Lil' Davy's Harp

...

2009-12-25T19:53:00.001-08:00

Hello, dear readers of David's blog.

For those of you who do not know, David passed away late last week. Details of the memorial services, held December 30th in Austin, TX may be found here and here.

Also, an Austin-American Statesman article by Eileen Flynn.

Thank you for reading his words.

Peace & love.

Hannah...Havin' a "Wales" of a Time...

2009-10-05T21:54:00.000-07:00

All five of you who read this blog from time to time know that I have three wonderful daughters, whom I love and adore. They are all equally talented and gifted, albeit in mostly different, but specific arenas of life, unlike their dad who is mostly a "Davy of all trades and master of none". Hannah is my middle daughter and from the time she was toddling, she was entertaining the world. She loves people...and I don't mean it in the Charlie Brown speaking to Linus way, "I love mankind...it is people I can't stand"...Hannah really loves people. We would walk into a restaurant, even one we had eaten at before, and Hannah would say, "I don't want to eat here...let's go somewhere else." When quizzed as to her reason, she informed me that there weren't enough people at the joint...she didn't care about the food, she just wanted to be where there were lots of people around. Hannah would tell you herself that her academic career in high school was not stellar. She was a good student, but she wasn't a straight "A" student either. She loved being at school, but it was not the insatiable desire for knowledge (that did come a little later as she went to college) that pulled her back there everyday...it was people. Hannah loves people.

As she entered her senior year in high school she and her friends were exploring their college choices. Hannah came to me that fall and expressed a desire to delay the beginning of her college career to apply to be a part of the Mission Year program. This is a wonderful ministry begun by Bart Campolo (inspired by his dad, Tony) out of Eastern University in St. David's PA (near Philly) that placed young adults 18-28 in groups of six to live for a year in some of America's most impoverished and dangerous inner cities. Their job was not to evangelize or proselytize, but to live in community with the poor and love like Jesus. The motto of Mission Year is "Love God...Love People...Nothing Else Matters." I was a youth minister by profession who felt like his calling was to call God-given uniqueness out of students and challenge them to live and love dangerously in the world. Now, my 17 year old daughter was telling me that she believed God was calling her to go live among the poor and take a year of her life devoted to loving the folks in the fabled "Lower Bottoms" area of West Oakland. I struggled and prayed and worried, but in the end I had to put my parental money where my ministerial mouth was and trust Hannah's sense of calling and purpose. She did, indeed, spend her first year out of high school living with five other young adults ages 22 and younger (Hannah was the youngest at age 18) and they all worked in inner city schools (Hannah was a teacher's aide in a kindergarten and 1st grade class) and the year changed her life. She was still compassionate and tender-hearted toward the suffering of the world, but she became tough and wise as well.

As that year drew to a close she began to research again where she would go to school. Belmont University in Nashville rose to the top of the list, she was accepted there and began her studies in the fall of 2005. In her freshman year the President of Mission Year came to visit and speak at Belmont, and while there he asked Hannah to speak at a chapel assembly and share her experiences with MY, which she did, like a pro. Wanting to continue to serve as a part of her studies, she went downtown to sign up to volunteer as a Big Sis with Big Brothers/Big Sisters in Nashville. and after looking at her resume, her interviewers asked her to become the liaison on the Belmont campus for BBBS. Later she and several others helped establish a BBBS's chapter on the Belmont campus, the first such chapter in the state of Tennessee. At the end of the year at a university assembly she was presented the annual outstanding freshman service award. In the years that followed Hannah continued to work with BBBS, but also longed to, in some way, replicate the Mission Year experience on the college campus. In her sophomore year the university responded to her requests and put Hannah and three other female students in a house off-campus for the purpose of living in community with the neighborhood. They called it "Service Year". That program is still in effect today.

On September 12th Hannah flew out of Austin headed for London, and eventually Bangor, Wales where she is continuing her social work studies in the Study Abroad program. She will be there through the end of the semester, and is loving seeing a new part of the world (that's getting to be a habit for her these days) learning all her pretty little head can hold and doing what she does best... meeting and caring about people. She is scheduled to graduate from Belmont in May. To say that I am proud of her goes without saying...what I am most proud of is that she is her own beautiful, compassionate, funny and God-listening woman, charting her own course and making, literally, the world a better place.

If you want to follow her journey in Wales, and see some of her lovely photography, you can check out her blog, Observation Full and Felt.

Journey on Hannah...I love you!

Pling...Pling...

dg

Lord Save Us From Your Followers - Trailer

2009-09-28T10:28:00.001-07:00

"Lord Save Us..." The Movie

2009-09-27T21:49:00.000-07:00

Can I just say that generally speaking, I avoid movies made by Christians about Christianity. It is not that I don't appreciate the attempt to redeem the arts and give a talented individual a venue for using his or her gifts. I don't even fault them for using film as a way of espousing a particular theological or philosphical viewpoint...filmakers and screenwriters do that all of the time...as do musicians and authors. I guess that my beef has always been not that it is Christian film-making, but that it is bad film-making. I remember back in the 60's when Pat Boone starred in "The Cross and the Switchblade". Then in the late 70's and 80's there was a rash of rapture/second-coming movies. The "Left Behind" book series spawned an equally insipid movie, and then there have been a few more in recent years that have been more universally appealing and higher quality. I'm not saying that you have to have a big producton budget to have a quality movie. Independent films and documentaries have proven that is not always the case. Last year our friend Justin Dillon did a marvelous job with limited resources and donated talent to make a startlingly beautiful and compelling rockumentary, "Call and Response", addressing he issue of human trafficking in the world.

Well another such noteworth effort by a Christian just trying to raise the valid question about the state of the church and its ineffectiveness in meeting the needs of the world it professes to love is documented in Dan Merchant's wonderful documentary openin in austin this weekend, entitled, "Lord Save Us From Your Followers - Why the Gospel of Love is Dividing America!". I had coffee with Dan a couple of weeks ago as he was making a whirlwind pass through Texas trying to get some inertia for the opening of the moving in the Christian community. The Portland native is funny, down to earth, refuses to take himself too seriously, and has a deep passsion for helping the followers of Jesus rethink the way they relate to culture and to the needs of the world. He began his pilgrimage to engage people on he street with discussing the their perceptions of Jesus, God, followers of Christ and the Church by standing in Times Square wearing a garish jumpsuit (Sorry Dan, you looked like my Grandpa Tony ready to roll up on a creeper under a jacked-up 51' Chevy pick-up) decorated with bumper stickers carrying varous Christian sayings and messages. He gets some interesting and insightful responses, as you would guess. He also interviews talking heads from both sides of the theological and political aisle like Tony Campolo, Michael Reagan, Sister Mary Timothy, Al Franken, and many more.

I believe Dan's movie raises some valid questions about the way we has followers of Jesus are hurting the cause of Christ and not helping. I urge you to take some time to see it this weekend if you are here in Austin (Gateway Regal Cinema)or to check the movie website to find out if it is playing in your area.

Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs and Nostalgia

2009-09-24T21:26:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure exactly when Ariele got her copy of Judi and Ron Barrett's Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs. She was either one or two years old, but she says "I don't ever remember not having that book." I would put her to bed each night and not only would we read the book from cover to cover, she always wanted to play the "Show Me" game which meant that I had to pick out some obscure object or person on a particular page, and it was her job to locate it. It was kinda like our own personal "Where's Waldo" game. It was easy and fun to do with this book because there was so much going on with every page. The tradition continued as both Hannah and Calla got old enough for me to read to them at bedtime as well, and that old book became worn and tattered as the years passed. Several years ago at Christmas, with all three girls in college, I got each of them a brand new copy of the old book we had all loved, and gave it to them in their stockings at Christmas.

It was spring of this year when, Ariele heard the rumor that there was going to be an animated movie based on the book. We were, of course, excited until we saw a brief trailer. The animation didn't look like the illustrations in the book at all, and it was obvious there were major plot changes in the storyline. Our hearts sank. This summer when Calla and Ariele and I were at the midnight show of the latest Harry Potter movie installment, they ran the theatrical trailer for the Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs movie, and again we were disappointed in what we saw. There was also that same night a trailer for the amazing children's classic "Where the Wild Things Are", and not only were we blown away, but the trailer got a round of applause when it concluded...yup, the trailer...I was shocked... and still disappointed that CWACOM was not going to make the grade.

Well here we are in September and the movie opened here in Austin and around the country to decent reviews. It was actually the highest grossing film in the country last weekend, so I couldn't help it...I went tonight to see it. Not only was I not disappointed, I was delighted. Yes the storyline doesn't look much like the book's, and the animation is completely different than the illustrations in the book...and it is in 3-D. It may come across as a little preachy on the subjects of relationships to parents, taking care of the environment, wasting food, and world hunger, but this film was cleverly written and voiced, and those are all messages children and adults in our world can't hear often enough. Even the 3-D worked to enhance the experience and not detract from it.

But...mostly the movie tonight was a trip down memory lane for me, as I remembered those nights at my children's bedside, reading and laughing and ending the day in a way that no mom or dad can get enough of. As parents, we have worked all day long, either at a job or as a caretaker at home for our kids (sometimes both), but those few, precious moments are cemented in their hearts, and in ours, for eternity.

Keep reading, keep talking, keep praying with and for you kids,

Pling...Pling...

dg

Serena Williams outburst at US Open semi-finals

2009-09-14T23:02:00.001-07:00

I Still Get Surprised...

2009-09-14T09:26:00.000-07:00

I know in my head that big rap stars, tennis champions and congressmen are all just people, and they lose their cool like I do... all of the time, but somehow I still get surprised when folks like that pop off, make fools of themselves, and in the process, their sport or vocation. It is an embarrassment for them and others to be sure, but the part that bugs me the most is the arrogance to think that you can say anything you want anytime you want...with the direct and collateral damage ending up being the intended targets of your spoken diarrhea. Last week during President Obama's address to Congress, Joe Wilson, a Republican from South Carolina, heckled the President in the middle of his speech with a boisterous, "You lie!". My guess is that particular criticism could be yelled at any of us at different times in our lives, as well as Barack Obama, but to choose to do so in the middle of a nationally televised presidential address was both disrespectful and rude. Wilson did apologize, but has also gotten significant political mileage out of the incident, seeing a boost in fund raising and fan mail.

I've been watching the U.S. Open Tennis tournament with interest, as there have been several compelling stories running throughout the tournament. First the skyrocketing interest in 17 year old American Melanie Oudin was a delightful story as this spunky, tenacious 5' 5" ball of energy defeated four consecutive Russian, highly seeded opponents on her way to a spot in the quarter-finals. She would fall there to a young Danish player, but it was an inspiring run. The other intriguing story was with Belgian player, Kim Clijsters, who retired from tennis after winning the U.S.Open in 2005 at the age of 22 (there were injuries and she wanted to get married and have a family) who had returned to competitive tennis earlier in the year. She indeed had married in the years that followed and now has a beautiful one year old daughter. The Open was only her third competitive tennis tournament back, and frankly no one considered that she would be a threat to compete for this major championship (or any other for that matter) anytime soon. Yup...So much for assumptions...Sunday night Kim Clijsters, the wife and mother, defeated that same Danish teenager who eliminated Melanie Oudin in the quarterfinals in straight sets to take the Championship. That is not what surprised me. In the semis Clijsters was facing the powerful, experienced, and heavily-favored Serena Williams. Kim played well...Serena did not... and after taking the first set, Serena was serving to stay in the match at 15-40. On the next serve she was called for a foot fault, which just means that the line judge, observed that Serena's lead foot touched or crossed the baseline as she was serving. The rule is, in fact, that the server must not touch the line with his or her foot until the serve crosses the net, BUT it is very rarely called, and almost never at this stage of an important match. That meant that Serena had one more serve chance to put the ball in play, but instead of serving she chose to approach the line judge and threaten to cram the ball down her throat, with several F-bombs inserted. It was a little scary and a lot bewildering that Serena chose this time to completely meltdown emotionally. The chair judge then assessed a point penalty to Serena, because she had gotten a warning earlier in the match for slamming her racket to the court, which meant she lost the point, and as a result, the match.

Last night at the VMA awards, 19 year old country music phenom, Taylor Swift won a video music award for female artists and in the middle of her acceptance speech, Kanye West walked on the stage, took the microphone from Taylor and proceeded to insist that that Beyonce's video should have won the award. Interestingly enough, when Beyonce actually did win something a little later, she chose to call Taylor back on the stage and gave her part of her own acceptance time to finish her speech. To his credit, Kanye later apologized.

Tonight on The Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien, Conan quipped that NBC was piloting a new show starring Kanye, Serena and Joe Wilson, entitled, "America's Got A-Holes".
He's right, we do, but I still get surprised. Maybe I should be surprised that I still get surprised...or not.

Pling...Pling...

dg

Don Mclean - Crossroads

2009-08-28T12:07:00.001-07:00

No Matter What We May Have Planned...

2009-08-28T10:49:00.000-07:00

I sat in a small, casual music venue on the campus of Baylor University in the spring of 1972, with my jaw on the floor, my brain in overdrive, and my heart in my throat. There were less than a hundred of us who sat and marveled at the guitar artistry and storytelling brilliance that was and is Don McLean. "American Pie" for which he is forever known, had been released the previous year, so there were a majority of folks present only to hear that song...while others of us who loved "Vincent" and "Babylon" had come to see if there was more beauty tucked away in that distinctive voice and those nimble fingers. McLean did not disappoint, and I heard one of my favorite songs of his, "And I Love You So" for the first time.

I do remember that there was one song on the "American Pie" record, "Crossroads", that was hauntingly moving, but disturbingly unsettling for a young man in the throes of trying to figure out what decisions to make at the crossroads that lay immediately out ahead of him. The plan was to go to summer school and then graduate in December. That would have me finishing college in three and a half years, but that was important because I was putting myself through school since my blue collar middle class parents back in Baton Rouge now had three, yup, count 'em, three, kids in higher education at the same time. I had been a youth minister at a small church on the outskirts of Waco since my sophomore year, had a girl there in Waco I thought might possibly be a future Mrs. Gentiles, was debating the pros and cons of seminary graduate school (both if, and where) and trying to get some read on whether my vocational future was in teaching and coaching, youth ministry, municipal recreation, or as a professional ping pong player...what can I say...I spent a lot of time at the Student Union. I knew the "Crossroads" song from the album, and wrestled with it every time I listened, but on that night it sounded and looked like Don was singing that song right at me... just to piss me off, or maybe to taunt me. I brushed it off, dismissed it as I often did (and still do) things that push me and stretch me beyond the comfortable, but I've never forgotten that song. As it turned out, I did graduate in December, headed to seminary in New Orleans and accepted a position on staff at a church in Baton Rouge (I commuted from BR to NO 4 days a week), retired my ping pong paddle, and the Miss Right in question found Mr. Right...I just didn't happen to be the right Mr. Right.

I have an old turntable here at the house and several times a week I break out the LPs and spin the wax, and last night I pulled out the "American Pie" record for the first time in years. "Crossroads" is the last cut on Side 1, and when I heard the opening piano notes, I stopped in my tracks. I think the reason it was so uncomfortable for me back then is that it messed with, not just my theology, but bigger than that, it messed with my idea of how God was supposed to lay things out for me. I wanted guarantees...I wanted a gameplan...I wanted an assurance that if I made the right choices, that I would have the kind of life I had always dreamed I would/should have. So when, McLean says "So there is no need for turning back, cause all roads lead to where we stand. And I believe we'll walk them all, no matter what we may have planned" it was disorienting. It was also an admission that life was messy and imperfect, and I wasn't ready to hear that.

Well, three plus decades later, my illusions about what would/should happen in my life have changed radically. Divorce, bankruptcy, single parenthood, disappointments in ministry and friendships, shattered dreams, colossal failures, et al., have been tempered with unbelievable opportunities, amazing friendships, a new relationship and a fresh picture of a God who trusts me enough to be a Father and a friend rather than a puppeteer or a travel agent/administrative assistant/miracle dispenser.

The entire lyric of this song is worth reading, so here ya go...

I've got nothing on my mind: nothing to remember,
Nothing to forget. and I've got nothing to regret,
But I'm all tied up on the inside,
No one knows quite what I've got;
And I know that on the outside
What I used to be, I'm not anymore.

You know I've heard about people like me,
But I never made the connection.
They walk one road to set them free
And find they've gone the wrong direction.

But there's no need for turning back
`cause all roads lead to where I stand.
And I believe I'll walk them all
No matter what I may have planned.

Can you remember who I was? can you still feel it?
Can you find my pain? can you heal it?
Then lay your hands upon me now
And cast this darkness from my soul.
You alone can light my way.
You alone can make me whole once again.

We've walked both sides of every street
Through all kinds of windy weather.
But that was never our defeat
As long as we could walk together.

So there's no need for turning back
`cause all roads lead to where we stand.
And I believe we'll walk them all
No matter what we may have planned.

So, Don McLean, wherever you are tonight...I'm a slow learner, but I finally know why you seemed to be singing straight to me that night...it is because you were.

Pling...Pling...

dg

This Is Why I Love Baseball...

2009-08-24T11:02:00.000-07:00

Last night in a see-saw affair between the reigning World Series Champion, Phildelphia Phillies and their division rival, the New York Metropolitans, the game ended in a walk-off, unassisted triple play by Phillies second baseman, Eric Bruntlett. First of all, this doesn't happen every day...to be exact, only one other time in baseball history (1927 - Tigers vs. Indians), has the game ended on an unassisted triple play. For those of you who might have difficulty conceptualizing what we are talking about, one defensive player, without a throw or assist from another teammate, gets three runners, or a batter and two runners out on one continuous play... all by himself. It certainly does involve some skill and quick-thinking, but believe me, this is usually a clear case of being in the right place at the right time.

It was the bottom of the 9th for the Mets, who had played catch-up all game long and had pulled to within two runs of the Phillis in their last at bat. The inning started when first baseman Ryan Howard misplayed a ball that went all the way into the corner and the batter ended up on third and Howard charged with a three-base error. The next ball was hit to Bruntlett at second who bobbled the routine ground ball and threw late to first, allowing the runner on third to come home making the score 9-7 Phillies. Bruntlett who came into the game hitting at .198 (for those of you who don't know...that's terrible...you don't last long in the majors hitting a puny .198) has always been known as a solid glove man who could play a lot of poitions and held his own with the bat, which, fortunately for Eric he did on this night going three for five with a hit taken away on a reversed call. I saw him play numerous times for the local Round Rock Express baseball team when he was part of the Houston Astros organization. He was a clutch hiter, a solid defensive player and I hated to see him traded away.

Again, baseball is a mysterious lover who will tempt you, tease you, then take away her affection at the batting of an eyelash. The Mets have closed to within two, with a runner on first base and the next batted ball is hit to the left of first base. Bruntlett moves quickly to his right but can't handle the ball cleanly and both the runner and the batter are safe. It is officially scored a hit, but most people watching give Bruntlett his second consecutive error...a nightmare for any player, but especially a sure-handed middle infielder. Then it happens...Jeff Francour is at the plate for the Mets and his coach calls for a hit and run, which means that both runners are racing to the next base as soon as closer Brad Lidge sends the pitch to the plate and the batter is swinging away. The play is meant to keep you out of a ground ball double play or even to give the runner on first a chance to score if the ball is hit deep in the gap and tie the score. As the runners break, Francour scalds a screaming line drive past the pitchers ear headed into center field to score at least the runner on second who is off to the races. Bruntlett, in the meantime has edged toward second base in an attempt to be ready for the double play as well as moving in to cover second base in the event that a throw comes in from the catcher to prevent the steal. Eric is in infielder's no-mans-land. He has left a gaping hole in the right side of the infield, but as he moves closer to second base he runs right into the line drive by Francour which normally would be headed bouncing in front of the centerfielder. He catches the line drive retiring Francour, steps on second in one motion retiring the runner from second who is almost to third at this point, and then sees the runner from first barrelling down on him headed to second base. There is an awkward dance, but he can't avoid Brunlett's tag for long, and there you have it...Bruntlett to Bruntlett to Bruntlett...an unassisted triple play. The game is over, Francour slams his helmet to the ground in disbelief and the Phillies and Brunlett begin the celebration.

Ah, baseball..you have wooed me once again.

Pling...Pling...

dg

Social Media Revolution

2009-08-18T13:35:00.001-07:00

For those of us whose lives, vocations and callings are linked to connecting with people...

Marching to the Beat of a Different Accordian

2009-08-17T12:17:00.000-07:00

I don't write much directly about Journey, the little faith community I am grateful to be a part of. It is not that I am ashamed of it...it is just that it usually comes up in the conversation normally without trying to do a hype thing, and that's the way I like it, but I'm going to make a bit of an exception here because yesterday was a weird and bizarrely interesting day.

Rick is our lead pastor and is our primary communicator and teacher. He's good...very good...but not in a creepy, sketchy, preachery kind of way. He is funny, articulate, incredibly well read, and handles discussion and feedback from the group as well as anybody I've ever seen. Rick was out this week, so when that happens I usually speak in the service, which is all the reason you need for it to be weird, but that's not what I am talking about. Rick also teaches a large group Bible Study between the early and the late worship gathering times. Lately we have been getting some of our talented Journey folks to teach during this time and this Sunday was no exception. David Johnson is a math professor here in town, who is a vital valued Journeyer. By his own admission, David is a cynic and a skeptic concerning the existence of God, but he is in Bible study every week listening, asking questions, and offering important insights. He recently embarked upon a 40 day fast and Rick asked him to share his thoughts about his experience during the Bible Study time this week, which he graciously agreed to do. It was wonderful...he talked about his motivation from a both a curiosity, as well as a health and spiritual perspective, and as always Journeyers listened and questioned and supported David in his sharing.

Immediately following the worship gathering a roomful of 20 folks talked about the way the 10% of all funds that come into Journey are distributed out to various ministries, social service organizations, and individuals as a response to the mandate of Journey that we are to love God with all of our heart soul mind and strength, and our NEIGHBOR as ourselves. Almost all churches are involved in missions and service in some way, but I sat in gratitude and amazement as I listened to the stories of how this tiny little faith community is making a difference in the lives of so many in Austin and around the world.

It was almost two o'clock by the time we broke up and Julie Reese finished her meeting. JC ad I loaded up two beautiful Lazy Boy recliners that were donated for the warehouse into my truck and were led by Julie to the home of two of our Journeyers who are visually impaired and have just moved into a new apartment. They needed chairs for their place so Julie suggested that we give them the two recliners they sit in almost every Sunday morning in worship. We rolled in, told them we had a gift for them and had them sit in their new furniture, and they immediately recognized that these were the very same seats they sat in every week. It was moving to watch their delight, and the tender, genuine friendship Julie had for her friends.

I guess maybe this kind of thing goes on in churches everywhere in some form or fashion...Journey is not really that unique or special...it is just a bunch of regular people doing their best to follow Jesus...but it sure made me proud to be one of his followers along with this delightfully awake and humble group of misfits.

Pling...Pling...

dg.

Joan Osborne - One of us

2009-08-11T23:32:00.001-07:00

One of Us

2009-08-11T21:20:00.000-07:00

I have one of the strangest neighbors on the planet. I've lived here in central Austin, in this venerable old neighborhood for two plus years. I love it...I rent a modest little duplex that fits my needs perfectly these days. It gets a little crowded when the girls are home, especially with one bathroom, but they are constantly gallivanting around the country and the world so it is plenty of room for Cleveland and me. The duplex is on a corner lot and there is a traffic light at the intersection which makes for interesting vehicular noises most of the night, and the train tracks are less than a mile away, so I get some occasional late night rumblings and whistles, but it is a delightful location with mostly older houses, a few of which have been remodeled and gentrified. My next door neighbors are a delightful young couple who are a writer and school librarian respectively. You probably guessed that the wife was the librarian and the husband the writer, but you would be incorrect. We watch each other's houses and they gave me a sprig off of their aloe vera plant last week and I planted it and put it on my porch...it is doing well. They wanted to buy one of the electric companies old electrical wire spools (you can buy one for $5) but they didn't have way to transport it so I took Clementine (my old truck) and picked up the spool for them. They are great neighbors. Directly across the street is a guy who moved in a couple weeks after I did. He is a single parent dad who has his kids every other week so we talk parenting shop fairly regularly, but he has boys, so I have to depend on youth ministry experience rather than parenting expertise to chime in. He's a good guy.

The elderly gentleman laterally across the street is bit of a hermit and I speak to him when he takes his garbage can to the curb, but not much else. I took his recycling out for him a couple of times while he was out of town, but he doesn't socialize much. Then there is the guy diagonally across the street from me. He walks around most of the time with no shirt on, cut off shorts and no shoes. He looks like a refugee from a Jimmy Buffet music video and/or an episode of COPS... and he is loud and profane. He plays music LOUDLY into the wee hours of the night, and has assorted lady friends over, all of whom eventually get into a shouting match with him...usually after midnight. The cops have been to his house at least a dozen times and the EMS folks about a half dozen. Not long after I moved in, a fleet of fire trucks raced to his house, sirens blaring, because he was burning trash Aggie Bonfire-style in his backyard. Several months ago, after an altercation with one of his female companions at 2 a.m., he got into his car in his own drive way and proceeded to sit on his car horn...on then off, on then off, on then off... for 47 minutes (yup, I timed him) until the battery finally gave out, mercifully, at 2:47 a.m. He and I met briefly because he gets upset if Cleveland barks at the postman, but mostly he just goes about his loudly-lost-in-the-70's ways to the chagrin of most of the neighborhood.

So today I took Cleveland outside at 7:00 in the morning to feed him and take care of dogie business, and not surprisingly, bare-chested Bon Jovi boy has got the Hi-Fi cranked up already. I shake my head in disgust, and then stop because I recognize the tune. It is Joan Osborne's "One of Us" and at that moment it reaches the chorus, and Joan's voice is joined by a screechy male voice singing at the top of his lungs, "Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, What if God was one of us...Just a slob like one of us...just stranger on the bus, trying to make his way home...". Honestly it pissed me off at first, that he was ruining this great song...and then it occurred to me that, I was the one involved in an adventure in missing the point. A very obvious point at that. It is easy to love my sweet, artsy couple neighbors, my fellow single dad neighbor, and my lonely old man neighbor...but come on, God...this guy is a menace to neighborhood peace and quiet, and he hates my dog. So I softened a little and when he came out and flipped me the bird as I led Cleveland through the gate I tipped my Indians hat in a polite acknowledgement. The next song came on and he was back to screamsinging at the top of his lungs...this time to "My Sharona". It would be nice if God could at least sing on key. It's gonna be a while before I can watch "Joan of Arcadia" again.

