaked vocals Clinch Mountain seems to produce. If you've heard "Oh Death" from "O Brother Where Art Thou", then you know what I mean. I want to learn the songs from that mountain. I want to know what they were so upset about. I want to write some of my own. But it's going to take some time. . .better get started.

Mr. Roger's Neighborhood

Caught the last part of some sort of tribute show to Mr. Rogers on PBS this evening. That man was real. As I was watching it I found myself gaining a little courage to be real as well. Or at least more real. No matter what kind of communication you are engaged in. . .one on one. . .letter writing. . .the host of a children's TV show. . .songwriting. . .if you're not real, you're not going to communicate very well. But it takes a lot of courage. Maybe it has always taken courage to be authentic, but it sure seems like our image-conscious cuture makes it very difficult. How did Mister Rogers do it so consistently for so long? My wife thinks he had a very clear vision regarding children, and what they need, and that is what gave him the courage to be real. He made a surprising statement to me. . .something that I hadn't really thought about before. He said TV was an "intensely personal medium". He'd learned that from Gabby Hayes, the cowboy star that he had worked with (as a floor manager) early in his career. Mr. Rogers asked Gabby what he thought about when he looked into the camera, knowing that thousands upon thousands of kids were watching. Gabby said, "I just imagine I'm talking to one buckaroo." That is so profound. When we communicate, especially via some form of media like TV, radio, pop music, etc. . .we have to realize we're communicating with one person. You can't talk to a crowd, a mob, or a demographic. A person speaks with another person.

Inspiration

A winter wonderland in Portland. It doesn't snow too much around here, so this is a real treat for anyone who doesn't have to get out and deal with it. Today's a holiday, so it's not too bad. On a more musical note. . .Mark lent me the Roland VS-1680, a digital 16 track recorder when I was in Loomis last week. Mark has converted his studio to Sonar, so the Roland was just sitting around on his shelf not being used. It will provide me with a way to do higher quality demos. There are some things I've written for my wife which I've never put on tape. Given the state of my short-term-memory, this is risky. I haven't been writing much over the last year. . .but I'm getting the itch again. I hope the machine inspires me. I may be wrong, but I got the impression that Mark lent it to me so I would write more. I appreciate that.