Pling...Pling...

dg

Time to Begin Again...

2009-08-10T08:26:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I know...it has been four months since my last blog post. My friends Milton and Jack have nudged me gently, but the stuff of life kinda got in the way of me writing about the stuff of life. My life is good...much better than I deserve, but there are some things that need a reboot, a new beginning to move to the great next. Twenty five years or so ago a friend of mine, Kenny Wood wrote a lyric for a song...the lyric was initially rejected by execs at Word records. Here's the part they didn't like..."It's time to begin again, let yourself go, stop your holding on. Sometimes you just can't win. That's when you know love will carry you and never let you go." The reason the execs gave for removing it from the record list was... "Christians don't want to hear, 'sometimes you just can't win'". Thankfully Billy Crockett insisted on including it on his record and he and Kenny prevailed, because it is a reality...occasionally we all need a do-over. As it turns out Kenny is one of us who qualifies as well, and after a number of years of battling back from some very difficult times, he has begun writing again. That's a good thing. He has a blog called The Woodman and I wanted to repost his writing from today.

Backlash

A father took his son fishing off an old pier. They stood 10 feet apart with a red cooler between them. They didn’t talk, they fished.

The boy made his first cast hoping his father was watching. Lucky for him he wasn’t because something went wrong. Maybe he was trying to cast too far out, but for whatever reason he ended up with a nasty backlash. The line looked like a bird’s nest had exploded.

It was his father’s reel, handed down like an heirloom, like an old watch, from his father. The boy had begged to use it. Now look at it. One cast. He turned his back and tried to untangle it. He couldn’t have done it even if he had fingernails. He was afraid the reel was a goner.

His father finally turned and noticed his son wasn’t fishing. He saw him bending over, working on the reel. He knew what was wrong without asking.

“Let me see the old girl,” he said. The feel of it took him back to his own boyhood, to the same pier and to Saturdays like this one---his father’s arms behind and around him, big hands over smaller hands, casting sidearm, practicing.

He worked at untangling the line but it was hopeless.

“I knew this day would come,” he told his boy.

He sat down on the edge of the pier, opened the tackle box, pulled out a new reel still in the package, unscrewed the old reel, wrapped it in his handkerchief and laid it down in the box like a loved one. Then, he mounted the new reel onto the rod, handed it to his son and said, “Now you are ready to do some fishing with your own rig.”

Backlash. There’s no way around it. And it’s easy to get the idea from well-meaning doctors and friends that we are supposed to trace the mess back to the beginning, find the root cause and untangle our knots. But sometimes all we can do is hand it over to someone who recognizes what is beyond repair and needs to be laid to rest. Often it’s the very thing that stands in the way of beginning again.

I encourage you to read Kenny's other stuff as well. Maybe it is time for you to begin again...let go...let go of your attachment to winning...and know that Love will catch you and never let you go.

Pling, Pling...

dg

"The Bird" Flies...

2009-04-13T21:48:00.000-07:00

Mark "The Bird" Fidrych, was found dead at his home today, where he died working on his 10-wheel dump truck. He was 54. Now some of you who aren't old enough or aren't a baseball fan might have no idea who this oddly curious fatality might be. In the summer of 1976 as the Detroit Tigers were mired in futility, this tall, skinny, New England kid with the blond Afro curls and the gawky bird-like delivery (people thought he reminded them of Sesame Street's "Big Bird") began to pitch and began to win. He would go on to win the American League Rookie of the Year Award and a total of 19 games for the Tigers who finished the season entrenched in 5th place. It was not just his appearance though...he was truly eccentric when he got out there on the mound, talking to himself and to the ball. He would also get down on his hands and knees and fix the holes in the dirt by dragging and pushing the dirt around with his hands, and the crowds loved it. Even though Detroit was losing, whenever The Bird was scheduled to pitch, they packed out the house. Most of you know that I am a Cleveland Indians fan, but like everyone else I was fascinated by this soldier in the baseball army marching out of step with the rest of of the ranks, and I, like the folks in the stands, would rise to my feet and flap my arms when he took the mound. It was a bizarre and remarkable phenomenon. Following that incredible year he picked up right where he left off the next season. winning his first six starts and filling the stands once more. In his 7th start he felt a twinge in his shoulder and came out trailing in the 3rd inning. He would make a handful of major league appearance in the next few years. The arthroscopic surgery that so easily takes care of those kinds of injuries now was not available and he mostly labored in the minors for 7 more years before hanging it up.

I've tried to pinpoint what it was about Mark that drew me and so many others to him. He was successful, he was eccentric, he was an icon for a city...but I think for me what I loved about Mark Fidrych was that he was a little boy in a man's body playing a boy's game. You understand that I love the game of baseball...not as a corporate entertainment product or a marketing angle...I love the game of baseball. There is something deep in me that I learned and lived on the sandlots of my childhood that gets great joy at watching this game played with abandon and passion.

I attended a baseball game tonight for 8 and 9 year old boys. David, one of our Journey kids was pitching so I went to see his game. It is his first year playing and David is a good athlete. He has a lot to learn about the game, but what he does already have is a passion and an instinct for the game, and when he threw a strike he would pump his fist and push his hat up to show a tuft of his blond hair. He never looked over to the stands to see if his parents or other fans were looking...he was totally engrossed and present in the game. When he got up to bat he dug in at the plate and took his cuts confidently and aggressively. He made good contact both times even though he was swung at pitches a little high in the strike zone...this kid wanted to hit! In contrast a couple of his teammates in front of him struck out...often while taking decent cuts...hey, it happens...it is part of the game...Babe Ruth led the league in strikeouts as well as home runs. But these two young men cried as they got to the bench. Those who know me know I am an emotional guy and I cry at a lot of stuff...but never at striking out. Baseball is a game...just a game...a profoundly beautiful and complex game with incredible nuances...but it is just a game. Somebody...a coach, a parent, somebody had forgotten to tell those kids that baseball is just a game...enjoy the fact that you can run, and throw, and hit, and slide in the beauty of a spring evening...it is a game. Mark Fidrych was getting paid to play baseball, but he never forgot the sheer joy of pulling on that glove and facing off against 9 other guys who are there to play too...to PLAY...a great game.

One of my musical heroes is a guy by the name of Bob Bennett. A craftsman of a songwriter, and an artisan of a guitar player, he has an obscure little song from back in the 80's about his brief baseball career. Bob did not have the jock physique as a kid, and, by his own admission, was not particularly athletically gifted, (and he lived in the shadow of an older brother that was) but this tune called "A Song About Baseball" is one of my favorites. Here are the lyrics...

"Saturday on the baseball field, and me afraid of the ball. Just another kid on camera day, when the Angels still played in LA. I was smiling...in living black and white. Baseball caps and bubble gum, I think there's a hole in my glove. Three and two...life and death...I was swinging with eyes closed holding my breath...I was dying, on my way to the bench.

But none of it mattered after the game, my father would find me and call out my name... a soft drink a snow cone, a candy bar, a limousine ride in the family car...he loved me no matter how I played...he loved me no matter how I played.

But none of it mattered after the game my father would find me and call out my name...dreaming of glory the next time out, my father showed me what love was about...he loved me no matter how I played... he loved me."

You are gone too soon Mark Fidrych, but you reminded us how the game should be played..like a game...because we have a father that loves us no matter how we play.

So what are ya waiting on...PLAY BALL!

Pling...Pling...

dg

Somebody Loved- The Weepies

2009-04-06T10:14:00.001-07:00

Slim Shady to Teacher of Promise

2009-04-03T18:29:00.000-07:00

I met Brian Hill the summer following his junior year at Connally High School. His single parent mom signed him up for our high school youth camp and even though he didn't know a soul, he came. He was bright, funny, made friends easily and oh yeah, he was dressed like rapper Eminem and even had his head shaved with the bleached fuzz. He was an immediate hit with the rest of the youth group and he quickly became a regular. When he graduated he went off to college at North Texas in Denton. Like many students, his freshman year of transition concluded with less than stellar results. He was on academic probation. He wasn't sure he wanted to return to North Texas, and after a stint working with a youth camp in North Louisiana (Camp Fuego) he decided he wanted to transfer to East Texas Baptist University in Marshall, Texas...and in addition, begin studying to become a youth minister. Those of us who had watched Brian grow in those few short years knew that he was a natural in working with kids, and in the summers that followed we always had him back to intern or help as a camp counselor.

Brian graduated in 2005 and immediately began seminary work in youth ministry at Truett Seminary on the Baylor University campus. I needed a summer college intern at Riverbend, so we hired him to help me in high school and college ministry, and since his mom had remarried and moved to Houston he needed a place to stay for the summer so he moved into my house up in Cedar Park. Calla was still there (Ariele in Portland and Hannah in Nashville) but she had just graduated and would be leaving for North Carolina at the end of the summer. I ended up leaving Riverbend for Journey at the end of the summer as well. but Brian stayed at Riverbend becoming the interim high school minister as well as staying on at the house. He would be there for two years until he and Caitlin married, and Caitlin didn't want to join the boy's club at the Gentiles house so they moved to East Austin after the wedding, and I moved down into town near the warehouse. Riverbend would hire Nick in the spring to take over high school ministry and he and Brian became fast friends and were a wonderful team for the year that Nick was there. But there were changes afoot at Riverbend and Brian found out that at the end of last summer his job would end there, so he began to look at other church positions. He also began to consider going through alternative certification programs and becoming a public school teacher.

I have left out a significant part of the story though. While attending classes at Truett, Brian began to be more and more interested in the issues of justice and the poor. He met an old college buddy of mine, Jimmy Dorrell who has run a ministry to the poor and the homeless in Waco for many years called Mission Waco who was teaching several classes on missions and slowly but surely with Jimmy's and several other key professors influence, Brian's calling shifted from traditional youth ministry to living in community with and ministering to the poor. I say all that to say that Brian's interest in teaching public school was not just to teach, he wanted to teach in the inner city where he knew the challenges were tough, the rewards were slower to come and the burnout rate was astronomical. He began to interview for jobs and even though he had several years of experience working with kids in the context of the church, he had no education degree and no classroom experience, so the beginning of the school year quickly approached and he still did not have a placement. A week before school started he called because he had an interview with the principal of a fairly new elementary school in East Austin, Overton Elementary for a position as a 4th grade teacher. After the interview he was encouraged, but he had been encouraged by several interviews before this one as well. What was different was that Principal Hicks seemed to want to take a chance on a guy who was creative and brought something fresh and new to the classroom. Brian was hired and the saga began last August.

There are still two months left in Brian's rookie year as a 4th grade classroom teacher, but oh what a year it has been. The stories, the text messages in the middle of the day, like the one he sent out on a standardized testing day when a little girl in his class farted and belched at the same time and the smell was curling up artificial plant leaves in the back of the room. As if teaching was not tough enough, Brian also volunteered to be the assistant coach for a basketball team made up of boys from his school that consumes his nights and weekends as well. And then there came Thursday night. The Austin Independent School District not only recognizes Teachers of the Year from each of its schools, it also honors Teachers of Promise who are 1st year teachers from each school who have distinguished themselves as wonderful young leaders of students. Brian was selected the Teacher of Promise from Overton. And that's not all...he was selected to speak at the recognition service last night at the Delco Center as a representative for all of the winners from the 65 elementary schools in AISD. He did a great job...he was funny (my girls think Jimmy Fallon reminds them of Brian, and vice versa) he was impassioned, he was poignant, and he was...well...Brian. I was so stinkin' proud of him...and yes...I teared up a little...yeah, I know you are shocked! (By the way...kudos for the youth ministry program at Riverbend, because amazingly three of the new teachers recognized Thursday night as TOPs were a part of the youth ministry program at RB...is that astounding or what?)

So...in case you are one of the folks who are convinced the world is going to hell in a handbasket...I got news for you...Slim Shady is now kickin' butt and taking names...and coaching basketball, and changing lives one 4th grader at a time.

I love you Brian Hill...teach on my brother...

Pling... Pling...

dg

You Gotta Have Balls...

2009-03-19T22:01:00.000-07:00

So this morning I headed out early to meet Bob Carlton at Tacodeli for a breakfast taco, coffee and catching up. As it turned out Bob got tied up with a conference call at work that started at 7:30 a.m. and lasted for several hours, so instead of heading on in to the warehouse to work, I chose to sit on the patio in the cool morning, enjoy a miga breakfast taco and read the new edition of The Onion. I was already laughing at several articles when I came upon the advertisement you see at the beginning of this post. I don't know if Kenny Hilbig is an effective agent or if Moreland Properties has anything going for them in the real estate business, and the ad gives no indication that those guys know squat about anything other than how to take advantage of the AIG fiasco to make a funny ad for their real estate business...but that they got down...it was very funny and I salute them. And I hope they get some much needed business for their timely humor.

Speaking of beautiful, timely ads...my favorite of all time was 16 or 17 years ago when I lived in Plano and a little golf driving range on the edge of town (no such thing as undeveloped real estate in Plano anymore) had the misfortune of having their little business burglarized and had thousands of range balls stolen, and damage done to the pro shop, so they were forced to suspend business for a couple months. When they reopened two months later they placed an ad offering a free-bucket-of-range-balls-with-every-bucket-bought special in the local weekly paper with the headline, "You've Got To Have Balls To Run An Ad Like This!". Yes...Yes you do.

Pling...Pling...

dg

And A Chili Parlor Shall Lead Them...

2009-03-09T09:09:00.000-07:00

Monday night I met Jack Morton, a fellow Journeyer and dear friend for a quick supper before we went to the Erwin Center to see the Horns knock the snot out of the Baylor Men's basketball team. It has been a disappointing season for the Bears who made their first NCAA Tournament appearance in many years last season, and who had been resurrected from college basketball Sheol by Coach Scott Drew and a scrappy, tenacious group of players. They spent several weeks in the top 25 early this season, but then four weeks into conference play began to struggle and have not been able to climb out of the funk...and will disappointingly miss the tournament after high hopes early on.

But, I digress, because the little establishment near the Capital (where Jack works a great deal during the legislative session) is actually the focus of this harping. It is a modest little downtown bar and eatery called The Chili Parlor. If you are a fan of grindhouse movies and saw the enigmatic Robert Rodriguez/Quintin Tarantino double feature, the little roadhouse featured at the beginning of the film with Kurt Russell is actually...the Chili Parlor. I have been in Austin for 15 years and heard about this legendary establishment for years, but alas, and alack, had never eaten there. We are perusing the menu and Jack is giving me the lowdown on the finer points of Chili Parlor ingredient nuances when the waitress informs us that the special of the day is chicken and sausage gumbo. Now those of you don't know me well are not aware of the fact that I am a bona fide gumbo snob. I grew up eating good gumbo in South Louisiana made by my pure-blooded Cajun mama, I make a very good gumbo, and I can count on one hand the restaurants I have frequented down through the years who made a gumbo that was anything more than a notch above average to lousy. Like I said...a gumbo snob.

At any rate, I was intrigued by the idea that a chili parlor would have the stones to offer gumbo and put it on the menu with their specialties, so both Jack and I ordered it...It was good...not just passable, but very good...now, granted, a chicken and sausage gumbo is much easier to pull off than seafood gumbo, but it was surprisingly tasty, with a thick hearty roux...which is the name of the game for me. The chunks of chicken were substantial and the sausage was andouille...add several dashes of Tabasco, and it was a very satisfying surprise in dining disguise.

We are well into the Lenten season, and frankly I'm having a difficult time feeling it the way I have always expected. Things at Journey are scarily wonderful...we are bad-dog broke, but that seems to have no effect on these brave strange fellow Journeyers. My girls are terrific, each off doing their own thing and continuing to grow into amazingly gifted and powerful young women. I've had the gift of having Ariele around on a daily basis for a few months and am loving spending time with her, discussing, arguing, dissecting, deconstructing and dreaming a world of subjects. I have connected with several women of past and present interest who have stirred me to think about being in a relationship again after fourteen years and that is a little disorienting. I feel good physically and am managing the financial stress of having at least one child in college continuously since 2001, at one point having all three in college, and having two in at the same time for the last four years with another two years probably on the horizon. By the way...don't ask me how that is possible with the modest salary a youth minister and associate pastor makes. I have no idea. I am grateful that somehow we have managed...but I got nothing. What I do know is that in the confusing days approaching Easter, Jesus' disciples spent most of the time scratching their heads and wondering what the heck was going on. They got introduced to many surprises in disguises, some thrilling and some terrifying, in those days heading toward Jerusalem so I'm taking a little gumbo at a chili parlor as a nudge to pay attention a little better... and pass the Tabasco.

Pling...Pling...

Only One Jinx...

2009-02-08T19:30:00.000-08:00

Jinx Lacey...one of the best friends high school students in Austin ever had, died yesterday morning.

I met Jinx Lacey fifteen and a half years ago when I moved to Austin to become the Youth Minister at Riverbend Church. I had been in youth ministery, working with students, families and volunteers for 23 years at that point...there wasn't much I hadn't seen or experienced in that field...but then...I had never met Jinx Lacey. Jinx was a counselor at the recently opened McNeil HS in the Round Rock Independent School District. A couple of our students Kim Luckie and Jeff Lee, attended McNeil and Jinx was a member of the Riverbend congregation. It was obvious from the day I stepped on campus to go visit Jeff or Kim for lunch that Jinx loved kids. We became fast friends and I would go every year at her request in those early days to help with her begining of the school year lock-in to train her BITS (Jinx's version of Peer Assistance League) students with training classes as well as good ole all night games and fun. I loved being with the kids, but truthfully it was just as much fun hanging out with Jinx, who was teaching and leading and mentoring, but having every bit as much fun as her kids.

The other thing that made us fast friends was our mutual admiration society for the lights in each other's eyes...my middle daughter Hannah and her grandaughter Katelin. To this day I love Katelin like she is my own, and Jinx felt the same way about Hannah. I got the privilege of performing Katelin and her amazing husband, Brad's wedding over a year ago and I knew that as proud as I was of Katelin, no one was prouder than GranJ, as Kaitlin affectionaltely calls her. As they made their way through elementary school, middle school, high school and off to college, Jinx and I would always compare notes and brag about how "our girls" were doing. I left Riverbend three and a half years ago to go to Journey and so my contact with Jinx was not nearly as often as it should have been, but when we talked it was always about Kaitlin and Hannah.

Those who know JInx would attest that she was one of the funniest human beings on the planet...and NOBODY lived with as much passion and joy as Jinx. I know that is what attracted kid after kid after kid to her. She loved unconditionally, but was tough when she needed to be...but those kids never, never doubted that Jinx loved them. I ran into Chawn, a sophomore McNeil student, today who had not heard that Jinx had passed away since it happened over the weekend, and this 6'9" young man went weak in his very tall knees when I told him the news, and he just kept muttering..."no, no...Jinx was awesone!" In recent years she had also served as one of the campus crisis counselors, so part of her job everyday was to sit with students in turmoil, anguish, depression, discouragement and confusion. Those kids knew they had a friend and advocate in Jinx Lacey. As a matter of fact all of us who called her our friend, knew exactly the same thing.

One quick Jinx story...Part of our friendship also came because we both were, and had been, single parents. I did a stint in singles ministry for a few years while I was at Riverbend in order to perserve my nights and weekends for my three girls (nights and weekends are primo in youth ministry because that's when kids are not in school). As we began to set up specific ministries for single parents, since I was learning how to be one, I often brought Jinx in, not just because she had been a single parent, but because he had such a wonderful gift for saying things that I could never get away with saying about the way things really were...and she had incredible street cred because of her work in the school system. One of the cool things we did while I was working with singles, was that we were able to host the Baptist General Convention of Texas State Singles Conference on two separate occasions. One of those years, Jinx and I were leading seminars next door to each other in the Quad to singles from all over the state. My seminar was on humor in the Bible (Jinx should have been leading that one, too) and hers was on single parenting. As I finshed up my seminar, I walked next door to Jinx's room to see how her session had gone. She informed me that she had a room full of only women...not a single man in the room. Then she she said, with a twinkle (she had that twinkle a lot) "Uh...I guess I oughta tell you that you might get some complaints about this seminar." I stuffed down a laugh and replied..."OK Jinx, what did you say?" "Well", she started, her smile getting larger as she talked, " I was talking about the things that you don't prepare yourself for when you are wrestling with all of the things you are juggling as a single parent...and really David, I didn't mean for it to come out..." I shook my head and repeated, "Jinx...what did you say?". By that time she was giggling and she said, "I just told them that if I would have known that the last time I had sex was going to be the last time I had sex, I would have put more into it." That is a direct Jinx Lacey quote. After I composed myself enough to get up off of the floor from laughing, I told her that it was OK, she had just made this Baptist conference way more interesting than any other Baptist conference any of those ladies had ever been to.

There will never be another Jinx Lacey...and there are literally thousands and tens of thousands of young men and women and parents whose lives she touched, blessed and enriched. I'm simply one of them...

I happen to one of those old school folks who believe in a heaven...a final soul destination in the presence of divine Creator. Nope, I am not sure of all the details, but I am pretty sure that the One who spoke the world into existence is getting an earful from Jinx...and I'll bet she has that twinkle in her eye...and so does He.

I love you Jinx Lacey...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Choosing Love and Light...

2009-01-20T22:02:00.000-08:00

I've watched a lot of presidential inauguration ceremonies in my lifetime...twelve or so that I remember watching...and interestingly enough the first one I remember reminded me the most of this one today. In 1960, we elected a young, charismatic statesman who also was a first...in that case, our first Roman Catholic president. He had a strikingly, beautiful, mysterious wife and two adorable children and the country sensed that a page had turned in American politics. What happened today, was, of course, unprecedented as well, as two million people jammed into the tiny District of Columbia to be in the general vicinity of our first African-American President, Barack H. Obama being (sort of) sworn in by Chief Justice Roberts. In all of those past inaugurations, I had never gathered with a group of people specifically to watch all of the inauguration festivities...until today. A number of us were invited to our friends, the Manroe's home, where we had food, whooped and hollered, oohed and aahed, cried and laughed, and eventually toasted with champagne when the oath was repeated as well as noting the individual and collective turns as this epic, landmark moment unfolded.

The brightest and best political and social commentators have chronicled every second of this historic event, so I don't imagine I have much of value to add except that my favorite moment of the day was when Barack entered the landing adjacent to the speakers platform to thunderous applause, he passed by his family and his daughter Malia stuck out her arm and gave him a huge dramatic thumbs up gesture. Obama who had been stoically, expressionless as he walked the ramp to the platform burst out in an irrepressible grin...That's the response not of a commander-in- chief, or leader of the free world...that's the response of a daddy who loves his little girl. The good thing to me is that I have my highest hopes of my lifetime that the daddy of those two girls also is a commander-in-chief and a leader of the free world that leads with love...not wimpy doormat love, but compassion that sees all of the world as God's creation... a leader of the free world that knows that he is called to lead with light that casts out darkness and exposes injustice and suffering. In his speech I heard a man who will take the high road of integrity and strong compassion that will not be compromised or diluted. He called on each of us to be a part of that mission...Sorta sounds like the words of that first inauguration call I remember from 48 years ago, "Ask not what your country can do for you...".

One of my favorite newly discovered music groups is a band called The Submarines, and their song made famous because of its use in the iPhone commercials is called "You, Me, and the Bourgeoisie" which frankly, is a tad ironic because the message of the song is about curbing materialism and waste, and disdaining hate and apathy. The chorus begins with these words that reminded me so much of the message of hope soaring in today's events.

"Every day I wake up, I choose love, I choose light..."

Let it be.

Pling...Pling...

dg

John Denver ...Poems Prayers and Promises..

2009-01-16T17:14:00.001-08:00

A week of beginnings and endings

2009-01-16T14:10:00.000-08:00

Life and death, new and old, fresh and stale, and the world keeps on turning. It has been one of those weeks when reminders of that fact are all around. Ah yes, I am listening to vinyl right now...John Denver's "Poems and Prayers and Promises" and that may be part of it...I saw him perform live in 1972 at Baylor University in Waco Hall, and have always been prone to sappy sentimentalism when I listen to John, but occasionally that's the guy I am.

I've been a single parent for the last 14 years. 14 years ago this week I received divorce papers in the mail. I wasn't expecting them. We were in our 14th year of marriage. The girl's mom had moved out a couple of weeks earlier. The previous six months had been spent in counseling, discussions...some of them more civil than others...and agonizing prayer, but as the new year of 1995 rolled in I became a single dad raising 3 girls, 11, 8, and 7 years old. I thought I knew what the challenges of being a single parent were...after all, I had been a youth minister for almost 25 years and had been a parent for over 12, what was there not to know? You can guess that a single guy with 3 young daughters would have his hands full and his eyes opened and that certainly was the case, but I wouldn't trade my life and my relationship with my girls since then for anything.

So a week ago, I get a call from Hannah who is driving from Nashville to Asheville, NC and who gets her first speeding ticket. She's been driving since she was 16 and has never gotten a ticket of any kind. She's lived in inner-city Oakland for a year working with the poor at 18 years old. She has excelled at Belmont University, winning the Outstanding Freshman Service Award early on, and since establishing herself as a leader on campus in community development...she can handle her first speeding ticket.

Earlier this week Calla and I were scheduled to drive all of her stuff back up to Arlington for the new semester of classes in nursing and into her new apartment. I have done that for all three girls throughout their college careers Baylor, Belmont, UNC Greensboro and UTA. So, last weekend she sheepishly approached and asked if it would be OK if Alex, her boyfriend, borrowed his dad's truck and moved her back to Arlington. My first reaction was, "NO, it isn't... that's my job...I'm the dad...I've moved all of your sisters and you up until now and no boyfriend (Alex is a good guy) is going to take that privilege away from me." I sat with it for a while, and saw that he REALLY wanted to do this and she REALLY wanted him to do this, (they have been dating for over a year) and this was not about me it was about them, I relented and said yes.

Last night Ariele, my eldest, sat in a cushioned chair next to her co-author Bob Carlton, in front of a crowd of folks at Book People for a book-signing to support her and Bob's book, "Barack Obama: An American Story". I watched as she responded to questions and then sat and chatted with the many folks who stood in line to have their book personally endorsed. I flashed back to some of the thoughts I had 14 years ago about how these beautiful, talented young ladies would survive the experience of their parents divorcing, their mother starting a new family and moving across the country, having to put up with a well-intentioned, but clueless single dad, who was also attempting to be a minister 50-60 hours a week to other people kids as well as be the primary nurturer, protector and provider for his own. They endured a great deal, but I look back on that ending and beginning 14 years ago and I with great pride believe that those three young women are among the finest women on the planet. I am genuinely proud of each one of them.

So, I'm admitedley a little nostalgic and perhaps a bit maudlin, (as the John Denver listening would suggest) but as we approach another ending and new beginning next Tuesday (with the inauguration of a good man into the highest, amd most unenviable responsibility in the land) I am filled with gratitude, and with hope that I can see miracles happen again, as God and his creation take difficult times and forge new beginnings.

Pling...Pling...

dg

Slumdog Millionaire Film Clip - Are You Nervous?

2008-12-29T22:11:00.001-08:00

Slumdog Millionaire...and Hope

2008-12-29T21:58:00.000-08:00

My friend, JJ Peterson, one of the funniest, most talented (hey, he danced in a Missy Elliot video!)and one of the most compassionate human beings on the planet, first recommended Slumdog, and I also read the reviews locally in the Austin American Statesman... but finally got around to seeing it with Ariele, Hannah and Calla last night. My expectations were high, which usually does not bode well, but when I left the theater I found myself wiping the tears away (yeah, I know you are shocked), but also wrestling with the tag-team emotions of exhileration, deep sadness, grudging admiration, simmering hope and unabashed joy. I don't know if it will win tons of awards. It wouldn't surprise me if it did, because it was beautifully shot, well cast, and brilliantly acted, but I don't know much about the technical side of the movie business. I just know what moves my soul, challenges my head and grabs my heart...and Slumdog did that. Perhaps, it was that I had just spent the week before immersing myself in the lives of the slumdogs of the 1st century Palestinian world, the shepherds, in preparation to talk at Journey Sunday morning. Maybe it is my basic inclination to pull for the underdog (Go Tribe and Baylor Bears), and my inability to detach myself fully from on the screen brutality and injustice when I know the same is happening as we inhale and exhale in this existential moment. I'm not sure I can explain it, but it worked for me...the fairytale ending for the beleagered protagonist was not a turn-off for me...and while I am a sucker for Bad News Bears and every other kids sports sadsack to city champ story, this seemed somehow differrent. Even if it wasn't, I liked it...

I believe that God doesn't kick slumdogs, shepherds, or any other marginalized outsider to the curb...there is hope, there is grace, there is justice...and there is love. That's what Jamal was ultimately chasing...aren't we all?

I encourage you to see it...and believe it.

Pling...Pling...

dg

Home for Christmas...

2008-12-26T18:55:00.000-08:00

As far as I'm concerned there really only needs to be one guy singing Christmas carols every year...Bing Crosby. He sang a whole lot of other stuff in his illustrious career, but seems to get remembered these days primarily as the guy who sings White Christmas better than anybody, past or present, on the planet. The great debate every year at our house is which is better, "Holiday Inn" or "White Christmas" the two Bing Crosby Christmas movies released several years apart that prominently feature the song White Christmas. I prefer "Holiday Inn" because it was chronologically first, but my girls like "White Christmas" better because Fred Astaire is really mean in "Holiday Inn". By the way, I just reconsidered and the only other Christmas album that should be allowed is the "John Denver and the Muppets" Christmas album. I'm not kidding...it is brilliant in every way! Animal rocks!

Anyway, my other favorite Christmas song to hear Bing sing is another World War II era song entitled, "I'll be Home for Christmas". It, of course, has been covered many, many times since Bing, but there is something about hearing that smooth, rolling, mellow, baritone voice promising that whatever it takes, he'll not let anything stand In the way of being with the ones he loves at home for Christmas. My mom and dad lived in the same house on Myrtlewood Street in Baton Rouge for almost thirty years. It was the place I came back to when I was in college and then after I was married with my own family. A number of years ago my parents moved to the woods in Mississippi and my mom still lives there presently, even though my dad passed away 4 years ago. I go there to see her, but it's not really like going "home". My girls are 25, 22, and 21 and have been off at college and across the country for the last several years. Because of traveling to different churches to minister and other financial reasons in recent years, they don't have a childhood homestead to come back to either. Almost 2 years ago I decided to downsize and leave the suburbs to move into the city to be nearer to the population center of Austin as well as nearer the warehouse. I moved into a two bedroom,one bath duplex that Brian and Lorraine generously rent to me for much less than it is worth, but as many who have done this will agree, moving from a four-bedroom house and all of the crap you buy to fill it up to a smaller place is an adjustment... a very healthy one, but an adjustment nonetheless. When it is just Cleveland and I we have more room than we need, but when all three girls are home as they have been for the holidays, it becomes very interesting. It still is no problem because I know that the space we are in is many, many times larger than the homes and shelters that the majority of the world live in, so, I am grateful on many levels. I guess what I am saying is that, for me, this Christmas I am reminded again that Bing had it right...I won't always have the gift of either being home or having my family all in one place at every holiday. As the years pass we lose family members to death and life. I pray daily for my friends Scott and Sarah who spend this Christmas without little Thomas who would have been enjoying his third Christmas had not cancer stolen him away last August. My dad was killed in an automobile accident in December of '04 and he loved family all of the time, but especially having as many of them around as possible at Christmas...mainly the kids who loved to argue with him about whether he was a "sweet-tater" or an "agi-tater".

So...I'm humming along with Bing...and enjoying my amazing daughters, and remembering not to take a minute of it for granted. And go rent "Holiday Inn"...Bing's heirs will thank you.

Pling...Pling...

dg

Unapologetic Plugs...

2008-12-13T10:19:00.000-08:00

UP#1...

On Monday evening I picked up my oldest daughter, Ariele, from the Austin airport. She has lived the the last two and a half years in the beautiful, incredibly hip city of Portland as a writer and editor with The Burnside Writer's Collective and part-time coffee barista at several local purveyors of java delicacies. She is moving back to Austin, which is a bittersweet experience for her, because of her acquired taste for the loveliness of all that is Portland, OR, and her deep love for the weirdness of Austin. On Tuesday we were hanging out and she was headed to a cool gathering that occurs every Tuesday night in this town at The Tavern, called Austin Inklings...a varied and diverse collection of folks nudged into conversations of life and faith over a pint or two by local book reviewer and renegade pastor, Kester Smith. Before I let her go I talked her into going to Book People, Austin's quintessential independent book store, with me to run an errand. She's already a Book People convert, so it did not take much coaxing, but it meant a great deal for me to have her there, because my mission was to pick up a book from the desk that I had ordered... Barack Obama: An American Story co-authored by Bob Carlton and Ariele Gentiles. Yup...that's right...Ariele's book. Well, Ariele's and my dear friend Bob Carlton, who was kind enough to ask Ariele to co-write with him. So when the clerk brought the book to me and rang it up, I casually mentioned, "Oh by the way...this woman right here...this is one of the authors...and another by the way...she's my daughter." Several weeks ago when I told Ariele I had her book on order from Book People she told me not to go pay for one because she had plenty of copies and she had planned to give me as many as I wanted. My response was...and every parent in the blogosphere will relate..."Dearest biological offspring, if you think you are going to rob me from the joy of informing the bookseller that the author of the book I am purchasing from his establishment is my brilliant, beautiful, talented daughter...you are CRAZY GIRL!" So I've used the picture of the book cover above as my facebook profile for the last month or so, and this is unapologetic plug #1...the book was published by Zondervan and Youth Specialties targeting high school students who want to talk about the life and faith of President-elect Obama, but it is well written, (I am, admittedly, a tad biased) and stands on its own for adults as well and is available online at the YS website, amazon.com, and all of your standard booksellers.

UP#2...

If you don't know the writing of my friend, Milton Brasher-Cunningham, then you are missing a rare treat in the literary world. A singer/songwriter, poet, novelist, pastor, and chef, Uncle Milty's blog Don't Eat Alone is a not-to-be-missed delight in the blog universe. He does an beautiful Lenten Journal entry each day during the season of Lent and is currently doing the same thing with a daily post in his Advent Journal. I recommend all of those things to you, but I particularly want you to be aware of a little piece of Christmas poetry that Milton wrote several years ago at the request of his amazing wife Ginger, who is the pastor of a church in the Raleigh/Durham area. The result was "A Faraway Christmas". The story is written in a Dr. Seuss kind of rhyme, with something to say to most any aged person about what would happen if we shared ourselves with one another. Milton has recorded an audio CD complete with musical background and other extras and if you are looking for a very special gift or something to use in a class or Christmas worship service, I recommend it highly. We used "A Far Away Christmas last year during our Christmas eve service at Journey, and it was a beautifully moving part of that special evening.
You can go to Milton's blog and look for the order box on the left.

The only other plug I will tell you about is the hair plugs that my Uncle Whitney got in the early sixties to combat his receding hairlines. I WILL apologize for that one... somebody needed to.

Pling...Pling...

dg

Election Afterglow and Acrimony

2008-11-10T21:29:00.000-08:00

I kept the front page of the Austin American Statesman from last Tuesday announcing the historic news...Barack Obama had become the nation's first African-American President. It has now been a full week since the results have had a chance to sink in, and frankly I am a little disoriented by the reactions...both positive and negative. In the interest of full disclosure, I voted for Obama and cheered when he emerged victorious from the fray...and I am not casually tossing around terms here...this election was a fray in every sense of the word. As a child of the 50's and a teenager in the 60's, I witnessed on television the struggles of African-Americans and those who stood with them in the quest for equality under the law. I saw with my own eyes the rage and bitterness in my own family and with my classmates as in my 7th grade year segregation was outlawed in Baton Rouge and my public school became open to students of any race. There were black kids beaten up in the bathrooms, behind the stadium after school as well as exclusion and ridicule at lunch and during assemblies. It was ugly for a while, but but by the time I became a freshman, the incidents in school (there were still many in the culture) became rare and quickly dealt with. One classmate that I admired the most was Agnes Jackson. She was smart and articulate and was genuinely one of the kindest people at our school. I kinda had a little crush on her, but never acted on it, mostly because I was a coward and knew it would be ugly at home with my dad and granddad. We had several classes together down through our high school years and we worked together on a English project in Ms. Peavey's lit class, and Agnes told me bad "knock knock" jokes...but that was the extent of our friendship... random, forced and not very authentic. It makes me sad to think that I really was an idiot and cluelessly overlooked the possibility of a valuable relationship. Of course she was probably saying..."OK I have to work with this loser in class but, after that, I'm outta here." Agnes graduated near the top of our class and went off to study at Radcliffe College in Cambridge, which at the time was an exclusive women's college...it is now part of Harvard University. I haven't heard from her or about her since high school. My point in that long story is to say that after the news of the Obama victory, one of the first people I thought of was Agnes, whom I had not thought of in years. I think the reason she came to mind was that I remember believing back in high school, that if we ever could have a woman president, Agnes could be that woman. It made me sad that it had taken so long for the color barrier to be broken and, had me wondering how much longer it would be until we had a woman in that office. If Agnes is interested, I'm writing her in in 2012. It has made me proud to be an American to watch millions of citizens of all races exult in the long-awaited reality of a person being elected to the highest office in the land, without regards to race or gender.

The part that has particularly disoriented me, however, is the flood of ugly, mean-spirited, and outrageous things that have been said following Obama's victory. There will always be sore losers in any competition, from livingroom monopoly games and Little League contests on the sandlot, to the presidential race. I've been particulary impressed with John McCain's gracious and encouraging congratulations of Obama's victory as well as his pledge to work together with the President-elect in the future. But when conservative radio shock jock Rush Limbaugh declares that he is not ready to work together for the good of the country because he believes the new president cannot be trusted...that is something I have NEVER heard in my years on the planet. Buck Burnette, an admirable, healthy, seeming role model of a young man was dismissed from the University of Texas football team last week after placing a regrettably, racist comment on his Facebook status immediately following the election results. That was a costly oops... Speaking of Facebook, my beautiful youngest daughter pointed out to me a new poster that Facebook members can choose to post on their profile that has a tombstone on it that bears the inscription, "The United States of America...Born July 4th, 1776...Died November 4th 2008". You probably have seen or heard many more. I have always heard that you should avoid talking about three particular subjects if you want to keep out if trouble...race, religion and politics. Unfortunately for many, those three subjects have been inexorably intertwined throughout this election and keep the fires of bitterness and anger stoked.

While I supported Obama, I do not agree with him on every issue, and I do not think he is our next political or religious messiah. What I do think is that for the first time in a long time we have a legitimate shot at stopping long enough to examine the way we've done business with each other and with the world, and we have a man at the helm whose priorities are focused on the "least of these" as well as the powers that be. I'm reminded of a poet, Thiruvalluvar, who wrote a generation before the birth of Christ these words of prophecy, "The only gift is giving to the poor. All else is exchange." My prayer for our President-elect is that he will not be deterred from returning this nation to a people of service, compassion and generosity, and that he will surround himself with people of integrity and intellect and courage. The task is daunting and he will make some mistakes, but I long to follow a leader who is willing to err on the side of love and sacrifice, rather than control and ego. And, I'll readily admit to being naive and idealistic.

...Or I could just write-in Agnes Jackson's name for Commander-In-Chief in the next election.

Pling...Pling...

dg

First Vote...and more

2008-10-20T21:32:00.000-07:00

Early voting opened today and I got the privilege of accompanying my youngest daughter Calla as she cast her first vote in a presidential election. We discussed the local races and who we might vote for, and then traveled down to the Shriner's Hall down the street to stand in line with a bevy of folks most of whom were 20+ years my senior. The dear lady monitoring the election told me that she had worked the polls faithfully for the last 40 years and she had never seen this kind of turnout on the first day of early voting. She said that they had over 600 early voters at that location in the morning hours alone. Reports tonight were that over 32,000 folks voted early today in Austin alone. I remembered the day I cast my first vote in the 1972 election...and I voted for...gosh I hate admitting this...Richard Nixon. Oh well...

These days are full of firsts... If Obama wins we'll have our first African-American President. If McCain wins we'll have our first female Vice-President. If the Tampa Bay Rays defeat the Philadelphia Phillies in the World Series we'll have the first team in major league baseball history go from being the worst team in baseball to the best in one year. If the Baylor Bears football team defeats the #1 ranked Texas Longhorns in three weeks it will be the end of the world as we know it.

But these are also exciting days for many more reasons than those obvious ones. Our economic woes, while they have been the cause of many financial and employment pains, may have forced us as a western society to think twice about the value of unchecked materialism. The unprecedented acceleration in the melting of the polar icecaps and the seeming constant barrage of hurricanes and tsunamis are forcing us to rethink man's abuse and neglect of the land and water that God has entrusted us to caretake. The institutional church has become ineffective and irrelevant as agents of transformation and change, and in the wake of its failure there has arisen an oft-criticized, but organically refreshing model of faith communities focusing on being loving expressions of the life and teaching of Jesus in the world. (This is not to say that there are not still many loving Catholic, Evangelical, and Mainline churches that are ministering faithfully) The Obama campaign has re-energized the involvement and passion of a young generation to the political issues of our world that is reminiscent of my generation's engagement in the 60's and 70's. I believe it is an exciting time to be alive!

Certainly there are problems... very serious problems in these days, but I believe that God is at work in ways that many of us have talked about for decades but probably honestly never thought we'd live to see. I'm glad Calla and I got to participate in a part of that together today. I believe in the Audacity of Hope...and that hope is bigger than Obama or any party. I believe.

Pling...Pling...

dg

Austin 3.5 Men's Singles Tennis Champion...sorta...

2008-10-10T21:19:00.000-07:00

I've put off writing this post, because I know you guys will make fun of me...as well you should. There's no real way to dress it up it, so I better just tell you the story and you can believe it or don't.

You may remember that a couple of months ago I posted a report from my participation in a new tennis league here in Austin called LeagueTennis.com. It is headquartered in Atlanta, and has been up and running here locally for a couple of years. The deal is that tennis players register with the league by skill level, 2.0 to 5.0 with the higher the number the higher the skill level. I self-ranked at 3.5, not because I knew what the heck I was doing, but because I went onto the USTA (United States Tennis Association) site, studied their descriptions of the different levels...and then guessed. Also, the league insists that you do not under-rank yourself (we called that sandbagging where I grew up) and therefore dominate lesser competition. I had never played in an official league before, so I had no clue how to rank my ability. As it turned out, I was fairly competitive in 3.5, but not nearly the class of the league. As the season wound down I found myself somewhere near the middle of the standings and even got a forfeit or two from better players who had injuries or had conflicts...I had fun...enjoyed the competition with guys half my age, but after my last match put the racket bag away until next spring.

About 3 weeks ago I got a call from the league office saying that the first place qualifier was not available to compete in the city championships, and that the league runner-up had missed a lot of matches, so they were removing him from consideration. Then she said that they had studied the league results and determined that Eddie (the guy I wrote about earlier that I had both beaten and lost to during the season) and I seemed to be the most committed participants in the league, and would we be willing to play for the city championships? I almost swallowed the phone! I asked if she knew that we were probably the worst players in the league, and she laughed and asked if we wanted to play anyway. Of course I said yes. As they say Louisiana..."My momma didn't raise no fool...but she sure missed a good chance!"

Two weeks ago tonight, on the final night of the ACL Festival weekend, Eddie and I agreed to face off for the championship. When the lady from the league office called, I asked sarcastically if we would get live ESPN coverage of this match with John McEnroe making the calls...She laughed and said, "no, but I see if I can get the winner a date with Maria Sharapova." Eddie thought that was a great idea, I said I was thinking more along the lines of Chris Evert. He had no idea who she was. I showed up at the courts a little early to get in a few practice serves...it takes a little longer than it used to to get the old joints limbered up. Eddie showed up a few minutes late, but it wasn't like there was a crowd waiting expectantly for the coin toss...actually there was no crowd...just Eddie and I, and we hit for a few minutes to get loose. I asked Eddie how he was doing and he said, "Man I'm tired!" I asked if he had to work all weekend and he said that he hadn't, he'd just been partying pretty hard all weekend with friends for ACL. I asked how he enjoyed the festival, and he said he hadn't attended the festival, he was just celebrating with friends during the weekend. I confess that the thought briefly crossed my mind to generously ask if he wanted to postpone the match until he was 100%, but I thought, "Hey, I'm old...he's hung over...sounds fair to me!" We both held serve the first four games and it was 2-2 to start the match. I proceeded to win the next four straight to win the first set 6-2. I then won the first four of the next set to go up 4-0. Eddie remarked that it was going to be really embarrassing if I bageled (shut him out) him and won the next game. I then closed out the next two games to win the second set 6-1 and the championship. So there you have it sports fan...who says that the old underdog can't sneak a win away from the younger stronger hungover opponent every now and then? It's beautiful isn't it ...kinda like "Rudy" with short pants.

So....I know that I'm not actually the best 3.5 men's tennis player in Austin...but I do have a t-shirt and a luggage tag that says I am...so if you are looking for me in the next few days, I'm probably icing my old knees, humming Queen's "We Are The Champions..." and waiting on that call from Chris Evert,

Pling...Pling...

dg

Robert Randolph And The Family Band-I Need More Love-Live On

2008-10-04T22:49:00.001-07:00

More Love...More Robert Randolph...

2008-10-04T22:20:00.000-07:00

Got invited to trek with fiends Mike White and Jack Morton to San Antonio to a music event benefiting Habitat for Humanity that was organized by John Foreman of Switchfoot. I knew that the lineup included, Jars of Clay, whom I've been a fan of ever since I got a pre-release copy of their first CD in early 1994 from a booking agent who was trying to push this interesting new band. I was hooked. Also appearing was a band called Red that Mike really liked but I had only heard on a recording, as well as the long-time Christian rockers, Third Day and of course, and the Switchfoot boys themselves that I heard at Stubbs here in Austin before they became a national crossover sensation. What I was not aware of was that also performing on the bill was Robert Randolph and the Family Band. I hope you know this band because if not, you are being deprived of a real treat. I stumbled on to them about 5 years ago when I saw a music video of the song you see them playing on Letterman in the video above, and the rest is musical love history. The RRB was placed tonight in the middle of the bill and frankly, I think don't more than a handful of the packed house at the Verizon amphitheater had a clue who he was, but by the end of his set, a mere 30 minutes, the place was up on it's feet and rockin...So if you know about RR&TFB, take this time to revisit unbridled musical joy...and if you have never had the privilege...hold on to your jingle bells...nuff said.

Pling...Pling...

dg

...Be It Ever So Humble...

2008-10-02T08:26:00.000-07:00

I have this friend who also is a part of the motley crew here at Journey. Her name is Julia and she is a real estate agent, but she is also a Section 8 housing specialist. I don't mean she just knows a lot about it, I mean she knows a lot about it and is a passionate advocate for those whom Section 8 housing is their only hope of having anything resembling affordable housing. Julia has been attempting to help this incredibly sweet, wheelchair-bound Austinite, William, with getting into a Section 8 apartment complex in Austin near the Journey warehouse. She has been his advocate, cheerleader and negotiator in this move and had lined up several folks to help William move a couple of Saturdays ago. The S8 folks said the apartment had not been inspected and delayed. Julia moved it to the next weekend. The following Saturday...more of the same as the S8 folks again said the inspection on the new apartment has not been completed and William couldn't move. Plan C was now in effect, but the only problem (OK, there were several) was that William had already given notice on his existing apartment and he had to be out by October 1st...yesterday. The other small detail was that the folks committed to help William move work during the week and since this move was going to have to happen during the week, they were not available. I was one of the original volunteers, but since I'm a minister and we only work on Sunday mornings, I and my trusty '93 F-150 pickup were available. The truth is I really do enjoy doing things like this because that pickup was my dad's and while he was alive he literally gave his life and resources away to whomever needed them...so I kinda figure I'm just carrying on the legacy...and I think the old truck knows it.

So, yesterday morning I arrive at William's old apartment complex and Julia is already there loading up her van along with a friend of William's named Billy. Billy fills up his car with stuff and William's wheel chair and they head over to the new place as Julia and I finish loading our respective vehicles. You should know that since I was only a boy scout for about a month and a half, I opt for bungees to secure the loads on my truck instead of trusting my knot-tying prowess....so with about 35 bungee cords criss-crossing the load we headed north to Rutland. When we arrived, the door to William's apartment was open but no William. Julia went to the office where she found him, understandably miffed and making motions like he was choking himself in frustration because the manager insisted that the S8 inspection still had not been completed and William could not move in. I wouldn't have said that to Julia if I were the manager, who calmly responded to her, "That's fine, I've got three cars loaded with William's belongings and if we can't put them in William's apartment, which incidentally I know the S8 inspection passed, then I'll unload them right here in the lobby of this office." Minutes later we were carrying things to their proper space in Williams new digs.

The next challenge was that Billy had gone on to work and we still needed to go back and get William's couch and another truck and van load of belongings. So, ever the industrious one, Julia asked about hiring some temp help form the neighborhood and we met Alejandro who agreed to go back with me in the truck and help load the sofa and the rest of the stuff still at the old apartment. Alejandro was a quiet, but proud man with two elementary-aged boys who was a painter by trade, but with the downturn in the economy was doing anything he could to bring in enough money to stay in his apartment and feed his family. I liked him instantly. He was a hard worker and we loaded the truck to the gills once again and headed back north. An hour or so later I took off to make an appointment, but Julia, William, Alejandro, and a Spanish-only speaking neighbor from upstairs were getting William all moved in.

I begin to think about what William's plight might have been without the tenacious concern for him by Julia, who not only made all of the arrangements, but physically worked all day to get him moved, and paid out of her own pocket to be sure we got everything out of his old apartment and wasn't charged for another month, and into his new apartment...in spite of the lack of cooperation from the management. I know that many of the Williams of the world don't have a Julia...don't have someone willing to go the extra mile to do for them what they truly cannot do for themselves. I have been one of those folks who got a helping hand when I couldn't help myself. So who is your William today?

Pling...Pling...

dg

Veeps On Parade

2008-09-29T12:12:00.000-07:00

The vice-presidential debate happens this week. Oh boy, this should be good...well, maybe "good" is a stretch, but at least, "interesting". I have been more than a little disconcerted at Sarah Palin ever since she cast aspersions upon the role of the community organizers as a way to demean Obama's experience in relation to hers, but simply dismissed it as her reading the script someone had written for her. It is a viable issue for me, however, because to discount the work of the community organizers...like say, Martin Luther King Jr., Gandhi, Mother Teresa, and countless others, the majority of whom labor in utter obscurity, is a not only a travesty, but a complete lack of understanding of the role of the servant leader in culture. If a good leader is a demagogue who sits upon a pedestal and makes arbitrary and self-serving decisions without having to live among and alongside the people he is making decisions for, he is a nothing more than an elitist, out of touch puppet of power...but I digress.

I do want to see Palin and Biden, debate the issues. Palin has a particular philosophical position, which I have no quarrel with... and at least partially, is consistent in her talk and her talk. She is taking criticism for her inability to handle the press in interviews with network anchors, and the growing sense that for all her good looks and strong talk, there might not be any "there' there.

The democratic vice-presidential candidate, Joe Biden, is taking some pretty heavy blows to the body in these preliminary rounds as well...some from his own ticket. Biden has always had a reputation for having an opinion on every subject, and is often described as a "loose cannon' because he speaks occasionally without filtering his comments. It has happened several times in just the last week. I have a little different take on Biden's logorrhea, and in fact find his non-partisan honesty very refreshing. For example, several weeks ago he was asked about a political ad run by his campaign accusing John McCain of being computer illiterate. Biden, without missing a beat said that he hadn't seen the ad, but that if it was what was portrayed, he denounced the ad as unfair, unkind and out of bounds...He was absolutely right. Later that week he was asked in a New Hampshire town hall meeting about Hillary Clinton. Biden responded by saying that he wanted to make something perfectly clear...he thought Hillary was as qualified, if not more qualified than he was to be the next vice president. The opposition jumped all over it, but what is wrong with a little realistic humility and being willing to give another the pat on the back they deserve? I know...politics is politics...but sheeeeeeesh! Then last week, when asked about the AIG federal buyout plan, Biden declared that he thought it was a terrible idea and he was against it. The problem was that Obama had already spoken in favor of it and had to come out publicly saying that Biden should have waited to voice his opinion until later in the process. I'm no economist, but I agree with Biden...and by the way, McCain was also opposed to the plan early on until his campaign told him he wasn't.

I know that parties generally like to present a united front, and in organizations that is usually a good idea as well, but in this case, I am grateful for someone who speaks what he believes to be the truth even if it is not considered politically expedient.

So...hang on to your TV trays, Thursday may be a doozy...

Pling...Pling...

dg

My political wish-list...

2008-09-09T23:03:00.000-07:00

I had been tempted to blog about the recent and now completed political conventions in the middle of them, but refrained for several reasons. First I wanted to have a bit of objectivity. I was blown away by speeches by Michelle Obama and Jesse Jackson Jr. along with a terrific benediction prayer by our buddy Donald Miller at the DNC. Obama's speech to end the convention in front of 50,000 responsive delegates and adherants was powerful. I had a real doubt whether the RNC could match that kind of juice. Then Alaska governor Sarah Palin was selected and the Republican ticket was energized with surprise and cvontroversy. I was wrong...they matched, if not trumped the DNC for impact. I am a lifelong Democrat who has always stubbornly and independently voted for the person I thought would be best for the office, regardless of their party affiliation. I have been a curious, but rarely faithful follower of conventions down through the years. My problem with them is that they most often seem to be little more than pep rallys and info-mercials for the ticket and the party...with everybody piling on the opponent, and everybody patting each other on the butt, saying "good game", regardless of their hatred for each other just a month earlier in the primaries. I get it...I know their intended purpose, but as beautiful as this democratic two-party system is, at this point in the contest we choose to resort to diversionasry tactics to hope the American peiople pay more attention to the side show than the issues...at least until that Monday in November when the votes get cast and we are stuck with whomever was the most facile with smoke and mirrors. I really wanted that not to be the case this time...I was hoping a Obama/Biden and McCain/Lieberman ticket would be so intriguing because there were both significant AND subtle differences between the two tickets, but instead we got a veep candidate who is so unknown and untested that the best we can do is be impressed with the fact that she can field dress a moose, and she looks way better than Hillary in a pantsuit. She is a persuasive speaker, she has decidely conservative Republican views which certainly balance out McCain's weakness on that front. However, her record of acromony with her fellow Republican officers in the state government,and the fact that her terms as both as mayor and governor were rife with controversy, might be seem to indicate that the highest priority in a running mate this time around was the even-bad-publicity-is-good-publicity theorum.

I want so desperately for Obama's grassroots, open-source, everyman political movement to be for real. I want the remarkable internet communication, facebook groups and twitter links to be an indicator that the small voice is as important as the rich lobby voice, and not just a bait and switch come on. I want a man or woman who does not return evil for evil on the campaign trail or in foreign policy. I need for opinions on hot button issues like immigration, abortion, and gay marriage to be based not on political expediency, close-minded bigotry, or personal comfort, but on constitutional clarity, a deep abiding reverence for both the sanctity of life and the quality of life, and a commitment to the dignity of every man, woman and child. That means that for me there will always be some gray ares where we cannot legislate morality.

So, I just want these last 7 weeks to be characterized by legitimate discussion and debate. I do believe that Obama is absolutely correct that Washington is broken and needs to be fixed. I also believe that McCain is right that it is way past time for the answers to come in a non-partisan partnership of cooperation. I also know that the odds of that actually happening are astronomical. Roughly the same odds as having a black man actually become president. But then, I've always believed in longshots. Heck, I've been a Cleveland Indians fan for almost 50 years.

Pling...Pling...

dg

Olympic Opining

2008-08-23T21:23:00.000-07:00

I'm one of those Olympic junkies...I watch everything from badminton to field hockey and check the medal count to see if the US is still ahead. I don't have any rabid patriotism-we're-better-than-they-are things going on...I suspect it is just my competitive nature kicking in. But as the games wind down to the closing ceremonies, I thought I'd offer an observation or two about a few names we've seen or heard in the past few weeks.

Michael Phelps - We'll get him out of the way first - amazing, monumental achievement with 8 golds, thanks to clutch performances by Jason Lezak on the anchor swim of two medleys...but is there anybody else that thinks he's a bit of a big inarticulate goober. I know he answered the same three questions a bazillion times and I can't blame him for zoning out to parrot the same things he said every time he got asked...and he is after all a swimmer and not a professional speaker, but then, I listen to 16 year old gymnast Shawn Johnson answer difficult questions with insight, passion and compassion, as well as a wise-beyond-her-years respect and graciousness for both her teammates and opponents. She's cute as a button and won't it be cool when she goes back to high school this fall and is sitting in English class just like everybody else!

Dara Torres - She's 41 and she's faster than almost every swimmer more than half her age...and oh yeah...she hot. But none of those things are the main reasons she impresses me. Coming back to competitive swimming after giving birth to her baby girl less than two years ago and winning a total of 12 Olympic medals in her career that began in the 1984 games in LA is impressive enough, but it was her joyful attitude and irrepressible smile that won me over. And then, just as her semi-final heat was set to begin, she had the presence of mind to lobby for extra time for an opponent who had a wardrobe malfunction and had to go back to change her suit. Dara, notified the officials so they wouldn't start the race without the absent swimmer and then calmed the rest of the field down as they waited. That's class...and maturity. And by the way...if she wants to marry me...tell her I'm OK with that.

Usain Bolt - I actually consider Bolt (is that not the most appropriate runner's name ever?) who won three gold medals by breaking world records (easily I might add) in the 100 and 200 the most amazing story of these games. The 22 year old Jamaican speedster, has such a contagious delight for life and running that it was hard not to smile every time he left the starting blocks. He is a rising star and an entertaining one at that.

The NBC broadcast team - OK, it is a little strange, perhaps, to mention these guys, but I think several deserve special note.

Bob Costas - I just love Bob Costas. He is the consummate professional, incredibly knowledgeable, but was never so serious that he couldn't laugh at himself or see the lighter side of many of the happenings during the games. And he's a baseball guy...need I say more?

Mary Carillo - This former women's tennis pro had really only done tennis broadcasts before this, but she appeared throughout the games as an analyst and commentator, often doing special interest reports. I've always liked her, but never seen the human, compassionate side of her...I think this should propel her to do more than just tennis in the days to come.

Andrea Joyce - Andrea has been around sports broadcasting for a long time, and mostly did sideline interviews with the athletes after their competitions. I've never been a big fan, but after she decimated American gymnast Alicia Sacramone, insisting on hammering her with inane humiliating questions over and over, I'd had enough. I don't understand why it is necessary to add insult to injury by asking obvious questions and seemingly intentionally hoping for a an emotional breakdown. No class...no compassion...no bueno.

So...we'll wait to see if the closing ceremonies are as mind-blowing as the opening ones and look forward to the games in London in 2012. Maybe I'll be in the stands at the pool there cheering on my recent bride, Dara. Well a guy can can have Olympic dreams can't he?

Pling...Pling...

dg

It's a Dad/Daughter Thing...

2008-08-15T10:13:00.001-07:00

I was pondering several serendipitous events yesterday and wondered what to do with them. Most of you know that I have three daughters...and they are not just any three daughters, they are smart, funny, tough, talented and beautiful. You also probably know that our last 14 years together have been with me as a single parent and them training me every step of the way. So what I'm getting at is that we have a very special relationship. I know that the dad/daughter is very important in almost all families, even in the ones where it is characterized more by its absence than presence. Years ago I read that cultural phenom that was "Reviving Ophelia" by Dr. Mary Pipher. One of the observations she makes is in regards to the incredible void that gets left in the lives of pre-adolescent girls who developmentally need a father figure in their lives during these critical years to develop healthy self image, relational and sexual identity foundational elements. For many, the father wound is deep and devastating. I have two close friends (single parent moms) who have young daughters, one 5, and one 9, and who watch them cry when the random and and infrequent contact of the hit and run fathers of their girls send their daughters into an emotional tsunami. It breaks my heart knowing that scenario gets played out thousands of time daily in our culture.

But...that's not what prompted my pondering. Actually, and refreshingly, it is the other end of the spectrum. A couple of dear friends, Ginger and Milton Brasher- Cunningham from Raleigh/Durham NC were in Texas to visit family and help lead a retreat at Laity Lodge. We got to sit and chat for a couple of hours on their way up to Waco to see Milton's family and to Ft.Worth to see a Lyle Lovett Show before heading south again for the retreat. As we were talking about family, Ginger began to talk about her concern for her father who is wrestling with Alzheimer's and she is seeing this gentle, compassionate man slip slowly away from them. She commented that she is one of the rare women in the world who can boast about a wonderful loving father as well as a wonderful, loving husband. She's right.

Several hours later I was watching , along with millions of others, as American gymnasts Nastia Liukin and Shawn Johnson won the gold and silver medals, respectively, in the women's all-around competition in Beijing. Shawn came in as the favorite on the strength of her victories at the World Championships and the US Olympic trials, but it was obvious to all those who watched the team competition that Nastia, the daughter of a dad who was a Russian gold medal gymnast 20 years ago, and a mom who was a competitive rhythmic gymnast, was getting better and stronger with every event. Since I am a sucker for these dad/daughter scenarios, I paid close attention to the way her dad, who is her coach and who was on the coaching sidelines during the Olympic events, interacted with her in the ups and downs of the team events. Dad/daughter relationships are one thing, but dad/daughter/player/coach relationships are a different animal all together. I coached Calla's softball teams for about 6 years and that tenuous balance between being a mentor and motivator and a supporter and cheerleader are easy to get dangerously entangled...and as we all know from watching little league games, can be downright ugly. I was impressed by Nastia and her dad's interaction during these days, but just fell apart, when following the official announcement that she had indeed won the gold, the first person she looked for was her dad and she raced to hug him and held on tightly for what seemed like minutes as she wept in his arms. At that moment she wasn't the top female gymnast in the world...she was just a daughter hanging on to her dad for dear life at the most important moment in her young life. There will be many more...most of them having nothing to do with gymnastics.

So, for all of those dads out there like Nastia and Ginger's who have had the courage to not just be a provider, but to be a friend, parent, coach, counselor, and cheerleader...I salute you. We need you...your daughters need you...the world needs you. Well done.

Pling...Pling...

dg

Geezers Rule!

2008-08-07T22:39:00.000-07:00

I'm 56 years old...in November that bumps up to the next whole number digit...most days I don't feel like my head, my heart or my body agree with that chronological assessment... but on the other hand, there are days when my rickety knees outvote my brain and heart and Advil becomes my best friend. So, inexplicably, several months ago, my competitive nature kicked in and I signed up to play in a men's singles (as opposed to doubles, not not-married) league. I have played tennis recreationally since my best friend Cliff McArdle taught me to play 30 years ago, but have never, ever played in an organized league. So I went online, found a summer league that only cost $5 to join and decided to go for it.

Now the thing I didn't know was that you have to rate yourself as a player so that you can be placed in a league appropriate to your skill level. Since I've never played at any level I had to go to the USTA site and prognosticate what my level might be. I guessed at a 3.5...especially since you are warned to not sandbag and underestimate your ability to whip up on lesser opponents. I had my first match last week and my opponent was Mario, who was smart, successful, a very good tennis player...and oh yeah...half my age. I hung with him for a while, even leading the first set 3-2 at one point, but his strong serve, seriously tough topspin forehand and young legs prevailed and I lost handily 6-4 and 6-1. I limped home, put an icepack on the knee, took a couple of Advil, and wondered how I could ever have thought this was a good idea.

Tuesday was my next match, and I pondered the possibility that I might play the whole season without winning a single match...but what the heck, I would be building up the self esteem of others all across Austin...that's what servanthood is all about right? Yeah...I wasn't thrilled about being the Prince (I play with a Prince racket) of doormats either. So Tuesday I met Eddie, my next opponent. He was a very nice guy, had a booming serve...hit the ball like a rocket...and in case you were wondering...again, half my age. Eddie, while clearly a guy with better tennis strokes than moi, had a rough start and shockingly (for both of us and several folks watching as well) I won the first set 6-0. He won the first two games of the second set, I won the next three, and then the lights on these public courts just shut off. He asked if, in the event we might could get the lights back on, I wished to continue (he was no dummy...he knew that his youth and fitness would no doubt be a factor the longer we played). I agreed and after about a 20 minute delay the mercury vapor lights came on and we resumed. He proceeded to win the next 4 games and take the second set 6-3. We began the rubber match third set and with the score tied at deuce(40-40) in the first set the lights went out again. We decided to meet Thursday night to conclude the match.

Sooooooo... tonight we met to resolve the outcome, and I have to confess that while I have done a ton of stuff in my life in front of a lot of people, I was crazily nervous about playing this third set. I couldn't figure it out...this match has no real meaning in the larger scheme of the universe. It's a game that won't affect global warming (unless I fail to recycle my plastic tennis ball can), feeding the poor, addressing the human rights issue in China, the outcome of the Presidential election in November, or human trafficking in Cambodia...but I was nervous nonetheless. Bottom line, Eddie did not play well, and I avoided enough mistakes to win the final set 6-2. Go figure...the old man can actually win occasionally, even against the young guns. So, because I really do care about all of those afore-mentioned issues, and because I have friends who are experiencing devastating losses and family health and vocational crises, I will now turn my attention to more important matters, but for this moment my aching knees don't feel all that bad...and I'm kinda wondering if Centrum Silver and the AARP might do paid endorsements for a star tennis player like myself...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Sad

2008-08-01T09:14:00.000-07:00

"Mr. T"... Sarah and Scott Bickle's feisty and precious toddler, Thomas, lost his two year battle with brain cancer yesterday. I was staring at the screen on my desk yesterday evening, wanting to say something, needing to say something, but unable to make sense of much of anything when a friend request from Facebook popped up. I was responding to that request when I noticed a string of recent updates on a number of folk's profiles (those of you who are FB addicts know of which I speak) indicating feelings or reports on what they are doing. I have trouble keeping up with my car keys much less updating my mood every few hours, so I rarely participate, but on this day I did have something to report, so I just typed in "sad". Curiously, within a few minutes several folks on my "friends" list checked in to see why I was sad. I guess maybe the Facebook "community" can actually occasionally act like a community. I was grateful that they were concerned and we chatted with short FB and e-mail notes, but I still am mostly wordless and clueless.

I'm not interested in talking the theology of the afterlife...although I believe with all my heart that Thomas is now pain free and sitting in the arms of Someone whose arms feel lovingly like his mom and dad's. I'm not interested is debating whether they should read "The Shack" or "90 Minutes in Heaven" even though I know those have both been helpful resources for folks who are grieving. I'm just sad. Sad that a wonderful mom and dad had such precious little time with their beautiful son and even much of that was nursing him through pain and surgery and chemo. I'm sad that I was seldom present with them through any of this except by phone and e-mail...OK I also feel guilty about that. And I'm sad I can't articulate any better why I'm sad. Talking and writing for a living is what I do. It's a good thing I'm not being paid by the word today.

I love you Scott and Sarah. I do know that... and I can say that with certainty. And I can pray to a God who gets it even when words don't.

Pling...Pling...

dg

The New Old Slavery

2008-07-28T22:07:00.000-07:00

I attended a screening tonight for a documentary to be released to theatres this October entitled "Call and Response...The Concert to End Slavery". It is a project of love for a friend I met a little over a year ago, Justin Dillon, from Oakland, CA. Justin is singer/songwriter who had this issue of human trafficking almost dumped in his lap and he responded by putting together this truly amazing body of work that has to be seen to be appreciated, addressing this reality of 27 million people in slavery around our world TODAY! To see an articulate insight into the film see Shelton Green's wonderful perspective in his blog post (In Reformation) tonight. Justin is headed to Nashville on Wednesday and Washington DC on Thursday and Friday to pave the way for the film's release with screenings similar to tonight's. If you have any interest in this grassroots, open-source movement then visit the film website at www.callandresponse.com. As Dr. Cornnell West says in the filom, "justice is what love looks like in public"! Pling...Pling... dg

Broken Bread and Vanishing Saviors

2008-07-19T22:14:00.000-07:00

Several weeks ago I wrote about an amazing trip to Colorado with my friend Sam Vaugh. In the post I mentioned that each night after dinner, in the blissful absence of television and Internet, we both read for several hours. Sam was reading an unfinished manuscript that a local Southern Colorado author had let him preview. I was reading a book recommended by my friend Bob Carlton, "Take This Bread", by Sara Miles. Sara Miles grew up in a home where her parents, partly as a reaction to devout missionary parents, partly a response to the lack of relevance of the mainstream church to the pressing social causes and needs of the 1950's, raised their children as practicing agnostics. When Sara reached adulthood she spent time as a chef in New York City, and then as a respected writer and reporter who spent much of the 1960's living and reporting in Latin America during that incredibly volatile, but culture revolutionizing decade. She gave birth to little girl while she was in Latin America, then when the violence became too risky for her daughter she moved back to the US settling in the San Francisco area. One day while walking down the street in her neighborhood, she passed the open doors of an Episcopal Church, a particularly intriguing one architecturally, and she decided to go inside to see more. When she entered she found that they were observing Communion, the Eucharist, The Lord's Supper. She was somewhat familiar from readings about religion, but she had never experienced it personally. She got in line and curiously, and apprehensively approached the ministers who were serving. One of them broke off a piece of bread, whispered to her that this bread was the "body of Christ". She watched as the person in front of her dipped the bread in the chalice of wine as the next minister said, "and this wine is the blood of Christ shed for you". Sara Miles says that in that moment of hearing and tasting, she was transformed. She didn't know anything about what had happened or what it meant, she just knew that when she left that room...she was a different woman. Because she had no frame of reference for what this was supposed to mean she began to ask herself, and in a desperate need for some answers, this God that she had always assumed did not exist, for help. The only thing she could come up with was that, her experience as a cook taught her that food has a deep, primal, and spiritual connection to the soul. She thought that this experience was telling her, God or no
God, she was supposed to feed people...so she began a food pantry for the homeless and the working poor out of that same Episcopal church. I won't ruin the rest of the fascinating story...you should read it yourself...but the other thing Sara Miles discovered was that just when you get a handle on what God wants from you, he seems to get a little harder to box up and pin down.

I'm reminded of the post-resurrection story in Luke 24 that tells of the now-you-see-him-now-you-don't nature of keeping up with Jesus. He appears to two fringe believers (Cleopas and his companion)early Easter morning. They see him and don't recognize him, hear him speak and don't recognize him, listen to him exegete the entire of Hebrew scripture that has to do with the coming of the Messiah, and don't recognize him. Now my hunch is that they are crazy numb with grief and are in the throes of emotional shock. They even say that they had so pinned their hopes on Jesus being the promised Messiah, only to watch him die and be be buried. Loss will do that to you...disappointment with do that to you...betrayal will do that to you...fear will do that to you...the crush of failure will send you to a place where you wall yourself off from anything that has the slightest potential of dealing out more pain. It is also significant to me that according to my less than stellar mathematical abilities, Jesus made five appearances after his resurrection (not counting the ascension). They were all to people who already believed. If I had been put in charge of the post resurrection public relations campaign of the Messiah...I do things a little differently. I get him on Larry King and Oprah. I get him to throw out the first pitch at the World Series and I get him to be a contestant on Dancing With the Stars. Oh...and he is in both an iPod and a Geico commercial. But I was not in charge and God chose not to scare, frighten, or overpower our human will or our ignorance...you have to come to faith with your head, your heart and your willing volition.

So... Jesus has walked the several hours-long trek to their home village and they still are clueless, and yet...they have enough sensitivity to the needs of a stranger to invite Jesus in to eat and spend the night. They sit down to eat, asking Jesus to bless the food and when he prays and breaks the bread...they suddenly recognize him. Now what was it in the breaking of bread that revealed his identity when seeing him face to face, hearing his voice and hearing him teach failed to do the trick? I don't know but I think my friend, chef Milton (Don't Eat Alone), and Sara Miles, have it right. The power of breaking bread and sharing a meal together opens doors to the soul that stay slammed shut and resist the most adept lock pickers. Then, of course, just when you are ready to systematize and quantify the magical experience you had with God he vanishes, and you are left with a holy heartburn ("didn't our hearts burn within us as he explained the scriptures to us along the road") and not even a Polaroid snapshot for the scrapbook. He is illusive and untameable...you don't put him in a choker collar and leash, get him to roll over and play dead, and follow obediently at your heels. That's not the God of Creation... that's Lassie...

So take a bite outta that...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Wilcox and Ariele

2008-07-14T02:24:00.000-07:00

Worship at Journey had many notable elements last Sunday, including Dave Madden singing Cake's "The Palm of My Hand", listening to Nicole Nordeman's "What If", hearing excerpts from NPR interviews with noted scientists and opposite ends of the philosophical spectrum, Richard Dawkins and Francis Collins, Rick being brilliant as usual; and, a talk-back time with the community that asked them for questions they always felt were not allowed in church that got responses like, why do we talk about love and still live like bigots, why do we fell it necessary to still consider God masculine, why are we so afraid of homosexuality, why does God allow children to be abused and neglected, among many more. The highlights for me though were a great David Wilcox song, "Beyond Belief" sung by Judi Sawyer (check out Wilcox performing it himself on the youtube video) and Ariele (you can see her work at Saint Vespertine) poetry she wrote specifically for this service and sent it on to us.

inquisitive.

I’m the question Mister; no more answers for the breadth of mortals
still unsure that something somewhere pale and mild will arrive to save
this day, tomorrow, eternity. Concerning the care with which you query,
there is no more hope than heart for this flesh foundry calling out
with carefully-crafted throats, thrush muscles mastered by hands neverseen.

Or how true is it?
You
Am I
Are we,
All is love and tragedy.

(And though chance’s cruel schooling
may convex our spines with sickly greenstick precision,
we’ll not contemplate stopping, stalking
sanctuary back-aisles, cellars and bell spires,
pressing tenderly the walls of these hallowed places to our palms--
with heads hanging bent, but hearts calling up,
we splinter-souled Quasimodos of hope.)

...There’s a place for you within my heart marked
with curlicue catastrophes, where cacophony
builds quickly like Babel, then collapses
in cool blue pools of neverknowing

Just another Sunday at Journey...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Into the (Mild) Wild

2008-07-06T21:15:00.000-07:00

I mow the grass...I play a little tennis...I even occasionally make a run by the batting cages to take a few cuts...and every night my trusty canine companion, Cleveland, and I take a stroll around the block. But even with that impressive list of outdoor activities, no one has ever accused me of being a woodsy, musky mountain man...until last week. My friend Sam Vaugh, on the other hand, is equally at home orienting an obscure mountain trail, shooting the rapids in an open kayak or sleeping under the stars at 13,000 feet on the side of a craggy peak ascent. Last week, Sam invited me to go with him to hang out at a mountain cabin beside the rushing Canojes River in Southern Colorado. Sam's family,(Bev, Matt and Hannah)usually accompany him every summer, but they had other commitments this summer so I got to go along. In addition to being a wilderness wizard, Sam is legitimately one of the kindest, most gentle men on the planet, so it was a genuine treat to get to spend a few days with him, period.

We rose every morning at 5:30 to ride down to the reservoir to fish for rainbow trout. We managed to catch plenty every morning to have fresh fish to eat every night. I am not a hunter...haven't picked up a gun to hunt since I was in college...It is not for particularly noble justification...I'm not very good at it, and getting up at the crack of dawn to freeze in the woods while I waste bullets didn't seem particularly fulfilling for me. I do enjoy fishing though...it does seem a bit more sporting and I love to eat fish. We would return to the cabin, clean our catch and then have breakfast. The first morning after breakfast we put in our kayaks just near the cabin and floated several miles through moderately turbulent waters...I was exhausted after the run (Sam didn't even break a sweat) but even though I'm not much of a water guy, and the river kicked my butt, it was a blast. We ate lunch and then went for a 4 hour hike that challenged my wind and my terribly abused knees, but again a wonderful day. We had fish for supper, both read until around ten pm (no television, Internet or cell phones) and went to bed, marking the first time in recent or otherwise memory that I have been to bed that early.

We rose early to fish the next morning, returned to clean fish and eat breakfast as usual, packed a day pack with lunch and headed up the mountain for the waterfall. It was supposed to be a 5 hour hike. Unfortunately it has been a spring with high winds and many many trees were down blocking the regular trails and the addition of snow still on the paths made it difficult to follow the trail, even for a veteran hiker like Sam. We had left the cabin at 9:30 a.m and hit the head of the trail up the mountain about 10 a.m. Because of alternative routes and a particular side trek that left us several hundred feet above where we were supposed to be and the subsequent back-tracking necessary, it was about three when we finally reached the waterfall. I was gasping for air and favoring my knee. Sam asked about aborting several times to go back but I am pretty stubborn about such things so we pressed on until we made it. The view was spectacular. No... I mean really spectacular...and worth every wheeze and hobble. We arrived back at the foot of the trail around 6 p.m., turning this 5 hour hike into an 8 hour marathon. When we got back to the cabin I couldn't move. I haven't been this sore or exhausted since high school football and Sam was apologetic about the extended route and offered to let me have all of our remaining fish for supper and the very last beer. I, of course, didn't let him do that, mostly because I was too whipped to move. We had talked about another long hike the next day on our way out before we headed home, but I convinced Sam that I was a wimp and couldn't force my body to hike another mountain trail, so we agreed to drive back through Sante Fe and look for Green Chile enchiladas...which we did.

So...I had a great time, caught and ate some beautiful rainbow trout, abused my feeling-older-by-the-minute body, and and got to spend some wonderful days with one prince of man in my friend Sam Vaugh. All in all...it was a pretty good week... the trout we consumed might disagree, but it will be one of those experiences that I will treasure for a long, long time...and Cleveland is about as wild a creature as I want to face for a little while. And thanks, Sam...it is a privilege to be your friend...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Blast from the Past

2008-05-26T22:09:00.000-07:00

So on Friday I headed east to the thriving metropolis of McCall Creek, Mississippi (m-i-crooked letter-crooked letter-i-crooked letter-crooked letter-i-hump back-hump back-i...for all of you baby boomer elementary school students) to play my part(along with my brother and sister) in a devious bit of subterfuge designed to throw a surprise 80th birthday party for my spunky little Cajun mom. For those of you not familiar with McCall Creek, it is a rural (wow, that is a gross understatement)community about 20 miles west of Brookhaven and about and hour south of Jackson along US Highway 84. There is a post office, a general store next to the lumber mill and the little New Salem Baptist Church...and that's it...really. My mom and dad moved there about 15 years ago from Baton Rouge after my dad retired from the chemical plant. Mom mom stayed there after my dad died in 2004 and has lived in a tiny little home in the middle of the woods. I thought after dad's death that she would want to move in with one of us and escape rural life. As a matter of fact, when they were about to move from Baton Rouge to McCall Creek, I asked her if she was okay with leaving the city and going to Mississippi. Her reply was, "when I left the bayou and the farm at 18, I left on purpose." So I knew she was going because dad wanted to go. At any rate, now she is solidly entrenched in the life of that little community and specifically in the life of that little church. She also feels a strange loyalty to the 45 or so acres that she and dad owned and wanted to always have to pass down to the three kids. That is very sweet and incredibly loyal to dad's legacy...but here's the reality. My sister and brother-in-law have lived for 30 years on property that his family owns in central Louisiana. My brother and sister-in-law, have lived in south Texas for the last 20 years and are in ministry and I don't ever see them moving to that area to serve...and both of their kids live in the Dallas area. As for me...I love Austin and don't have any desire to live anywhere else. But I digress...

So...the three of us plan this little soiree to surprise mom, and invited are family members form Louisiana, church members past and present form both states and a motley little crew of people who were pals and compadres of us three kids from our growing up days at Glen Oaks Baptist Church in Baton Rouge in the late 60's and early 70's. It was a great turnout, and a bunch of all of the afore-mentioned groups made the trek to little McCall Creek (we held it at the New Salem Baptist Church) bringing pot luck dishes aplenty and old stories and pictures to tell and retell. Mom was thrilled and blown away by the presence of faces she had not seen or heard from in years and to think that they had traveled all of this way to honor her was overwhelming. I was pleased and delighted at the crowd, and that it was a fitting living honor for a lady who loves Jesus with every fiber of her 4'11', 80 year old frame, and who not only knows how to pray better than anybody else I know, but genuinely cares more deeply than anyone else I know as well. But...and it is true confession time here...all of these people who were teenagers the last time I saw them...were old. I know...I'M OLD ...so if they are even close to the same age I am, they are old too, but my mental pictures of them were all as teenagers in the 1960's. The truth is I was the oldest member of that crew, so they are probably all writing blogs about how old I looked, but...and this shouldn't surprise any of you...I don't feel as old as they looked. That's not a slam on them or their aging process...it is just the truth...I can't possibly be 56...I know that is what the birth date on my driver's license adds up to, and I did actually get into the Arbor Cinema at the Senior Citizen's price last month, and I have been a member of AARP the last several years to get cheaper auto insurance rates...but those are extenuating circumstances. I am still a young man. I still go to the batting cages once a month and take three rounds of cuts on the 70mph machine, and still make good contact. My girls keep me listening to great music and I genuinely enjoy putting it beside my Beatles, Dylan, Eagles, and Simon and Garfunkel albums. The blast from the past was fun, it was entertaining, it was a connection back to much simpler times...not better necessarily, but important nonetheless. It did seem though, that some of those folks who were there were so enamored with the past, or maybe it was that they are so dissatisfied with the present, that they not only reveled in those memories, but that they longed to stay there and to rekindle the magic of yesteryear. I'm sorry, I like who I am today...I like where I am today...I like what God is doing in the family and the friends around me today...and a quick trip back in the time machine is a delightful break, but I don't want to live there. There is a line from and old Billy Crockett/Milton Brasher-Cunningham song called Walking on the Earth, that says, "...there is no practice life, this is it...". I believe it. I respect my brothers and sisters who believe in reincarnation, but there is no hope whatsoever for me in the notion that I have to keep coming back until I get it right. I honor and cherish the past, but I have been given this day...these relationships...these gifts...these injustices...these opportunities to make amends here and now for my mistakes, and this mercy, grace and forgiveness. I don't even like watching old ball games on ESPN Classic...the time is now... and to quote the the old CCR front man, John Fogerty, "Put me in coach...I'm ready to play..."

Pling...Pling...

dg

Axe of God?

2008-05-17T08:24:00.000-07:00

Wednesday evening Calla and I were returning to Austin from Arlington with the old-school truck loaded to the gills with her college apartment paraphernalia and a tarp appropriately protecting the semi-precious cargo from the elements. All was well until we cleared Waco and began to hear emergency reports on the radio warning of gale-force winds, softball-sized hail, and funnel-cloud activity all up and down the I-35 corridor from Temple to Austin...only the exact route we were traveling. We kept driving...I know...I know...kinda stupid, but I figured that the only way the weather was better was where we had just left and I didn't want to go back there...and the bad weather was supposed to stay in the area for another 3-4 hours, so on we went. Part of my stubbornness is attributed to genetics...my dad was particularly mule-like in many ways, and my momma didn't raise no fool, but she sure missed a good chance. I got my driver's license when I was 15 in Louisiana and was driving way before then. I have driven broken down old school buses loaded with kids cross-country, towed trailers full of sound equipment on icy mountain passes headed to and from youth camp and made more 25-30 hour non-stop driving treks than I can count. So...what's a little inclimate weather, right?

As we got close to Temple the rain began to fall in torrents and I had to slow to 45 miles an hour just to see the road in front of me. The wind began to come in gusts that were being reported in the 60-75 mph range. Every half hour I had to find a covered place to pull over because the wind was blowing so hard it was tearing the grommets away from the tie-downs on the tarp. As we entered Temple I managed to position myself between two semis who didn't seem to mind that they were shielding me from the brutal wind. I was concentrating on the road, so I didn't notice immediately when the truck on my right peeled off to take a different highway just outside of Belton. What I did notice came a minute later when a huge gust of wind literally picked my truck up and set it down about 3 feet to the left...right where the other semi that had been escorting me was sitting. Fortunately the same burst of wind moved him a little as well...I don't think you could get a piece of paper between the space between my driver's side mirror and the side of his rig. I looked over and I think his eyes were as big as mine as I managed to slide back over into my side of the dotted line. About that time a brilliant cloud to ground lightning strike hit and I saw a monstrous wall of rain and wind off to the right that looked like it was out of the movie "Twister". From that moment on I kept expecting to see random objects flying toward me like in the movie; cows, tanker trucks, whole trees, Starbuck's billboards that talk to your cup holders... but it was just lots of rain, occasional hail and a number of "low" water crossings where curiously, the water was very "high"...go figure.

Obviously we made it home, the tarp was in shambles and we had to dry out the mattress, but other than the truck driver and I having a fear connection, we fared well. Others were not so fortunate, with Hannah's best friend (who just graduated from the Engineering School last night...congrats Kate!) having a window blown out of their apartment near the UT campus and other property damage here in Central Texas. Tornadoes and flooding have destroyed lives and property across the United States in the last two weeks. The devastating consequences of the cyclone in Myanmar and the earthquake in Southern China are almost too incredible to get your head around.

While the insurance companies refer to these things as "acts of God", I can't help wonder, global warming and depletion of the ozone layer notwithstanding, what the response of people who claim to "act like God", should be. We certainly are to respond to the suffering and need of the victims, that is a given...but there has got to be a deeper, basic, systemic response as well for those of us who claim to value all of the created world...not just our narcissistic navel gazing. For God so loved the WORLD...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Idiota De Mayo

2008-05-05T21:44:00.000-07:00

Today is Cinco De Mayo, and here in Austin there have been festivities all weekend in preparation for a lively celebration that is not limited to the Hispanic population in this city that never unweirds. However, my singular most memorable Cinco De Mayo reflection has little to do with the holiday, and is actually fairly embarrassing... so it is only fitting that I tell you about it. Three years ago, my middle daughter, Hannah, was living in West Oakland, California, working with an organization called Mission Year. She and five other young adults had committed a year to live, work, play and love their neighbors in The Lower Bottoms, one of the toughest inner cities in America. Hannah decided to make this commitment right out of high school, she was 18... her five housemates, two other young women and three young men were all 22 and younger, and operated under the motto of Mission Year, "Love God...Love people... Nothing else matters". Hannah had been living in Oakland since August of 2004, so she only had about four months remaining, and her birthday was approaching. Driving to work on that Cinco De Mayo 2005, It occurred to me that it was her birthday and I had forgotten to call her. I knew she got up early since she was working every day as a teacher's aide in a kindergarten class there in West Oakland, so I decided I would just leave her a message that she would probably get later in the day. I drove in to work, sat down and wrote down some lame birthday lyrics to the tune of La Bamba (I think) and left her this dramatic, marginally funny birthday message. It was later that afternoon that I realized, Hannah's birthday is not the 5th of May...it is the 10th of May. Yeah...I know, I'm an idiot. I can't even remember my daughter's birthday...So I now I have to call her back and admit that I have forgotten that her birthday is not for another five days, and as soon as she picks up the phone she is laughing because she knows I know that I have screwed up. She forgives me...after telling me she has played it for about 50 people who know know for sure (not that they didn't already suspect it) that her dad is a goober. Of course, five days later I called and sang her another song to the tune of The Beatles' "You Say It's Your Birthday" because how could I not sing for her actual birthday?

So there it is...I managed to not call her here on Cinco De Mayo 2008 and still have several days to write this year's musical tribute to the woman, the myth, the legend that is Hannah...I'm thinking a nice Hannah Montana tune might be appropriate... naw...not a chance.

Happy Birthday Hannah!

Pling...Pling...

dg

Yael Naim - Far, Far

2008-04-28T23:09:00.001-07:00

"Take a deep breath and dive...there's a beautiful mess inside"

Pling...Pling...

dg

Connecting the Dots...

2008-04-12T20:37:00.000-07:00

"It takes one hundred billion interconnected cells to conjure up a coherent story of the world. But if neuroscience concludes anything, it’s that sensing and feeling and thinking and perceiving and hundreds of other seemingly separate processes are all conjoined in a huge, dynamic, and continuously revised narrative network. The brain is the ultimate storytelling machine, and consciousness is the ultimate story. Our neurons tell our selves into being." - Richard Powers

The last three weeks have been a little disorienting...that's one of the reasons I haven't blogged. First there was Easter...and while the jokes trickle out about it being the church's Super Bowl, there is a sense of this season for me, even aside from me in my minister's disguise, that always leaves me trying to recover from spiritual jet lag...if there is such a thing. Then my younger brother had to have two blockages stinted from the major blood vessel in the heart...and the well meaning friends of his in the room look at me and say..."don't heart issues generally run in the family?" Thanks...I was not aware of that tidbit of medical insight...just strap me on the gurney now as soon as he's done with it and get it over with. Then on Tuesday his daughter (and my niece) gave birth to her first child... a beautiful girl named, Lily. My niece had been on doctor's ordered bed rest for the last two months...Precious little Lily had been having some issues and baby momma was having to be very careful...but, everything turned out beautifully. On Thursday I went out to Blue Rock Texas, this remarkable artist's retreat and recording studio that was the brainchild and birthchild of Billy and Dodee Crockett . They do a house concert there once a month and some of the finest singer/songwriter/poet/canvas artists in the world have performed there. This month it was the New Agrarians, a super group of sorts with Pierce Pettis, Tom Kimmel and Kate Campbell...all established, respected and gifted singer songwriters in their own right...but together...wow...I couldn't wait. I have heard Pierce and Tom lots of times but only knew of Kate's work on CD. I was not disappointed..they were funny, and insightful and Tom also read some of his poetry, and vocally and musically they were in a groove.

It was close to the end of the first set Thursday night when I became aware that something was sneaking up on me in that room. I came to enjoy music and see friends, but as Pierce, Tom and Kate sang song after song about life in the South, I began to get pulled back involuntarily to the pictures, sounds, smells, voices, heartaches and glories of growing up in South Louisiana in the 50's and 60's. It is not that I ever really have given much thought to discarding those days as an unfortunate prison of ignorance and runaway bigotry...but the truth is, I can talk fondly about Cajun culture and share the recipe for my mom's seafood gumbo...and even tell stories about sneaking out to go see the some of spectacular black marching bands of the 60's at Southern University, Florida A&M University and Grambling. about getting bootlegged tickets to see James Brown (yes...THE James Brown) and being the only white faces in the arena, but, the reality is that those days were dots I wanted to selectively connect, while leaving out some of the others. The mosaic of landscape and experience, the quilt of personalities and nightmares, brought a growing crescendo of memories that made me both ashamed and deeply proud. Sitting at age 6 or 7 on the porch of my Cajun grandmother and grandfather's white frame house at the edge of the bayou in White Castle, Louisiana... drinking coffee out of demitasse cup of coffee so strong that it was three parts milk, two parts sugar and one part coffee, while my 7 uncles (my mom's brothers) all played zydeco music complete with accordions, steel guitar, harmonica, acoustic guitars, electric guitar, and drum kit...It was fabulous, and I was treated to a an imaginative reunion concert in my head while I listened to Pierce, Tom and Kate play on.

Tonight I read an interview with novelist Richard Powers concerning his latest work, The Echo Maker, that was passed along to me by my friend, Bob. It was this line "it’s that sensing and feeling and thinking and perceiving and hundreds of other seemingly separate processes are all conjoined in a huge, dynamic, and continuously revised narrative network" that got me to thinking about the connectedness of all the events of the last three weeks. Donald Miller, in "Searching For God Knows What" contends that perhaps the reason narrative is so intricately intertwined into our existence is that God, the Creator, purposely designed the hardware of his creation, not for robot-like obedience, but flesh and blood improv players in the great story and stage.

Today I performed the wedding for a young woman a who was in the youth group I served a number of years ago. She was kidnapped by her estranged father as a preschooler and didn't see her mother again until over a decade later, when in novella-like fashion, a random correspondence led to the revelation of her whereabouts and her ensuing rescue. She literally had to be reintroduced to normal teenage existence and her mom, faithful school officials and loving church volunteers patiently helped her take baby steps back to normality, and then to graduate from high school and then from college... and today I got the privilege of officiating her wedding.

So what is the connection between civil rights songs of the 60's and a baby being born in 2008? What does listening to a family front porch zydeco band have to do with my brother's heart surgery? What does watching the Drum Major from Florida A&M raise his scepter to the sky and lean back so far that the tip of his fuzzy hat touch the ground behind him, and a wedding in Austin, Texas have to do with each other? It's the Story...it is my story...it is our story...it is the STORY...that lives deep inside of every living creature, painted indelibly by the Artist, and recounted in the depths of the soul by the Storyteller.

Once upon a time...

Pling...Pling...

dg

The Delusion God...

2008-03-22T21:12:00.001-07:00

So I'm sitting in the entryway at Journey a little after midnight greeting folks who are here for a slice of time in our annual Easter prayer vigil. We start on 3 p.m. on Good Friday and go through 8 a.m. on Easter morning. Different folks sign up to take anywhere from a half hour to two hours praying. The other thing you need to know is that since we began doing this two years ago, Steve Fenech has created some amazing environments for prayer during these times. Two years ago we had a guided path of multicolored fabrics that led to a meditative candle-lit room. Last year Steve and his crew created a labyrinth to walk with stations a long the way. This year he has created a path to walk that is sand for one third of the path, dirt and soil for another third and sod/grass for the final third. The pray-ers take off their shoes and socks to walk, and there are marked stations along the way to guide the journey...it is beautiful, and folks come out from their time moved and in some cases with tears because of the power of their time there.

Which brings me to my query...On Wednesday Calla, Brian Hill and Bob Carlton and I attended a book signing at that wonderful Austin independent book store called BookPeople. The author was Richard Dawkins, the author of "The God Delusion". The place was packed and Dawkins did not disappoint as he delivered his apologetic for his own particular brand of atheism and disdain for religion of all shapes and sizes, but in particular, Christianity. He is a brilliant, well-read, passionate, funny, articulate ambassador for unbelief and it is no wonder his is the public face and voice of the anti-religion movement. He has been interview on public radio and television, on The Daily Show and the Colbert Report and has a huge following and readership. I can understand why...some of his criticism of the church and religion is warranted...many of his accusations of intolerance and bigotry aimed at organized religion are dead on accurate. I found myself wishing there was such an articulate voice from the God Squad who could speak intelligently as an advocate for Jesus and his followers who was also not a misogynist, bigoted jerk...who spoke and lived like Jesus...with love. I still think Dawkins has thrown the baby out with the bathwater, and when he gets to the nuances of issues like Christians and Jews who accept evolution as the work of an Intelligent Designer, he resorts to double speak, dismissive generalities and a rather sad resignation to a nihilist inevitability. But he is very good, and I enjoyed listening to him.

So just as I am ready to chalk the time listening to this able ambassador for atheism as beneficial but off target, I watch ABC's Nightline that very evening and they are running a story about a group of fundamentalist men who take children to the museum to look at the exhibits concerning the formation of the earth and the development of man and using those displays to teach creationism and biblical inerrancy. Dawkins was right...again...the world is full of idiots and many of them flaunt their ignorance in the name of religion. I performed a wedding tonight out at Horseshoe Bay before I drove back into town to take my shift a the warehouse. It was a delightful night with a delighful young couple, but sitting at the reception , I got into an interesting discussion with a man simply because he knew I was a minister and he wated to debate theology. I'm perfectly willing to do so...I certainly am not a Biblical texts expert, but I know some crap and enjoy every now and then talking about the crap I know. Except tonight, because again, Dawkins was right...there really does seems to be a delusion in force, and it comes not as a delusion about there being a god...but rather in the delusion of some who follow God who think that they are God...or at least they know him well enough that they can speak for him and pass judgement on all who don't agree with their rules...not God's mind you...their rules. I really don't blame Dawkins...he has plenty of case studies to prove his point...BUT...I watch these folks come out of the room from their time with God, and there is no doubt, intellectual or otherwise, that they have encountered a mysterious, unpredictable, un-tameable spirit being and no clinical research, scientific hypotheses, or categorical deniability could convince me otherwise... There may be another kind of delusion at work here...but I'll let Dawkins figure that one out for himself...

Pling...Pling...

dg

And, Oh Yeah...Pack a Little Courage

2008-03-07T23:14:00.000-08:00

The South by Southwest Film Festival began today, so since I was at a meeting in downtown Austin at noon today I couldn't help but notice the 6th Street/Congress area getting that festival vibe again. There were celebs everywhere including Morgan Fairchild, Luke Wilson, Mike Judge, ZZ Top, Mariska Hargitay, and those were just the ones getting a soy latte at Progress Coffee. While I don't have the cash to get a film festival badge, I always peruse the Chronicle to get a description of as many of the films as I can...The critics and festival goers are anticipating the viewing of such movies as "21", "Baghead", "American Teen", "Goliath", and "Lou Reed's Berlin" to name a few... There are a couple more that I know of that are not getting the critic's buzz, yet, I am really interested in how they do. They both have to do with the subject of human trafficking and, in my mind the display of great courage. Justin Dillon, who along with "Not For Sale's" Dave Batstone were at Journey in September to share the call to respond to the international issue of human slavery. If you remember Justin was working on a documentary film entitled "The Concert to End Slavery" which included interviews and music performances by writers, musicians, politicians, actors and actresses. We got to see excerpts from the film which was in progress...well Justin is having his first screening of TCTES this Wednesday March 12 at The Village Alamo Drafthouse. Our buddy, Brandon Demaris, has been talking with an Austin filmmaker who is showing a documentary this week in which he spent several years chronicling the story of several young boys who were forced to become child soldiers in Uganda.

One of the interesting aspects of immersing oneself in the story of the last days of Jesus' ministry is the inescapable realization that he began facing the inevitability that his refusal to play by accepted standard religious operating procedure was going to get him killed. Before the spectacular raising of his friend Lazarus from the dead, the scriptures tell us that while talking to Lazarus bereaved sisters "Jesus wept". I believe that he partly wept because he loved his friends, and when your friends are sad, you are sad...even if you know you are about to bring one of them back to life. But I also think that it could have been more than that...I think Jesus knew that if he does this public magic, and does the unthinkable...reclaim someone from the grave and put them back among the breathing...he has crossed the point of no return with the Jewish religious leaders...they will kill him to silence him. A few days later around a campfire in Caesarea Phillipi, Jesus drops the foreboding bombshell by telling them that they are going to head for Jerusalem and Passover...and when they get there, he will be killed. To which Simon Peter responds.."Well that's a no-brainer, we just won't go to Jerusalem!" Jesus' corresponding words are some of the most passionate and emotion filled in all the scripture as he screams at Peter, "Get behind me Satan!" Courage...the courage to make films about human trafficking...to be brave and courageous to take the steps to stamp out human slavery...the amazing courage to risk your life to escape being trafficked in the 21st century. The courage it takes today to live like Jesus in a world that killed him once and would do it again if it had the chance. Love rattles the cages of power. Courage gives a voice to love even in the very moment it is being betrayed and bought off for 30 pieces of silver...or less. Elie Wiesel, writer, Nobel laureate, and Holocaust survivor says, "Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented." Martin Luther King Jr., said, "Cowardice asks the question, 'Is it safe?' Expediency asks the question,'Is it politic?' Vanity asks the question, 'Is it popular?' But, conscience asks the question, 'Is it right?' And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular but one must take it because one's conscience tells one that it is right."

As we travel the Lenten Journey together, our path is headed straight for Jerusalem and to sure opposition and danger. Courage is not the absence of fear or anxiety...it is proceeding to follow the voice of God in spite of the presence of fear and anxiety. Jesus wept, and then set his face toward Jerusalem. Not sure where you are headed tomorrow, but I pray for your courage to love in the face of hate and evil...and that you will be joined by a bunch of us who pledge to walk and love with you.

Pling...Pling...

dg

Separation of Church, State, and Me...

2008-02-23T22:30:00.000-08:00

I was eating lunch with a group of friends this past week, and as we headed to our vehicles after the meal, one of my friends saw my "Woody Jones for Chief Justice of the Texas Supreme Court, Court of Appeals" bumper sticker on my truck and jokingly commented, "well so much for the separation of church and state." We laughed, but it did kinda hit a sore spot with me, because as a minister I have almost always steered clear of making the agenda of the church I represent, a political agenda. Now justice issues are a completely different thing, but espousing a particular partisan platform or individual in a political party seemed to be an abuse of influence and power (such as it is)...other folks take a different stance and I honor their choice to do so, but I have tried to operate differently when dealing directly with the people I serve in my local community of faith. Woody happens to be a member of our faith community (and an amazing guy of integrity and wisdom) and is running unopposed, but I guess technically my friend was right. So where is the line between taking a stand for issues of justice, and pimping a party?

Interestingly, Saturday Night Live began their show tonight with a skit spoofing the presidential debate held here in Austin Thursday night. The twist was that the debate questioners were so enamored with Barak Obama that they threw easy lob questions to Obama and hard-nosed questions to Hilary, and then never gave her a chance to answer. They were obviously satirizing bias in the media, but curiously did exactly the same thing during the Weekend Update segment, unabashedly touting Hilary's propensity for a certain approach as a positive rather than a negative. Again, they are an entertainment show, so really, all bets are off, but the point of good political comedy usually is to shine the light on absurdity and deception in the world of government...and it sure seemed like they ended up spoofing themselves as well as politics.

So, the Woody Jones sticker notwithstanding, I have certainly had strong feelings, but have not made a public declaration since I put a "J'aime Jimmy" placard for Jimmy Carter in my South Louisiana front yard as a newly graduated college and seminary student. Here was a guy running for the nation's highest office that seemed to have personal integrity and honesty (there was the whole Playboy Magazine interview where he admitted that while he had never cheated on his wife Roslyn, there had been occasions when he had "lusted in his heart"), and it came from an unashamed, but not proselytizing follower of Jesus. He had a rough go as a president, having to spend most of his term dealing with the Iran captives issue, but time has borne out his personal integrity and now is seen as one of the most influential ex-presidents ever because of his work in Habitat for Humanity and world diplomacy through the Carter Center.

Then 32 years later comes a young, dynamic, passionate Barack Obama, and for the first time since Jimmy I am inexplicably drawn to this man and his message... and I really do believe that not just HE, but WE can change the way things are going down in this country. Rick (my pastor and friend) and I attempted to crash the Democratic Party Debate watch party here Thursday night since Hilary and Obama were going to make an appearance there. We were playing a hunch that one of our Journey members who worked at the watch party location could sneak us in the back door (yeah, I know, shades of 7th grade). As it turned out the Secret Service presence was so tight that it was not feasible (at least if we wanted to stay out of jail), so we went down to Sholtz's Beer Garden where the Obama watch party was being held and watched the debate from there. Friday night I went down and stood at the back edges of a crowd of 20,000 people who gathered at the State Capital to hear Obama speak for an hour. There is something about him...and there is something about his message that is unique in any politician and national leader I have seen in 30 years. In one of the lines from his speech Friday night, addressing the fact that his critics say that he is unproven and not tough enough to be the commander in chief, he responded, "I have had to be tough all of my life, I grew up in America with the name, Barack Obama". I can respect that. At least he didn't have to be in Christian ministry with the name David Gentiles.

So, in deference to the folks who have strong political opinions that differ with mine in my community of faith, I will not campaign, or make agreeing on that issue a test of friendship or fellowship...but I will still believe that, "Yes We Can"... And, I'm leaving Woody's bumper sticker on the truck...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Lenten collapse...

2008-02-17T21:29:00.000-08:00

Hmmmmm...Maybe this public declaration of my Lenten surrender was not such a good idea after all. The two of you who read this semi-regularly will remember that as Lent began last week, I declared that what I thought God was nudging me to give up was my need to be the hero. We won't rehash the grizzly details as to why this is necessary at this point in my life... but that is only because there are grizzlier details of my complete failure to follow through with this attempt at surrender.

So here we go...and I must warn our young readers, I am a trained, professional hero impersonator, so please don't try this at home. My wonderful nephew, David Alan Gentiles, yeah poor guy, he's got to walk around with his knuckleheaded uncle's name (except my middle name is Anthony instead of Alan) and his delightful new bride of 5 months, Emily, came to Austin Friday to go to the Steven Curtis Chapman concert. Following the concert they came to the house to spend the night before they headed back to Dallas the next morning. We talked until late and then part of the deal was that I would make them pancakes for breakfast before they headed back north. I got up early, let Cleveland out, and decided that I would do what I had done a number of times when David came to visit ever since he was back in college...I would steal his keys and take his car and go fill it up with gas so he would have a full tank for the drive back home. I did just that, then hurried back home and fixed scrambled eggs, bacon, Community coffee, and both blueberry and banana pancakes. We had breakfast, talked some more, then they packed up their stuff and headed out just before noon. They had been gone about 10 minutes when I got a call from Emily..."Uncle David, did you put gas in the car?" I replied that I had, and she thanked me, and then she uttered the statement that was the body blow to the emotional solar plexus, "by any chance, did you fill up with diesel?" The wind sucked out of the room like a tornado had swirled above, and all I could utter was , "CRAP!". Yes...I am way too old and smart not to have considered the possibility that not every car on the planet uses unleaded gasoline. But it was 7 a.m. and I was just on a mission of mercy (this is where I should have remembered the ban on heroism...but NO...)and I had driven down to the end of the street, done the do-gooders deed and never thought a thing about it.

Now those of you who have some knowledge of the workings of the combustible engine are having one of two reactions. You are rolling your eyes and groaning audibly, or... you are laughing uncontrollably at the possibility that anyone could be that stupid.

Oh...trust me...someone could.

I told them to drive immediately to the closest gas station and I'd be right there. I did not yet recognize the lent betrayal, but I also did not immediately jump into my super-uncle spandex costume, although I did the next best thing...I went to the gas station, filled up a 5 gallaon can with diesel, went to the parts store and got a siphon tube and some diesel additive...I had messed this up...so now I was going to fix it. I failed at that too, by the way. Four hours later, with a mouth burning from siphoning only half of the 15 gallon tank from its unleaded intruder, I finally gave up...we called a tow truck, found a shop that is open 7 days a week (a minor miracle all its own) watched them tow it off and headed back to the house wet (oh yeah...it had been raining all afternoon) and smelling like we were sporting that new cologne rage..."Eau de Diamond Shamrock" (Thanks Val for that line). David and Emily were remarkably calm and kind considering there was the distinct possibility that I had just committed Roland-icide (they named their car Roland). We all proceeded to do our best to wash the smell of petroleum distillates out of our clothes and hair, had take-out for dinner and prayed for the best for Roland's mechanical health and the impending lighten-ing of my wallet.

The next morning was Sunday...David is on the worship staff at a huge church in the Dallas metroplex, so I had successfully managed to cause him to miss the one day of work a church staff member is not supposed to miss. The folks at Journey were funny and supportive, teasing and nurturing, as they heard the tragic story of my departure from car-care sanity. A few even were so sweet to give me some money to help pay the stupidity tax I was going to be assessed when we went to fetch Roland from his repairers. David and Emily continued to be gracious as we surrendered the ransom and loaded their stuff back into a freshly-dieseled and newly-filtered Roland and headed back to Dallas. They called when they got home to report that on the way back Roland ran better than he had for a long time. I suspect they were lying to make me feel better...but it worked.

So, boys and girls...what have we learned from this little object lesson? The heck if I know...I just am sure that I have a long way to go in learning to let go and not living out of a need to control the people and circumstances around me. It would not have been quite as cute, but it would have been a lot simpler if I would have just rolled up a few bills and gave them to David on his way to the car and let him buy his own diesel...

Anyway, Roland is OK...David and Emily made it home safe... I'll have more ramen and pb&j's this pay period, but I am content with the universe tonight...And...pitchers and catchers reported to spring training last Thursday...AHHHHHHH... I can smell baseball in the air...Well, mostly baseball with a wee bit of unleaded regular Chevron gas fumes permanently imbedded in the leather of my work boots...but it is spring, and resurrection is right around the corner.

Pling...Pling...

dg

Top Ten Tag...

2008-02-12T19:38:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite scenes in the movie, A Christmas Story is when one buddy triple -dog-dares his friend to stick his tongue to the frozen flagpole. Well, our friend Bob Carlton has triple-dog-dared a few of us to post our top ten songs about God. You can find Bob's list at http://thecorner.typepad.com/bc/2008/02/10-songs-about.html ... here's mine...

Lil' Davy's Top 10 Songs About God

Simon and Garfunkel - Bridge Over Troubled Water

The Daylights - Weapons

Sufjan Stevens - Casimir Pulaski Day

Pierce Pettis - God Believes in You

David Wilcox - Show The Way

Mark Heard - Heart of Hearts

Jonatha Brooke - Because I Told You So

Leonard Cohen - Hallelujah

Don Henley - The Heart of the Matter

Richard Swift - As I Go

Honorable Mention -

Bob Bennett - A Song About Baseball

Imogen Heap - Let Go

Billy Crockett - Portrait of Love

Over the Rhine - Latter Days

Jump Little Children - Cathedrals

Pling...Pling...

dg

journeylent

2008-02-06T23:46:00.000-08:00

A very talented, cool, collection of folks have agreed to collaborate in a online Lenten bolg entitled journeylent. Not all of the contributors are from Journey, they just agreed to help us have a wonderfully broad, expansive, diverse approach to what is like to walk together through these days. I had the privilege of writing today's entry...you can go to the link above or find if here...

also...the grandpappy, and in my opinion, still the best of all of Lenten journals is Uncle Milty's at don't eat alone

Fasting slowly...

I grew up in South Louisiana...Baton Rouge, to be exact, with devout Roman Catholics making up one-side of my family and uninvolved Southern Baptists on the other. Cajun country is predominantly Roman Catholic demographically, and I saw, not only my friends, but my relatives go nuts on Fat Tuesday (Mardi Gras), and emerge solemnly (and often with massive hangovers) on Ash Wednesday with smudgy foreheads and a begrudged promise to give up something they loved for the 40 days of Lent. Shelton and I have talked about the propensity for most of our Southern Baptist (and frankly, many evangelicals) brothers and sisters to sneer at those Catholics and mainline denominations as needlessly dour during this time, because we blow right past Lent to the payoff, which is Easter...Resurrection... WooHoo...God Wins...why did we ever let the Mardi Gras floats go home...let's keep this party happening!

I hope you took the time to view the video that Bob Carlton posted yesterday (that he compiled and edited and included the marvelously sketched "40") which chronicled Jesus' fasting and temptation in the desert. That is the place the church gleaned the idea of fasting (purposely refraining from partaking or participating in an activity to concentrate on listening to God) during the 40 days of Lent. Fasting, of course, has been used down through the centuries for everything from weight loss, body-system cleansing, political protest, and spiritual oneupmanship, but there is no discounting its powerful place in the inner disciplines of the spirit life. Check at your school or your office and you will find the objects being fasted from are both diverse and weirdly creative. Chocolate...watching Oprah...forcing yourself to watch Oprah...not wearing a watch, not watching Sports Center every night before bed, riding a bike to work instead of driving, not using deodorant, not nagging your kids, cleaning your room every day if you are a kid...you get the picture. Last Sunday, Rick told us that he was going to ask us to fast from something different each week. This past week it was fasting from the need for everything to make sense. Sheeesh...that is hitting below the belt... So I thought long and hard about what it is that God is asking me to fast from this Lenten season and I think I have it figured out. He wants me to fast from feeling like I have to be the hero. That's not just below the belt, that is a chop block around the knees. I think it started being the oldest of three kids. Then I went into youth ministry when I was 18 in a system where the church sets you up to be the pied piper, superman and hero...then somewhere along the way I ended up the single parent of three young girls feeling like I was out there on a limb all by myself with no backup... walking the tightrope with no net...listening to everyone tell me that they had my back but really believing that if I didn't come through, it was toast-time for my girls. It is an unhealthy way to live, an unhealthy way to parent, and an even unhealthier way to be a minister. And people patted you on the back and sang your praises for doing stuff not many other dads did, or for being a wonderful example to the youth that were around you, and for being selfless and humble. In some ways I think I did what I had to do by instinct and self-preservation...there is no question that I love my girls and would lay down my life for them in an instant, or that I didn't love the kids I got the chance to work with down through the years. But Lent gives me a new chance to take a fresh look at the way I have lived life and loved God and other people, and see it through the eyes of an emerging Messiah, making tough calls in the desert for all the right reasons. Theologian Stanley Hauerwas says, "I'm a pacifist because I'm a violent son of a bitch". I now get the chance to journey over the next 40 days and let God deconstruct for me my need to be a mini-messiah when it is readily apparent that the Real Deal doesn't need any help with the job. Anybody wanna call shotgun?

Pling...Pling...

dg

Yes We Can - Barack Obama Music Video

2008-02-03T15:00:00.001-08:00

OK...I'm officially inspired...

Pling...Pling...

dg

An Ariele-ian Word...

2008-02-01T21:01:00.000-08:00

Ariele is my eldest daughter, and in my humble, but terribly subjective opinion, a marvelous handler of words. Some of her work is found on her blog at http://stvespertine.blogspot.com. Here is one of her latest...

cold.

all the world's a shakespearean stage.

it's difficult to know if one's a tragedian or a comedian.
graham greene writes that you are a tragedian if you would die for love,
but i think the very notion is stupid...to die for romantic love, anyhow.
romeo and juliet--idiots. to drain your blood because your lover is dead is lame.

but to throw yourself upon the tracks to save your lover, your sister,
your mother, a friend, an enemy--is heartwrenching, powerful, ultimately noble.
self-sacrifice is something entirely different. such a thing
moves me every time in all aspects of art and history

we all play parts...to please? to mollify? to anger?
i enjoy playing the iconoclast, the devil's advocate, though i advocate no devil.
but i am no iago. i am no ophelia, either.

truth be told, i probably love badly.
truth be told, i'm a lousy social being.
other people creatures--they frighten me.
i'm a paralyzed parody of self-aware induced awkwardness.
my heart flies a kite and i become a cold cold woman of the future.
my veins turn to silver. my lips and eyes go glossy grey.

mr. shakespeare, what would you say?

Well... Willy S. and I never really spent much time hanging out, so this is just a guess, but my hunch, Miss REL, is that he would say, "This above all: to thine own self be true". - Hamlet (Act I, Scene III). At least that's what your very proud dad would say...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Aqualung @ the Hiro Ballroom-Something to Believe in

2008-02-01T00:41:00.001-08:00

Something to Believe in...

2008-01-31T23:34:00.000-08:00

I don't watch a lot of television...some of that is by design...some is because I'm cheap and don't have cable or satellite...some of it is because I'm just not home that much. I do love to watch certain sports on TV, like baseball anytime; college football when it involves the Baylor Bears, Longhorns, or LSU Tigers; college basketball in March Madness...the NBA Finals and the NFL Super Bowl...an occasional tennis match, and that's about it. The exception recently was "Joan of Arcadia" (and to a lesser extent, "Everwood") which was so cleverly and brilliantly written that it was cancelled after two seasons. I've been looking for a replacement ever since...I may have found it tonight as I stumbled on to ABC's new show "Eli Stone". It caught my attention because a mild firestorm has been raging in the medical community over the subject matter and the way it has been handled. The show is about a successful lawyer who is faced with his own mortality and imperfection through a series of visions and hallucinations, (including George Michael on stage in the lobby of his office building singing "Faith"...yeah, they coulda been a tad more subtle). The controversy arises out of the storyline, which has this lawyer (Eli) taking on the case of of a mother who is suing a large pharmaceutical claiming that a vaccine given to her son caused his autism. There have been cries of outrage lambasting ABC for allowing this kind of story to raise doubts in some parents about innoculating their young children, to praise from others for ABC having the guts to give a high-profile voice to many who believe that there is legitimacy and wisdom in such scepticism. Aside from the controversy, I actually enjoyed the show...its writing, while not Joan-worthy yet, was very good and Eli's struggle to believe in a power he has heretofore dismissed as fairytale is (with the exception of the awkward, but amusing George Michael sightings) handled with a light and humorous hand. The show even got me tapping my feet as the closing scenes played out with the sounds of Aqualung's "Something To Believe In" which I was introduced to last year by my music-saavy daughter, Calla, who is a bit of an Aqualung fan. (I also have heard the song on my occasional secret guilty pleasure show, "One Tree Hill"...hey you gotta love a show about high school basketball players where the actors really are good basketball players...I'm just sayin').

At any rate, my life lately has also been on a search for something to believe in. Not the God thing, necessarily...just the pieces around it that have been stable, or maybe dormant for a long time, and are starting to wobble, and shake off the cobwebs. My faith in institutions and systems is jaded and calloused...I'm having a hard time caring about them at all. There are a few things that have me exploring the possibility that there are some things worth believing in...like the rise of Barack Obama as a legitimate Democratic presidential hopeful...I listen to my middle daughter Hannah talk with passion and resolve about helping solve some of the problems of the inner city by being a part of the problems of the inner city. I also belong to a faith community that is refreshingly more worried about loving people than building big buildings and monster market shares. I have a new friend in Louisiana, whose 8 year old that she adopted at birth with such extensive medical problems that that they didn't expect him to live more than a few months, begin to speak audible, understandible phrases, and eat solid, regular kid food, for the first time in his life. It was an amazing surprise and gift for his teachers and therapists, but especially for his mom who has been his faithful nurse, daily teacher, and most passionate encourager since his birth.

So Wendy and Blake, Eli Stone, Aqualung and, even I, all have something to believe in... come on, jump in and sing a verse...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Derek Webb - This Too Shall Be Made Right

2008-01-27T22:11:00.001-08:00

Blistered by the prophet...

2008-01-27T21:47:00.000-08:00

I sang at Journey this morning. I don't sing very often. There are several reasons for that...one, we have a ton of talented, gifted musicians and singers who grace us with their musical gifts. Two, I'm not one of the afore-mentioned group. I'm not trying to be pseudo-humble or self-deprecating...I just happen to be very clear about what my talents are and are not...I'm a below average guitar player with an average voice. That's just the facts...anyway, I digress... it was a day when we talked about our community's commitment to the poor, and those in need in Austin and around the world. It was very beautiful...Cathy from Project HELP who works with helping kids and families who are homeless find resources to get them through, talked about her job and how Journey folks have helped in that over the last three+ years. Alan the founder of Mobile Loaves and Fishes was there and Heather from CASA. Because part of my job and my privilege is to work with the team from Journey that decides how to best use our resources to support ministries and agencies like this both with money and people power, I was asked to sing. I sang the Derek Webb song "This Too Shall Be Made Right" (see the video above this post). Well, I sorta sang the song...Actually I sang 4 of the 5 verses to the song, which were dead on in our faces as a community as we seek to be the hands and feet of Jesus in helping make some of these things right. The reason I left out a verse was that I didn't have the cajones to sing verse 4. It echoes and paraphrases the words of Solomon in the book of Ecclesiastes by saying "there is a time for peace and a time for war...a time to forgive and a time to settle the score...a time for babies to lose their lives...a time for hunger and genocide...and this too shall be made right". I think I understand what Derek is going for. That is always a dangerous thing when listening to a lyric...assuming you know what was going on in the head of the writer. I guess that is true for most poetry and sermons too, but I just couldn't sing it... especially the part about a time for babies to lose their lives. I know that babies lose their lives...and children, and teenagers, and adults...but I couldn't sing it. My friends Scott and Sarah are staring down the gun barrel of precious weeks and months left with their beautiful two year old Thomas who has cancer. I can't sing it... I don't want to sing that there are times for war and times for hunger and genocide either...Maybe I'm a coward... but I'm not gonna sing it...not as long as we have the power to work to change it...and I think with God's help and a willingness to sacrifice and commit resources to not only the symptoms, but the root causes there will be hope that "Thy kingdom come...on earth as it is in heaven" will be not just a line from a recited prayer, but a reality...

Now THAT I can sing...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Really, Best Buy...Really?

2008-01-24T10:43:00.000-08:00

I'm sure that some enterprising store manager thought that this display was a brilliant combination of honorific tribute and creative product marketing...hmmmmmmm...not so much.

Pling...Pling...

dg

To Sushi or not Sushi...

2008-01-15T21:54:00.000-08:00

First of all...apologies for this being my first post in almost a month...it seems that there are actually breathing homosapiens who read this occasionally and I have been scolded for letting the blog dog lie...and I have...but mostly because my girls have been home for the holidays and I just was preoccupied with spending time with them...that part I don't apologize for. So, Hannah and Calla are back at their respective schools (Belmont and UTA) and Ariele heads back to Portland on a three day road trip beginning Saturday. Also, this break has made me appreciate all the more the kahunas of the blog world, Milton Brasher-Cunningham (donteatalone), Gordon Atkinson (reallivepreacher) and Bob Carlton (The Corner) who have been, and are, faithful disciplined bloggers who have produced amazing stuff with very few breaks for the past several years. You guys are my heroes.

Tonight Ariele and I had dinner at a sushi restaurant, Maru, a couple of miles from where I live. It is a smallish place occupying an old remodeled frame house. I was a little surprised that over the course of our dinner the patrons came in a steady flow and with very few exceptions they were Ariele's age...in their mid to late twenties. Now I don't know how you feel about sushi. Ariele is an aficionado. One of her friends in Portland is a sushi chef. I had never eaten sushi before she introduced me to it a couple of years ago. Well, that's not completely true...I swallowed a live goldfish once on a bet, but I'm not sure that counts. Being a little Cajun boy, I have eaten raw oysters all of my life, so the concept is not completely foreign, but still I approached this inevitability with a measure of guarded trepidation..In an effort to expand her hopelessly unhip dad's culinary sensibilities she took me to a tiny, modest sushi restaurant a few years ago... did all of the ordering... explained the proper etiquette and procedures...was careful not to have me OD on wasabi, and guided me through a fairly uneventful, but pleasurable dining experience. When she asked me what I thought following the virgin sushi experiment, my response was something like, "Well, it is not that it wasn't pretty tasty, but we just paid $40 or so for a few pieces of raw fish and some hot dipping sauce...for $40 I could eat all the fried catfish I could hold every day for the next week." Yeah, I know...classy. So I have dabbled a few times in the last two years or so, and I was looking forward to, not only a new sushi adventure, but mostly taking advantage of spending some good time with Ariele before she headed back to the northwest. So...my plan was to again default to Ariele to order for me, but upon perusing the menu decided to go for the gusto and do the deed myself. It wasn't a particularly daring order, but teriyaki salmon, a few California rolls, tempura vegetables and shrimp and I had a veritable feast. Ariele had miso, tofu rolls and eel. Because I have a new appreciation for chefs through reading Milton's "don't eat alone" blog, and because, coincidently, I had just watched the wonderful German film, "Bella Martha", (the recent American film, "No Reservations" was based on it) I paid particular attention to presentation, and to nuances of taste. The salmon was the best I have ever had, and I have eaten at some of the best seafood restaurants in the country ...including my Cajun mama's kitchen table. I also watched the elderly Japanese sushi chef from a distance and could not help but notice that while he juggled knives and pans of all shapes and sizes, he smiled often as he would place a finished plate on the counter and move the ticket over. He spoke very little English, but there was no mistaking that this was not just his job...it was his love...his passion...and he was very good.

Dave Madden played an amazing new song for us Sunday morning (the same song he played at the "Dave Madden Day" in Austin ceremony at City Hall on Thursday), and anyone who heard him either time, knew that for DM this is not just a hobby...this is his heart on a stringed instrument, and it matters to the world. Finely crafted songs and exquisitely prepared sushi it seems, are significantly different (and maybe a bit more glamorous) that what I think I am cut out to do to make a difference in the world. But then again...maybe not.

Pling...Pling...

dg

The Leader of the Band...Dan Fogelberg

2007-12-17T22:37:00.001-08:00

So Long, Dan Folgelberg...

2007-12-17T21:14:00.000-08:00

I almost drove off of the road today as the DJ on KGSR radio followed up the playing of Dan Fogelberg's "Phoenix" with the startling news that Dan had passed away at the age of 56 after losing a three year battle with prostate cancer. I know... Dan was considered kind of a cheesy adult pop star in his more radio friendly days, but I loved the storyteller in Dan, and he was such an understated, gentle musician that dared call out the materialism of the 70's and 80' to sing about "The Power of Gold", and to challenge his baby boomer friends who had been activists in the 60's but had settled for playing it safe ("There's a Place In the World For A Gambler). He was also one of the first musicians to use his visibility to speak out about the alarming state of the environment, long before it was cool and trendy to do so. His album "Phoenix" in the early 80's was such a brilliant synthesis of rock, folk, jazz and bluegrass, with a classic ballad thrown in. I quit counting the number of times I was asked to sing "Longer" at weddings (the song "Longer"...nobody really was interested in listening to me longer than was absolutely necessary). But, I guess the other reason I am shocked and saddened by Dan's death, other than the fact that I am 56 as well... is that his song, "The Leader of the Band" pushed me as I turned 30 to take the time to know and understand all that my father had been through... and then, even more importantly, to embrace him and take the first step to reach our to a dad that I had become distant and resentful towards in my high school, college and young adult years. The same father that I have written so glowingly about in the last 20 years (and actually, just a few posts ago), was a stranger to me, both on purpose, and by default. I really didn't care about understanding him. The combination of hearing Dan Fogleberg talk about where his father had been, what he had come through and the choices he had made, along with becoming a father myself, began to transform my narrow uninformed picture of my father.

The last time I saw Dan perform live was in 1993 at the Starplex Ampitheatre (now know as the Smirnoff Music Centre) in Dallas and I remember distinctly feeling like I was listening to an old friend sit around the living room and tell stories with a guitar. In reality I was hundreds of yards a way on a blanket on the berm hillside along with thousands of other admirers, but I sensed that we all felt the same way.

The final words of the chorus of that beautiful tribute to his musician father ring especially true now as we bid him adieu to this earthly venue, "The leader of the band is tired, and his eyes are growing old...but his blood runs through my instrument and his song is in my soul...my life has been a poor attempt to imitate the man...I'm just a living legacy to the leader of the band." May all of my attempts be so poor...And what a wonderful legacy it is...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Bummed About that Gut?

2007-12-16T19:29:00.001-08:00

Tired of talking about the Mitchell Report and the steroid issue? Here is a little wisdom from Uncle Peyton...I'm going to go get some new shirts now...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Your Cheatin' (Baseball) Heart...

2007-12-14T20:26:00.000-08:00

Everybody cheats...right? You bet your britches, crib sheet breath! Nobody drives the speed limit...except for the lady talking on her cell phone and applying lipstick driving 35 mph miles in the fast lane in the pouring rain on MOPAC this afternoon. And apparently nobody in baseball takes seriously the notion that there should be a level playing field regarding the cheating of mother nature's DNA diaper when it comes to being able to hit or throw a baseball. Oh, we who are artisans, suitors and aficionados of the gentler national pastime have thumbed our noses at the bruisers who 'roid up to smack heads in football, smack down in professional wrestling, or even smack very rapidly when it comes to track and field. Never mind the Black Sox scandal of '29(poor Shoeless Joe), the shameless abuse both Maris and Aaron took when they overtook the legends that preceded them in the career homerun totals, the Pete Rose betting scandal, sign stealing, pine tar and corked bat accusations, not to mention my favorite cheating ploy of all...the spitball. So the Mitchell Report on steroid and HGH use in Major League Baseball that was released to the public yesterday, not only pointed the finger at most of the usual subjects we expected like, Rafi Palmero, Jose Canseco, Gary Sheffield and Barry Bonds...there were also a few startling ones like Roger Clemens and Andy Pettit. Say it ain't so Rocket! So will Roger end up with an asterisk by his name in the record books just like Barry, or will he find a way to prove his innocence and clear his name? The jury is still out on that and the impact this will have on baseball.

I think about the way I was taught to play the game by one of my heroes, my high school baseball coach, Willis Stelly. I remember a preseason game my junior year when we had packed up in the Glen Oaks High School Panthers team bus (it was a 20 year old school bus painted white red and black) early one Saturday morning and drove the 65 miles down old US Highway 190 to Lafayette to play the Sub-varsity team from the USL (University of Southwestern Louisiana...now called University of Louisiana at Lafayette) Rajun Cajuns. In those days freshman were prohibited from playing varsity sports so colleges created these sub-varsity and freshman teams to give them playing time...we were punk high school kids, but we had recently won a state championship so we had a pretty good reputation, and good games were hard to come by for these guys, so it was a win-win situation...they got another game against live pitching and we got to play against college level competition before we started our district schedule against other high school teams. The truth...we rarely lost to these teams...We were well coached and were usually underestimated, for good reason, but in my high school career as a starter at Glen Oaks we lost only once out of 7 games. One year we beat Nicolls State College in Thibidoux, the spring before they were the NCAA Division II College World Series runners up...but that is a story for another day. That Saturday in February, we loaded the bus and made the trek to USL. We ran out several pitchers that day, but they all threw well and we jumped out to a 3-1 lead on a series of clutch hits in key situations (none by me, but the way). USL closed to 3-2 in the 6th (we played 7 innings)and we came up for our turn to hit in the top of the 7th inning. I was scheduled to hit second in the inning. Our leadoff hitter fanned on 4 pitches and the tall, lanky southpaw got ahead of me 0-2 on two scorching fastballs. He made the mistake of trying to fool me with a change-up...he should have known that I was seriously overmatched with his speed and he could just put me away with another fastball. Instead, he tried to get cute, and I banged the change-up into left field for a clean single. I was not terribly fast but I was a smart baserunner, so on the second pitch I gambled thinking that this college catcher with a gun for an arm would love to show off that arm by picking off the foolish high school kid who carelessly wandered too far off of first between pitches. The delayed steal was something we had been taught for such an occasion, and I took a walking lead as my teammate took a called strike. As the ball hit the catcher's mitt I made eye contact with the catcher, feigned a panicked look as he whirled and blazed the ball down to first. The only problem for them was that when I saw that he had committed to throw to first I took off for second and the relay throw from the first baseman to the shortstop covering was late...I had a stolen base. The pitcher lost his composure a little and walked the batter on four straight pitches. Our next batter looking for a fat pitch, jumped on a fastball down the pipe, but was a little out front and hit a two-hopper to the third baseman who fielded the ball cleanly, took two steps to touch third and then pivoted to make a throw to first for an inning ending double play. We had been taught to cleanly breakup double plays at second by sliding hard into the pivot man at second...no spikes, no dirty stuff, just a clean hard slide with the shin up to knock him off his feet or make him leap, disrupt his throw and keep him from completing the double play. As the third baseman gloved the grounder and stepped on third, I was sliding into the base to do what I always did at second...break up the double play...I toppled the third baseman, he never got rid of the ball and the runner at first was safe. I got up to get a high five from my coach when I saw a chagrined look on his face and heard the catcalls from the USL dugout of words I won't repeat here. Evidently, in their estimation I had been a little too gung ho for a preseason game, especially on their home field, with them behind on the scoreboard, and their opponents measly high school kids. Both dugouts emptied for a few minutes...ours more slowly than the college boys...we were brash high school kids but we weren't stupid...at least not about that. I got a 15 minute lecture after the game from our coach (with the whole team listening in) about playing with passion, but also playing with a sense of respect and dignity for your opponent. You don't cheat, you don't kick them when they are down, and you don't purposely humiliate them and make them look bad. You whip them fair and square.

I don't know if all of the players named in the Mitchell Report ever got that kind of speech from one of his coaches along the way, and frankly there have been times in my life when I didn't follow Coach Stelly's admonition either...but somewhere, if the accusations are true, these guys lost sight of the fact that the way you play the game is as important as whether you win...instead they heard, "The end justifies the means"..."you only go around once in life so you have to grab for all the gusto you can"..."winning isn't the best thing...it's the only thing".

I'll bet Coach Stelly would be happy to volunteer to chew their butts out for trying to take a shortcut to winning and disgracing the game. So, step up Barry... you have more homeruns than any player in history, but you could still learn a thing or two from the old Coach...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Pierce Pettis - Loves gonna carry me home

2007-12-12T23:33:00.001-08:00

Love's Gonna Carry Me Home...

2007-12-12T22:20:00.000-08:00

It doesn't happen frequently, but for me there are distinct times when it feels like my heart swells up, and it moves up so far that it is jamming my Adam's apple up my windpipe...and it moves down so far that it is just sitting like a rhino on the top of my stomach. Sometimes I'm pretty sure it is the Carne Asada plate from Taqueria Arandas down on Burnet(my latest favorite hole-in-the-wall Mexican food joint in Austin), but most of the time it has to do with a readily identifiable, yet rarely explicable heaviness about life in the chaos lane. I say rarely because this happens to be one of those instances when I know what watering hole in the jungle this rhino drip-dried out from. I know, in this case, that part of it is very very good. I'll get to see all three of my beautiful daughters in a couple of weeks as they make their way home from Portland, Nashville and Arlington. They are all grown-up, independent women at 20, 21 and 24, so I am a realist about the eventuality of their taking their places in the world geographically separated from where my place in the world is... so, I genuinely treasure the times we can be all together. Like last September when they all came in to attend the Austin City Limits Music Festival, and like this holiday season when they will be home for Christmas and for two weddings shortly after Christmas... Hannah's life-long best bud, Katelin Calvert... and our dear friend and traveling guitar hero, Randy Williams.

I also know the other reason for the heaviness is my prayer and concern for my friends Scott, Sarah and Thomas Bickle. I tried to talk about them Sunday as I shared with our faith community, and had to stop several times to compose myself...Thomas, some of you may recall from earlier posts is two years old and has been courageously battling brain tumors since he was 7 months old...the tumors have the upper hand at this moment. Sarah and I talked today and I know I bored her to tears, but I didn't want to let her off of the phone (which is a shock to many of you who know that I am a terrible phone conversationalist...just don't do well on the phone). Somehow her voice kept me connected to the three of them. They are amazing people...

So anyway...I came across this video of one of my favorite singer/songwriters, Pierce Pettis (also famous in my book for being sweet Grace's dad). Watching and listening didn't budge the rhino, but I kinda reconciled his presence there as a deep heaviness that made me swallow harder, breath freer, and trust a little deeper.

And I really do believe Pierce...LOVE's the only thing that can carry us home.

Pling...Pling...

dg

Missing the "Jack" of All Trades

2007-12-07T22:18:00.000-08:00

My dad died three years ago Tuesday (4th), killed instantly in an automobile collision on a dark country road in Mississippi. He was 76. I think about him all the time...not in a morbid way, but in a fond, grateful way for the imperfect picture of compassion and servanthood that he was. I got to spend a rare extended amount of time (almost a week) with my mom in Mississippi last week. She survived the accident, and is doing amazingly well living by herself in the woods...she is a tough little (about 4' 10") Cajun lady who grew up one of nine children in the swamps of South Louisiana. The road ended at her property and the bayou ran beside the tiny white-washed frame house where her family fished and trapped and raised sugar cane to make a living. We talked a lot about dad last week...about his impulsiveness and short fuse when it came to anger, especially when he was young...he got it all honestly from my Italian grandfather who was a ruthless taskmaster who demanded perfection from his children, and was not above verbally abusing those around him to get what he wanted. We talked about how God mellowed him (dad) down through the years and while it never took the twinkle and mischievousness out of his eye, it got channeled into one of the most selfless men I've ever met...period. My dad never finished high school, but quit to join the Air Force where he boxed, raced stock cars and worked on diesel engines and airplanes. They married when they were both 21 and looked like movie stars of the day...she like Loretta Young, and he like Joseph Cotton. One of the unique things about my dad was his name... Joseph Ferd Gentiles. Joseph was his dad's middle name (my middle name, Anthony, was my grandfather's first name... A.J. for Anthony Joseph...and they called him Tony). Ferd was for his great grandfather, Ferdinand, and also for his mom's nickname, Ferdie. But everybody called him Jack. And they called him alot. He could fix anything...I'm not exagerating...anything... especially if it was mechanical and had moving parts. Cars, washing machines, lawn mowers, toasters, radios, watches...you name it, Jack could fix it...so he literally became the neighborhood handyman...He worked shift work (usually 50 hours a week) at a chemical plant outside of Baton Rouge as a maintenance mechanic (what else?), but in his spare time he fixed whatever the neighbors brought over (and they brought over some strange crap occasionally...yeeesh!) and he never charged anyone a dime that I know of... We never had a maintenance crew or a grounds crew at the little neighborhood Baptist church I grew up in...Jack took care of the maintenance on everything from the tractor, to the school buses, and the air conditioning units and the pump on the baptismal pool. He loved working on cars... he really loved working on cars...and was a brilliant diagnostician. He seemed to be able to get to the bottom of a car problem in no time, and then he dove in to fix it and he didn't quit until he had solved the problem. He was very thorough and on the times when I would try to assist him he would say..."If you don't have time to do it right...then when are you going to have time to do it over?" Sadly then and now...I do not have his gift for doctoring machinery. I was the first person on both sides of my family to go to college... Dad wanted me to be a mechanical engineer...I wanted to coach and play baseball. He wrote on my high school graduation card, "Go on ahead to college son and see what you can do...if they can make penicillin out of moldy bread, they can make something out of you". I'm not sure he was kidding. He tried to help me be a mechanic, but I was destined for other things...and while he wanted me to love fixing cars as much as him, he accepted the fact that probably changing oil and points and plugs was going to be the extent of my talents.

The reason I bring this up is that tonight I was headed out of town to a men's retreat for our faith community. I drive his old 1993 Ford F-150 with 180,000 miles on it. it is the vehicle I drove the 22 hour round trip to Mississippi in last week. It runs like a champ (until tonight)...partly because he took such great care of it. Well, tonight before I got out of town it decided it was going to have some electrical issues, and so, I have spent the last 6 hours making trips to the auto parts store and working under the hood trying to get the old girl back up and running...I'll be back out early tomorrow morning to finish the job. I told my friend Cory, who called to check on me when I didn't show up at the retreat center, that one of the things that was frustrating was that I know that this is a problem that dad could probably have diagnosed and fixed in 30 minutes...an hour tops. But I'm hanging in there...and even though I'm not nearly as good at it as he was...I will get it done...that much I did get from him. Also, one of the cool things that happened between us in the years before he died was that when I was in the middle of working on something on one of my cars, if I ran into a hitch...which I always did...I would call him and ask his advice. He always seemed pleased that he was still "the man" when it came to those things...and he was. There were times when I would literally hold the phone up to the engine and he would listen to the engine over the phone and 9 times out of 10 could diagnose the problem. As I was working on the truck tonight, at one point I instinctively reached for the cell phone...

Influence is a funny thing. My dad was a man of few words. We have a culture that longs for the music of the profound lyricist, the political catchword of the statesman, the moving performance of the movie actor and actress, the brilliant hunch of the financial advisor, the word from God through the high profile preacher...but the kindest, most generous, most powerful man I've ever known was a shade tree mechanic named Jack. I still want to be like him...even if I can't fix his truck.

Pling...Pling...

dg

I Really Do Kinda Like These Guys...

2007-11-17T21:38:00.000-08:00

Friday I was at the Warehouse most of the day getting ready for a show that night with Grace Pettis and her band opening for San Francisco band, The Cobalt Season. Ryan and Holly Sharp are the very cool husband/wife team that comprise the heart and soul of this wonderful band (TCS), who have been traveling (along with their adorable 13 month old, Paxton) all over the US in their Prius for the last two months singing and doing shows. We were waiting for the Sharps and Grace to arrive for sound check, as well as helping four of our friends display their photography that would be available for folks to view during the show. As it turns out I missed a cell call from Ryan because they had rolled into town and to the home of our mutual friends, the Carltons. Ryan left a message saying that they were making some plan changes and wanted to get some feedback on that...but that was the last half of Ryan's message. Here's the first... "Hey David, this is Ryan from The Cobalt Season, and I was just online reading your blog right now, and was noticing that on the right side of the page under the heading of 'Bands/Musicians That I Kinda Like...' we're not listed. And frankly, it kinda breaks my heart because I see that you have The Beatles, Bob Dylan, Imogen, Sufjan, and even Grace, but no Cobalt...soooooo..if you could take care of that before the show tonight, I would appreciate it." Of course I laughed, and had to replay the message because I was laughing so hard I missed the end of the message which was the part I was supposed to really be acting on. The show opened well as Grace Pettis in her first show playing with a band was delightful, featuring her voice and songwriting, as well as shaking off the first-show-jitters. Then Ryan and Holly came on with video streaming across the front of the room. Ryan has an old school Dylan/Prine/Guthrie-esque talking/sing flow to his art, but it was derailed early by cable/pedal problems. Unfazed, Ryan unplugged, came down to the front of the room asked everyone to pull their chairs up close, and begin to do the show unplugged...I mean really unplugged...no mikes, no direct box, no eq or reverb, just he and Holly singing and talking. It was fascinating because everyone leaned in to hear the lyrics and strained to hear his startlingly honest and open struggles as a human being and a person trying to make a difference in the world. At one one he paused and observed that he thought someone might need to say something and he wanted to give the opportunity...there were a few playful comments from the audience, but it was a rare move by an artists to communicate that there is more going on at a concert than what is going on up on stage. At one point he confessed his struggles with feeling like the only way of living is that of peaceful non-violence, and that individuals and nations can always get along if they try...then he confessed his feelings of hypocrisy over not being able to have that kind of relationship with his own brother. After he sung a song written for his brother, someone from the audience asked why he couldn't just say to his brother what he has spoken to us...It was that kind of night. I couldn't help feeling that I had been a participant in something very very special...and I'm not even sure exactly what it was.

This morning in worship Dave Madden, Brandon and Harmony sang, "Lean on Me", "Now the Day Is Over" and "Bridge Over Troubled Water". Some Journey folks shared gut-level stories of the silence of God in the face of pain, suffering and honest questions. Then we watched REM's "Everybody Hurts" video and prayed and went home. I felt the very same way...I felt like i was in the middle of something very special...and I was. You know I feel sorry for those people who spend their lives trying to figure God out...Heck the fun of the faith is just trying to keep up... and go unplugged when the wires and pedals go freaky. And though it is probably a dubious honor, at best...Ryan, you made the list...traveling mercies to you, Holly and little Pax...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Cat Power, Regina, and The Black Eye

2007-11-09T09:31:00.000-08:00

My friend Melinda introduced me to this fascinating, enigmatic young artist named Chan Marshall, who records under the moniker of Cat Power. She has a deep sultry voice that is dripping with pathos and sadness, and communicates a journey that, in one way or another, many of us have shared...a year or so ago, just as her record "The Greatest" was being released she went into treatment for alcoholism, and when she returned she decided that the healthiest thing for her was not to return to the temptations and rigors of the road in support of the new album (record companies and fans didn't see the wisdom in that move). She got major criticism, but she stood her ground and now is doing what she loves, with clarity and purpose for the first time in her young career. I am very impressed with not only her music, but who she is and what she has to say to the world.

Last Tuesday I accepted the invitation to attend a show at Stubb's with one of my coolest college friends...Amanda. Actually to call Amanda cool is redundant...the girl defines cool! You of course know that I am NOT in college, and am approximately 100 years old, so that makes this invitation all the more remarkable, but Amanda had an extra ticket and so we hit P. Terry's on Lamar and Barton Springs for a burger basket and then headed to Stubbs to see the young, delightful, Russian singer/songwriter, Regina Spektor. You must know that the name Regina holds fond memories for me of a beautiful lass who was the object of my affections in high school (Glen Oaks High School), named Regina Phillips. She was a vision of loveliness, who dated the school studly man, Gary Duvall (who was actually a really nice guy) and played tight end on the football team and center on the basketball team (Gary..not Regina). Yeah...I had no shot. Interestingly enough though, at the end of our senior years Regina and I were voted Mr. and Miss Glen Oaks (I'm pausing here not for the oohs and aaahs, but for the shocked silence)...yeah, it didn't make any difference...I still had no shot. Anyway, Regina Spektor did not need my "Regina" approval in the least for the sold out crowd hung on her every voice tremolo and clever line. The music was haunting at times and raucous at times and she used her voice as an instrument like few performers I've ever heard live. It was a real treat...I loved the show, and even though Amanda and all three of my girls, (and many many many folks) beat me to the punch...I'm a Regina Spektor fan.

Cleveland is my 17 month old Great Pyrenees (add about 100 lbs. to the puppy picture on the blog and you can imagine this big boy) who is my lone full time boarder these days. He's a frisky, happy, clumsy, loyal, monstrous ball of white fur. and other than snoring loudly when he sleeps, barking at every squirrel in the yard and eating more than me, he is a great pal. Except on Monday...when he gave me a black eye. I have had a few black eyes in my time...though none lately. I got in a fight with a kid on the playground when he called my cousin a bad name around the age of 8. He got the worst of it in the end, by the way (though I am in no way sanctioning needless playground violence) because my sandlot homeys came to bat for me...literally). Speaking of baseball, my sophomore year, my Glen Oaks HS occasionally fighting Panthers team was playing a regional playoff game in Opelousas, Louisiana on one of the worst dirt infields I've ever played on in my life. It was a routine ground ball (although my coach, Willis Stelly used to say, "Gentiles, with you in the infield, there is no such thing as a routine ground ball"...thanks coach) that hit a divot that looked like a pothole and popped up and hit me square in the eye. I chased the ball down and threw the runner out, but by the next inning my eye was swollen closed and I was on the bench holding an icepack on my eye with my baseball glove (hey...it was cold!). Anyway, I digress...Monday I dropped a bit of the sandwich I was working on in the kitchen, and bent down to pick it up. Cleveland, no surprise, was there before the sandwich morsel hit the ground. My head is down, his head is down and when he sees my hand reach for the tasty morsel, he jerks his head up to look at me, and crushes his huge noggin against my huge noggin...right around the ole eye...voila...my first shiner since Opelousas, Louisiana.

So that was my week...how was yours?

I Am A Rock...I Am An Island...

2007-10-30T22:13:00.000-07:00

There are days when I want to be alone...not just in a room with nobody in it but me...just alone...I am not depressed...I'm not being particularly anti-social, though I am painfully shy at times (even though it goes against the grain of my vocation)...Today was one of those...actually the last several days have been like that and I don't want to talk on the phone or write e-mails or sit and visit. I heard a commercial today by McGruff the crime dog saying that in the past the police have told citizens to go inside and lock their doors to be safe...now they are realizing that a much better solution is to open your doors and get to know your neuighbors because then you create a community that watches each others back...or back doors and front doors, and windows...you get the idea. Community...it is not just the name of the finest coffee in the world...it is, as Bishop Tutu expresses in this interview with Brad Pitt, the "essence of humanity".

The interview starts with Tutu explaining the African concept of ubuntu...
Brad Pitt: What is this concept of ubuntu I keep reading about?
Tutu: "Ubuntu is the essence of being human [...] we say a person is a person through other persons. You can't be a human in isolation. You are human only in relationships. [...] So we say that 'I need you to be all of who you are in order for me to be all that I am.' Because no human being is totally self-sufficient. In fact, a self-sufficient human being is subhuman." [...] If you want to be human, we are not going to be able to be human in isolation. It will be that we are human together."

So I get it...I really do...I still tend to be fairly uncomfortable in large gatherings...and being in front of big groups, but you do what you gotta do, right...especially when your job is teaching and being in front of people...but it is bigger than that...and I know that community is more than just crowds, it is relationship and support and accountability...and really good coffee.

"There can be no vulnerability without risk; there can be no community without vulnerability; there can be no peace, and ultimately no life, without community."
- M. Scott Peck

Pling...Pling...

dg

Close...But No Cigar! Cleveland Loses!

2007-10-21T22:13:00.000-07:00

The greatest test of courage on earth is to bear defeat without losing heart.
Robert Ingersoll (1833 - 1899)

Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools. William Faulkner (1897 - 1962) The Sound and the Fury

"If you ain't first, you're last." --Ricky Bobby, "Talledega Nights"

Congratulations are in order for the Boston Red Sox who won game seven tonight, defeating the Cleveland Indians and heading off to the World Series to face the upstart Colorado Rockies. After rattling off three consecutive wins, the Indians allowed the Sox to do the same and take their place in the Fall Classic beginning next Wednesday. The Red Sox are a wonderful organization with great athletes and great fans, and while the young Indians acquited themselves well, the Sox did what good ball clubs do...they take advantage of breaks and skill and impeccable timing and get the job done. Still, losing in this competitive culture, one that worships winners, gives them product endorsements, puts their pictures on Wheaties boxes, and sends them to Disneyland and the White House (those are two different trips, by the way) is so disdained that while we cry out publicly against steriod use, we privately wrestle with whether we would succumb to the temptation to juice if it meant the difference between winning and losing. Not coincidentally, Cleveland pitcher Paul Byrd...one of the few veterans on this baby-faced team...a smallish 35 year old with a Kelsey Grammer face, an old school two-armed pump wind-up and a fastball that wouldn't break a window at point blank range will be investigated for using Human Growth Harmones. Byrd, who originally signed with the Indians after a solid college career with the LSU Tigers and then proceeded to bounce around for several years with the Reds, Braves, Phillies, Royals and Angels before resigning with the Indians last year, has been linked to shipments of needles and HGH shipped to the stadium and to his home using his credit card (so if he's trying to hide something he needs to take some cheating tips from Barry). He had a doctor's prescription for it all with a validation that these drugs were used to bring abnormally low levels up to normal and not to give him an unfair advantage. In an interview last night before the game he said..."I wouldn't cheat. I speak to kids and groups all over the country about my faith in Christ and I don't want folks questioning my message because I was doing something illegal. ESPN The Magazine interviewed him recently about a manuscript for a book he's written on his faith and his career in baseball called "The Free Byrd Project". When asked about how honest he was about his past and how his faith impacted that he responded, "Religion can go over into every area, like whether I should cheat out on the field. I write about the desire to just make money at any cost. I share about my temptation to spit on the ball, put KY jelly on it or scuff it, to win more games and make more money. That's a big temptation for me, being a guy who throws 82, who relies on movement. You have a pull, because you have a certain window up here that stares you in the face. Are you willing to take steroids? Because that's available. People viewed that as me being weak. Like, "This guy doesn't want to win."

"This guy/gal doesn't want to win"...to an athlete, to a salesman, to a rock and roll band, to a politician, to a CEO... to most of our culture, those are major throw-down words. They question our toughness, they question our character, they question our courage, and they question our understanding of what is important in the world. It is one of the reason some friends of mine don't climb on the Jesus wagon. Their words..."Sorry, anybody who says that you gotta lose your life to save it, that you have to put yourself last to win and that the one who serves is the greatest of all is completely out of touch with the way the world works." Perhaps...for those who can't distinguish between playing a game and the way you order your life...hmmmmmmmm, that might have been a little harsh...or not...at any rate, I'll keep loving the game of baseball, pulling for the Cleveland Indians, and doing my best to live out the words of that loser Jesus...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Jonatha - "Because I Told You So"

2007-10-17T22:09:00.001-07:00

UN-Conditional Love...

2007-10-17T20:41:00.000-07:00

Nothing clever or profound to set this up...I was just listening to my old Jonatha Brooke, "Ten Cent Wings" CD and was transported back to a place of deep sadness and joy when the downbeat of the first note of Jonatha's Because I Told You So was played.

If I gave you the sky
If I laid down my life
would you believe me then?

If I promised to change
If I carried the blame
Would you believe me then?

Could you see it like me
And believe what I see
Could you listen, and remember that I love you
Only,
Because I told you, because I told you so

If you told me you lied
But I stayed true and tried
Would you believe me then?

And if your beauty was gone
But my love lingered on
Would you believe me then?

Could you see it like me
And believe what I see
Could you listen and remember that I love you
Because I Told You So
Only,
Because I told you, because I told you so.

You take the wheel for now
I’m too tired to drive this one home anyhow,
For now

And when you mention my name
Let this one thing remain,
My love,
Believe me now

The reality is that most of us have few, if any, people in our lives who love us, or that we love, unconditionally...oh we have a handful who come close...probably my daughters come the closest to that for me. I can't imagine any circumstance that would deter or destroy my love for them...but then I am a fallible broken, often really stupid, human being and I am probably capable of anything. I really believe that God, as best as I understand him, loves me that way, but again, I'm accepting that on the basis of a bunch of things...and a trust in some written words a long time ago saying "because I told you so" is one of those. All of us have had people tell us they loved us and then the next thing we know we look up and they have done something that indicated they really didn't. To be fair...we have done the very same to others as well. My dad listened to mostly country music when I was growing up, and I can still hear that twangy lyric played on our local AM station, WYNK, "The Country Giant in Baton Rouge", "You stomped on my heart...squashed that sucker flat...guess you just sorta...crushed my ole aorta!" We learn that all relationships are made up of betrayal and disappointment at times...and yet there is a principle of forgiveness and reconciliation that makes them not only worthwhile, but life-giving and exciting if we are willing to ride the roller coaster of human frailty and strength. But...knowing all of that...we still long to be loved unconditionally... to have someone say they love us, no matter what...then actually love us...no matter what. The brilliant Richard Swift in his song "Everywhere I Go", says "I cannot earn your love, I cannot earn your love...you love me just the same...Hallelu, I need to sing with all I have...Hallelu, I need to sing. If I falter, if I fade, you will hold me still so close, and I need you like a Father to be with me as I go...As I go."

I don't often manage to get outside of myself long enough to love like that, but I am absolutely sure that is the model of love we are called to strive for...and the leap of faith that I take believing that I am inexplicably the unconditionally beloved child of God. Because he told me so...

Pling...Pling...

dg

It's Time To Break Up The Rockies...

2007-10-14T23:16:00.000-07:00

Has anybody got the guts to tell the Colorado Rockies that they are not the 1927 NY Yankees? Certainly not me...Sunday night they put the Arizona Diamondbacks in an 0 and 3 hole and are one game away from making their first ever trip to the World Series. They have won a mind-boggling 20 out of their last 21 games on an unprecedented, at least in my lifetime, run to barely squeak into the playoffs, and then proceed to mow down everything in their path on there way to a spot in the Fall Classic. Their fuzzy-chinned youth and complete lack of playoff experience aside, they seem to have no weaknesses...who would have ever thought you would have uttered that previous sentence when you were talking about the COLORADO ROCKIES! Next you are going to tell me that the Baylor Bears are the lock to win the college football national championship, that the St.Louis Rams are the class of the NFL, Jessica Simpson was cast on her last movie for her superb acting chops, and that professional wrestling is a steroid free, legitimate competitive sport. Except..in this case, the Rockies seem to be the real deal...and I for one am pulling for them, unless they end up facing my own unlikely underdog story, the Cleveland Indians, who danced away from disaster and heading back home in a 0 and 2 hole against the powerful Red Sox with a Houdini-like escape act hanging on for dear life until they could walk away with the second game of the series with an 11-inning win on Saturday to head back home tied. This is why baseball is so cool... I know that it does happen in other sports...last year's Boise State performance, as well as this years upstart South Florida Bulls in college football are doing the same thing...A group of young athletes figure out a way to defy the odds, not only compete with the big boys, but manage to hold their own, and in some very rare cases even prevail...it is fun to watch...unless you are Goliath taking a skipping rock between the eyes. The Rockies and the Indians...keep that slingshot swinging...and then we have to decide which underdog has become the next Philistine giant.

Pling...Pling...

dg

I Hate To Say I Told You So, But...

2007-10-09T22:41:00.000-07:00

So... all three of the underdog teams I bragged about last week advanced leaving that trio of pups and the scary Boston Red Sox (who also, not coincidentally, have their share of young talent mixed in with grizzled veterans) as the combatants in Major League's version of The Final Four. Well, even though I am relatively intuitive, fairly knowledgeable in the mystery of baseball, and devastatingly handsome (hey, two out of three ain't bad...Thank You, Meatloaf!), what prognosticators out there picked a National League championship game between two teams that get longer pregame warmups because nobody on the team shaves yet, however, also have to quit earlier so that their mommies can read them a bedtime story and tuck them in at night before the evening news? I'm just saying...Colorado vs. Arizona playing for the NL pennant...boy if you had placed a bet in Vegas on that matchup back in March, you would be a bookie disaster right now. And my Cleveland Indians, the only one of the four remaining teams to lose a game in the division series, will face the powerful Boston Red Sox. I can only suspect that the Fox Network (along with my diehard BoSox friends Christy and Milton) is pulling for the Red Sox facing off up against anybody, because a Cleveland pairing against either of the other two is probably a ratings nightmare for all of those small-market reasons we talked about, as well as the absence of nationally recognized stars.

So my druthers after the infield dust clears on this next week's series is a Rockies/Indians World Series. I wouldn't place any bets on that happening, because the smart money would be on the Diamondbacks and Sox who both have World Series rings in the last six years, unlike the Indians who don't have one since 1948 and the Rockies who have never been to the World Series...ever. But then the smart money would be swirling around the bottom of the toilet and heading south right now if you had banked on traditional wisdom. Hang on underdog fans...get those rally caps ready...it's gonna be fun!

dg

The year of the underdog...Go TRIBE!

2007-09-30T22:13:00.000-07:00

Underdog is back! No I don't mean the ill-advised movie about the cartoon wonderpup of the 60's...let's face it...no Wally Cox...no Underdog. Nope the BASEBALL underdog...

Those of you who know me understood that it was just a matter of time before I posted concerning my beloved Cleveland Indians winning the AL Central division pennant and heading to the playoffs for the first time since 2001. Those of you who are not baseball fans (cover your ears, Mildred...they don't really mean it!) don't get why we horsehide enthusiasts live for this time of the year...and I guess on some levels I get it too...While I watch the Grammys (until the Daylights and Dave Madden are nominated...then that changes) and the Oscars, I don't get fired up over them like a lot of people do. I'll watch a few World Cup matches, or NBA and NFL games...but October is the time of the year I live for, whether the Indians are involved or not. The Cleveland Indians are considered a "small market team", which essentially translates to...you ain't got New York, Boston or LA money so there's no way you can compete with the big boys. We have had a few exceptions to that rule in recent years, but this year it is an incredible, almost eerie phenomenon, because while the Angels, Red Sox and Yankees are back in the playoffs to no one's surprise, the rest of the lineup are a batch of small market, young roster upstarts... including the afore-mentioned Cleveland Indians. The Tigers and the WhiteSox, the last two American league champions were supposed to dominate the Central, but it was the young feisty Indians that came out on top. In the National League the sad sack Phillies who haven't been in the playoffs in 14 years, played flawless ball down the stretch to catch the collapsing Mets and win the division on the last day of the season. The Arizona Diamondbacks, another very young ballclub who folks kept expecting to fade in the final days hung in there to win the National League West and the perennial losers, the Chicago Cubbies, outlasted another young club, the Milwaukee Brewers to take the NL Central. Perhaps the best story of the season is the babyfaced Colorado Rockies with only one post season appearance in their history came from nowhere (they only lost one game in the last two weeks of the season) to tie the San Diego Padres for the wildcard spot on the last day of the season and will play a one-game face-off for the right to enter the playoffs.

Underdogs...we love them...maybe because we all consider ourselves small-market underdogs on some level. Maybe because we all like to see the big boys take it on the chin every now and then. Maybe long odds and great courage define for us what is good and noble in the human spirit...I'm not sure, but I do know every successful sports movie in the last 50 years has this element at its core...someone, some team, some city, some coach does the unthinkable with the unlikeliest of resources and we cheer...whether it is Rocky Balboa hanging in there for 15 rounds against Apollo Creed or the '84 US Olympic Hockey Team stunning the invincible Russians, or Benny "The Jet" Rodriguiz besting The Beast in "The Sandlot", we all know the storyline and yet we are compelled to watch and hope and rejoice when the unlikely victory comes.

In any other year I would love to see the Cubs shake off their century long frustration and win another World Series...The DBacks already have a World Championship and the Angels, BoSox (sorry Milton and Christy) and Pinstripers (sorry Calla and Ariele) are the evil empire so I can't pull for them... I might even pull for the Phillies (Charlie Manuel used to manage the Tribe several years ago) and it would be very tempting to cheer on those spunky young Rockies should they win their way in...but I can't do it. I have to be loyal to my Indians. I have been a Cleveland Indians fan since the late 1950's (yup...I really am that old) when all of us kids on our own sandlot picked our favorite team...and I picked the Tribe. They were not very good back then...actually they were one of the worst teams in baseball up until the late nineties when they managed to make it to the World Series twice ...losing both times. But...through thick and thin...lots and lots of thin...I have been a real fan...I've only been to the city of Cleveland twice in my life...both times to see Cleveland Indians games. It is true they are young, but my hope runs high and my loyalty eternal... They play the Yankees in the first round...and they were 0-fer for the season...no wins, 6 losses against the Yankees this season...but the playoffs are a new season and we'll see if it is the Tribe who dons the cape and flys off howling into the sunset with its first World Series crown since 1948...even Wally Cox would speak up for that underdog...GO TRIBE!

Pling...Pling...

dg

Marryin' Davy

2007-09-25T17:03:00.000-07:00

I've tried to count how many weddings I've officiated over the last 37 years of having the privilege of saying "I do by the authority vested in me as a minister of the Gospel, and in accordance with the laws of this state, do pronounce you, husband and wife...", but frankly I've lost count. The first was for my sister Vickie and future brother-in-law, Alvin, some 33 or so years ago and the last was for my nephew, also a David Gentiles, and his beautiful bride Emily, last weekend. In between there have been a handful of ceremonies for couples I didn't know, but the vast majority of them were for young men and women that I knew very well who had been a part of the churches and youth ministries I was fortunate enough to have served. It, frankly, is one of the coolest things about what I have done for a living all these years, and that is saying a lot, because I have been the beneficiary for way more spectacular moments than I got to serve up...It was one of those cases where you are amazed every time you get paid that somebody actually wants to give you money for getting to hang out with kids...What could be better than that...well maybe collecting several million a year to play second base for the Cleveland Indians (who clinched the American League Central Division pennant Sunday night...but that is for another post) wouldn't be too shabby either, but aside from that, working with kids throughout these years has been an absolute blast.

But back to the marrying subject...and this is a little hard to admit...it scares the shit out of me every time I stand there. Don't get me wrong...I still love being there...and I am honored that they have asked me...but I can't help but remember that here I am... a divorced man, a failure at the very thing I'm officiating. I don't know if there is something really screwed up about that...or if it is actually really redemptive and beautiful that God could take my failure and allow me to be a part of this young couple's beauty. I sure know how to speak with candor about the difficulty of the journey they are embarking upon without sugar coating it or dismissing it...but I still have a twinge when they say..."til death do us part". Of course, the reality is that I'm a minor player anyway...I'm like a good baseball ump or basketball referee...the minute people notice you is a sure indication that you've messed up something and called the groom the wrong name, or dropped the ring, or read the wrong passage from Song of Solomon and referred to the brides "breasts like twin fawns" (yeah...it's in there...SOS 7:3). But also, because I generally know these young people so well I refuse to just monotone through a perfunctory ritual...I get to talk personally about who these young women and men are as people, and why I am so proud of them...I don't know if it means that much to them, but it sure does to me, so, I still accept when they ask me, and I still am honored and humbled.

So this weekend I stood on the monstrous stage at First Baptist Church, Euless, Texas and officiated over the vows and rings for David and Emily. They both had 11 attendants, so the processional in and out, and the getting in place on the stage was like the Texas A&M Aggie Corp Band doing their half-time show weave...it was impressive. We attempted the first-ever "unity laminating machine" ceremony. Lots of couples do a unity candle or unity sand ceremonies, but being the bold adventurous couple they are, they chose to laminate two sheets of paper with colored tissue to symbolize the joining of two colors to make a completely new one, as well as the inseperable the bond between the two sheets. And in their defense, it worked well in rehearsal...the machine ate the paper in the ceremony (of course) and we had a good laugh and I got to improvise the spiritual significance of crumpled laminating paper in the light of the will of a sovereign God...Let's just say it ended up being way funnier than it was supposed to be. Then there was a moving celebration of communion with David and Emily to the soundtrack of Billy Crockett and Milton Brasher-Cunningham's amazing song, "Here's To The Day". And there was so much more...David is a wonderful singer/songwriter musician who is on the worship staff at FBCE, and he and some of his longtime friend/band mates opened the ceremony with a two-song set of rousing rock and roll praise and worship tunes... in their wedding suits, of course. And then there was Jonathan. Jonathan is a friend of David's from his years growing up in small-town Sweeny, Texas. Jonathan also has Downs Syndrome...and there was not a prouder more supportive groomsman on this stage (that looked like a page from Bridal Magazine, albeit, a really crowded page) than Jonathan who broke up the solemn processional in (remember the weaving corp routine) by giving David knuckles and a quick hug as he passed him on his way escorting his partner to their spot on the stage. Of course, after that it was high fives, low fives, pats on the butt, kisses and more for the guys that followed...it was great. I love David...we've been about as close as an uncle and a nephew can be, and I've been as proud of his accomplishments as I have with my own girls...and again God allows me to be a part of something that is way bigger than me. I suspect I never will get this figured out...I know the feelings of shame and failure are not from God, and are more about my shadow, so I'll keep reminding myself that like Jonathan, it is much more fun giving knuckles and hugging than feeling like, well you know...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Publish Envy...

2007-09-18T15:45:00.000-07:00

I have a bunch of friends who have books...I don't just mean they have a bookshelf at their house and they have strolled through Barnes and Noble and made an occasional purchase..I mean they have authored books...they have been "published". I had supper last Sunday night with my friend Don Piper who has authored several books, the most successful of which was a little New York Times best seller entitled "90 Minutes in Heaven", at last count it was nosing its way toward the 2 million mark in sales...who knew? The very cool pastor/friend that I work with everyday, Rick Diamond wrote a book called "Wrestling With God" that several years ago was on Border's list of top ten religious books of the year. I have a friend , Jeff Luce who had a book of Aggie (Texas A&M University) jokes published when he was a junior in high school...OK that is kinda sketchy, because it is Texas A&M (sorry, Luce) and because his parents ran a printing business...but actually it was pretty good, and had more business being printed than some other crapola I have seen bound and sitting in the sale bin at the checkout counter. I'd love to see him writing again. My friend Christy Desisto had a couple books, one a collection of her excellent devotionals appearing on the Riverbend Church website several years ago and then a collection of individual God/change stories entitled "The Bottom of the 9th" . Even my own daughter has had articles published by Relevant Magazine and The Burnside Writers Collective including co-editing a publication last year entitled "The Ankeny Briefcase". My friend, Gordon Atkinson, more widely know as the blogging sensation, Real Live Preacher, released a collection of a few of his brilliant blogposts, and it is wonderful. Then there's Donald Miller...Don has written 4 books with a 5th due out in February. The one that is a New York Times bestseller and has him speaking all over the country is entitled "Blue Like Jazz". Donald was here in Austin last night and took the time to do a couple book readings from the new work on "Story" at our little faith community called Journey on his way to speak at a huge conference in Dallas this weekend. It was a delightful evening and he even talked a little about the screenplay just completed that is making a feature length film our of "Blue Like Jazz" and Donald's life...again...who knew?

When I am honest...I have a little publish envy...and while I know that these are all remarkably talented folks who have worked hard and deserve every bit of accolade coming their way, I have a tendency to look at my life and wonder if I have been hiding my light under a bushel...or my reading lamp under the bedspread...so to speak. I wonder if I have anything to say that is worthy of a publisher scratching his chin hair, raising his eyebrow, smiling and saying..."we think you should sign a 3 book deal because this is sheer genius...whaddya say?". Then I think about some other friends who do not have book deals or publishing contracts who are some of the finest writers I know...Milton Brasher Cunningham writes a blog entitled "Don't Eat Alone" that is always movingly insightful...He also has been writing a Lenten Journal for the last several years that has become one of the things about the Lenten season that I look forward to the most as I see those preparatory days through his eyes and experiences. My friend Sarah Bickle is a bright, funny, insightful writer and minister, who has been walking with her husband Scott alongside their beautiful two year old son Thomas as he battles cancer. My friend JJ Peterson is one of the funniest, soulfully connected folks I know, who is a former youth minister, stand-up/improv comedian, aspiring actor and filmmaker who also has a blog to chronicle his uncommon perceptive observations of life...and there are many many more...and we haven't even talked about the guys and gals who are songwriters and poets.

So... what is it that separates the published from the non? Is it luck...it is divine appointment...is it who-you-know connections, is it being in the right place at the right time...is it strong-willing your way to publication, or pain-the-ass-ing your way to the top? I really don't know the answer...but what I did come to realize as I meandered through this post is that I, Lil Davy, have to be unequivicably the most fortunate guy in the world because I get to share the privilege of having these remarkable people in my life...and really, how good is that!

So... what if I wrote a sizzling tell-all book revealing the deep, dark secrets I know of all these authors from down through the years? Let's bring the Weekly World News back to the checkout stand racks where it belongs...throw in a cover story about an alien mating with Britney Spears and then Britney giving birth to the most unfortunate/cursed child on the planet...oh shucks, that's already happened...Oh well, in the meantime...keep writing my friends...you make me very, very proud.

Pling...Pling...

dg

We'll Miss You, Magical Madeline

2007-09-07T22:08:00.000-07:00

I remember reading my first Madeline L'Engle book and being absolutely captured by it's depth, its playfulness and its incredible ability to connect the world of fantasy and intrigue with the issues of my life...and this was a children's book? It was the summer between my junior and senior years at Baylor, and I was taking several summer school classes so I could graduate a semester early in December. I remember distinctly glorying in the fact that I had the ability to take a Children's Literature class in fulfillment of my education degree requirements...I mean really...read a few picture books, a few pop-ups, throw in a teen reader or two and this would be the easiest coup of college credits since that pansy genetics course...OK, I never really took genetics...my roommate was Pre-Med and he agonized over that one, but I did have a stressful bowling class one semester...picking up those 6-10 spares can be brutal. Anyway, the reality was that Children's Literature was not the cake-walk I had planned on, in fact, it was actually fascinating work reading the Newberry and Caldecott winners down through the years...very few of which I had actually read growing up. So I was cruising along, zipping through the reading lists when I came to the assignment of Madeline L'Engle's A Wrinkle In Time. I wasn't a half a page in when I realized that I was being pulled into a story in a way I had not experienced before. I would read The Chronicles of Narnia and The Lord of the Rings a few years later, but this journey into the fantastical and magical was new for me...and it occurred to me as I read that I never really considered this a children's book. I would read many more of her writings in the years that ensued, but A Wrinkle In Time has always been a marker for me in the way I began to look for and search out narrative...and not just in books, but in movies, in plays, in music, in poetry...and in my faith. Because for Madeline, there seemed to be a natural, powerful connection between the mystical and the practical, the ethereal and the mundane, between the sacred and the secular...so that they were often indistinguishable. With the Harry Potter madness of the last decade, many readers young and old were directed back to Madeline's works as a groundbreaking foray into the genre and conceptual structure of challenging, edifying, and episodic fantasy literature for children.

So the news of her death today at the age of 88 came with a paradoxical sadness that one of the great writers of our time would no longer be writing for us, but also with the immense gratitude that I had the opportunity for her writing to help shape who I am and how I go about writing my own story and my own magical journey...

I suspect you are sitting and telling stories to the angels tonight, Madeline L'Engle, and I know they are equally as delighted to be hearing your tales firsthand as we have been to have that privilege here on earth for the last 50 years. You finally got to experience your own passageway through the Wrinkle in Time...But you will be missed...This Pling is for you...

Pling...Pling...

dg

I don't get JT...

2007-09-04T22:35:00.000-07:00

OK...first of all I'm stinkin' old, so while that doesn't really excuse or explain what I'm about to say, (it worked for Grandma Moses for years and she was still brilliant and talent and people actually cared what she had to paint and say) I also realize that I am the salmon swimming upstream of public sentiment, probably only to reach head of the stream and get eaten by a big bear. I'm not a Justin Timberlake fan...right now, at least...even though he is probably the hottest pop male artist in the world. Curiously...and this probably makes perfect sense for someone who is as culturally clueless as present company...I actually liked him in NSYNC...they had tight harmonies, the dancing was kinda goofy, but impressive, (especially while singing) and they had a very entertaining stage show...their appearance on SNL when "Baby Bye, Bye, Bye" was at the top of the charts is still one of my all-time favorites. I'm sure that JT's stuff would have been a big hit at the rate-a-record portion of American Bandstand back in the day, because..."it has a good beat and you can dance to it"...and there certainly is nothing wrong with that. I just can't help wishing somebody was making songs that mattered these days...like Simon and Garfunkel's "Sound of Silence", "I Am a Rock" or "Bridge Over Troubled Water". songs like The Hollies' "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother", Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah", Sujan's "John Wayne Gacy", Dylan's "Blowing in the Wind", Don Henley's "Heart of the Matter", The Beatles' "Eleanor Rigby", U2's "Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" and you have plenty you can add to that list. Now this is not to say that there are not some wonderful songwriters out there including Glen Hanspard who just burst into the public eye with the movie "Once". Bono is still writing some good things as well as Chris Martin occasionally, but it seems that the next Dylan, Simon, Lennon, or Peter Gabriel has yet to bubble to the surface...My daughters have this wonderful keen eye and ear for singer/songwriters and bands that very few people have heard of, and maybe it will come from one of those...I sure hope so...the power of music to elate, sedate, motivate and elevate is widely documented, and personally experienced by most of us. The stages at the Austin City Limits music festival here in Austin in a few weeks will be full of pretenders, but interestingly enough it will also have it's share of legitimate hopefuls and legends. And then also, maybe the Ricky and Randy Jacksons' or Dave Maddens' or Grace Pettis' or David Condos' or Jess Cates' who toil quietly and with little fanfare writing songs in their living rooms are the next musical hope to speak to us eloquently and powerfully through notes and chords and voices calling and urging us to feel deeply and love fearlessly. Who knows...it might even be JT.

Pling...Pling...

dg

Amazed, Humbled, and Grateful Tonight...

2007-08-30T19:22:00.000-07:00

The same Texas Board of Paroles and Pardons that voted 5 to 3 against at the last clemency hearing on behalf of Kenneth Foster voted 6 to 1 for clemency today and sent that decision on to Governor Rick Perry who still had to make the decision to stay Kenneth's execution...a decision he frankly had not made in several cases previously when the BPP had recommended clemency...But today...just hours before Kenneth Foster was scheduled to be executed by lethal injection, Governor Perry, with a great deal of personal and political courage, made the decision to commute Foster's sentence from death to life imprisonment, essentially stating that the laws under which Kenneth Foster were sentenced to death needed to reevaluated... I am stunned...I am awed at the power of single small, but significant voices, joined with some culturally significant voices like Jimmy Carter and Bishop Desmond Tutu who made pleas on Kenneth's behalf in the last few days...I am moved by the power of prayer...I have no idea how God had his hand in this other than the spirit of justice and compassion of a army of people who would not give up speaking the truth of their convictions on behalf of this man...a man, the vast majority of that army have never and probably will never meet face to face. I am absolutely convinced God was at work...and I am a little ashamed that it took the life of a man on death row to wake me up to the responsibility I, and we all, have to see the world the way God sees the world. To see what acts of injustice and abuse and manipulation anger him...and ought to anger us. To see what acts of neglect, misfortune and indifference break his heart...and ought to break ours as well.

Some of you know that I traveled to Cambodia last September...I saw many beautiful wonderful Cambodian people and many beautiful wonderful people of all nationalities investing their lives in this country still heartbroken over the genocide Pol Pot and the Killing Fields inflicted a mere 30 years ago. A country that had it's parents and grandparents wiped out so that it is a nation of young people and young adults with little to point them to a legacy of generations gone before. It is also one of the places that has become a breeding ground for evil men who have made slaves of children and young adults. Last night I wrote a letter to the head of the department of Tourism in Cambodia to ask him to help put a stop to the sex trade enslaving young boys and girls, men and women. I don't know that it will do any good...BUT...how many of us wrote letters to Governor Perry suspecting that it would have little effect on an execution that most people thought would happen at 5:30 this evening...and tonight Kenneth Foster is alive in his cell...It takes my breath away...not in a Tom Cruise, Kelly McGillis TopGun sort of way, but in a deep deep soul searching way that sees that our connection with God and with each other all across this planet matters...it mattered for Kenneth Foster, it mattered for Rick Perry, and it matters for us...

Thank you for praying, and for writing, and for feeling the heart of God...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Not Even Remotely Proud To Be A Texan...Today

2007-08-28T21:10:00.000-07:00

I grew up in Louisiana, came to Texas to go to college at Baylor, returned to Louisiana to go to graduate school and eventually moved back here 10 years later...and have not wanted to leave since. I love this state, and love even more living in Austin...the coolest city I've ever been a part of...but today...I'm not proud to be a Texan today...The reason is that in two days this state is set to execute Kenneth Foster based on an ambiguously subjective and morally questionable statute called the "law of parties". My friend Melinda send out this call to prayer and explanation of what is going down this afternoon...

CALL FOR PRAYER:

This Thursday, the State of Texas intends to execute Kenneth Foster,
who is not a murderer. The background on this case is summarized in
an excerpt from Sunday's Dallas Morning News Editorial 8/26, which
calls for the State to reconsider its decision to execute Mr. Foster:

"Ours is the only state in the country to apply the "law of parties"
to capital cases, allowing accomplices to pay the ultimate penalty
for a murder committed by another. Mr. Foster was driving his
grandfather's rental car when one of his partners in crime killed
Michael LaHood.

That night in 1996, Mr. Foster and three of his buddies appeared to
be looking for trouble. They robbed a few folks, chugged some beers
and smoked marijuana. But, as all four have testified, murder was
never part of the plan. Mr. Foster and two others sat in the car
nearly 90 feet away when the fatal shot was fired.

They had followed an attractive woman into an unfamiliar
neighborhood, where they encountered her boyfriend, Mr. LaHood. The
other passengers have testified that they had no designs on robbing –
let alone shooting – him. And the admitted triggerman said that his
friends did not know what he was doing when he approached the victim.

But using the law of parties, prosecutors argued that Mr. Foster, who
was 19 at the time, either intended to kill or "should have
anticipated" a murder. For this lack of foresight, he has been
sentenced to death."

ACTION: Please pray for wisdom and godly justice to prevail. The
Governor has the power to stay Mr. Foster's execution, so a miracle
IS possible.

Just so you know where I stand, I am not a death penalty proponent...as Gandhi says "an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind"...and Derek Webb in his poignant lyric offers, "It's like telling someone murder is wrong, then showing them by way of execution". But this is clearly a case, based on sworn testimony, of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and being sent to the firing squad for it. Why do we as a state government insist that we follow the letter of the law when clearly we are the only one who seem to think the letter in question promotes life and communal highest good...Moral pride...it is at the heart of every mean-spirited and bigoted action or thought. Somebody, somewhere thinks that they have the right to speak for God...or they think they know exactly what God thinks...or they think they are God...Moral, spiritual pride...The very first Beatitude in Matthew chapter 5 says, "Blessed are the poor in spirit...". In other words, blessed...on the right spiritual path...are you when you recognize that you have absolutely nothing to brag to God or anybody else about...humility and servanthood, not pride and arrogance are the characteristics of those who shall, "see God". I have to put my sadness and anger under that same microscope tonight.

Kenneth Foster has become a man of peace and humility in these last 10 years in prison...he has helped work to change the system peacefully from the inside with the very little power he has as an inmate. He is also a poet that is approaching the seemingly last few days of his life with passion and gut-wrenching honesty. Like this...

a lone star statement
by Kenneth Foster

unbossed & unbought
i don't bow to the
lies concot by
belligerent's slithering tongues
seeking to systemize
my meditative system of
serene silence
allowing me to elevate above this
mental, physical & spiritual violence of
Texas Corrections molestings—
Republic,
Repugnant,
Repulsive
elections
checking me in
boxes of neglected
being.

my seeing came w/
over 300 murders
pacified by fries,
burgers &
whatever you want except
your life,
your rights,
your freedom,
a chance to hug
your mama
who'll die twice after this drama
unfolding on a new age cross.

season tickets are bought
in a new kind of box w/
plexi-glass &
front row seats to gas,
electricity

So tonight, along with my friend Melinda, we join our hearts to pray for Kenneth Foster and his family, for Governor Rick Perry who could stay the execution, for a state who should prayerfully consider how it administers its most severe punishment, and for each of us to seek everyday to be "poorer in spirit".

Pling...Pling...

dg

But Officer, It Was Self-Defense...

2007-08-25T05:30:00.000-07:00

It's been a long week...nothing earth-shattering, I've just been on the road most of the last week getting my two youngest collegians squared away at their respective institutions of educational highway robbery...but college costs are a rant for another time...and since we're talking about highways, I spent a lot of time on them this week, and at very wee hours of the morning. Now if I owned satellite radio, this blog would have a different twist, but I don't, so instead, I was relegated to driving with one hand on the seek button looking for signal satisfaction along wide stretches of nowhere. Some of you know what that is like...much Tejano music, various and sundered preachers and evangelist on various and sundered soapboxes, talk show hosts who were living up to their moniker by conversing, some more intelligently than others about UFOs, bleeding heart liberals, Michael Vick, the price of pork bellies, online dating, and how much jail time should Nicole Ritchie, Paris Hilton, and Lindsey Lohan really deserve. It was a virtual broadcast wasteland...Now there was an occasional sane preacher, political pundit, or sports host who had a degree of modicum and a lick of sense, but it became perfectly clear that the vast majority of folks on the radio at 4a.m. are either incredibly stupid or deathly afraid...and I suspect that the latter was much more the case. The propensity to lash out in anger seems to directly correlate to a lack of trust in somebody or something that really wants and is capable of acting out of love, compassion and our best interest. So, apart from the folks who are playing this game for entertainment value, we have a whole lot of people, and not just ones on early morning radio who choose to erect walls, build fences, drop down into foxholes and fight out of self defense. Now, don't get me wrong...there are times when self-defense is necessary for survival, but I don't think it is the paradigm that should define the way we go about life. One of my favorite bands The Daylights, 2/3 of which is made up of two dear friends, Ricky and Randy Jackson, have a song entitled "Weapons" that features these lines "I walked alone to the edge of town, and there I threw my burdens down...and looking up at last I felt, you'll never love if you protect yourself. Lay down, lay down your weapons boy...right now, right now...you're sure to change the world..under it all you're not so tough, every one, everyone wants to fall in love..."

I think they are right...no matter how loudly we rant, or how much we posture, or even how definitively we make our case...we all just want to love and be loved...and our walls of self-defense get in the way of knowing and being known...so...lay down your weapons boy...I really believe that's the way to love...and speaking of love, after this week on the road I have several new websites for hair regrowth, weight loss, male enhancement and refinancing my home courtesy of early morning radio...

Pling...Pling...

The Fat Lady is Christ...

2007-08-17T12:40:00.000-07:00

Profundity sneaks up on you in the most surprising places...I'm not just talking about the occasional line of brilliance that fights its way to the surface, drowning amongst the flood of drivel in an Adam Sandler movie...or even the gem of songwriting that gets lost in the pervasive mediocrity of pop music. I had lunch today with a young lady, now a college student, that I met at a youth camp when she was an eighth grader. At that time she was being raised by a single mom who a drug addict and who was not only using, but thought it was a cool thing to do to supply them to her daughter and her daughter's friends. Even at that young age she knew what was going on wasn't good for her, so she left home...moved in with an aunt and uncle who took her in and provided the stable loving home that she craved... and has become an amazingly strong, bright, and productive young woman. As we talked today she was making some observations about relationships that were not only unexpected, but brilliant and profound given what she has had to endure and fight through.

Hannah has been working with less than privileged kids this summer at Austin Sunshine Camps, a wonderful summer long camp sponsored by the Austin Young Businessman's League that brings in 80 kids each week who otherwise would never get the chance to have a summer camp experience. Hannah has told me all summer about a remarkable young man, Paul Mosley who has spent a huge amount of time at the camps even though he is not officially a staffer. Some of you from the Austin area might remember Paul as a standout high school running back at Anderson High School. Paul went on to play for the Baylor Bears and Longhorn fans will remember the long touchdown run he ripped off against UT last year. Paul left the camp Monday to fly to Detroit for a tryout with the NFL Detroit Lions...all of that may not surprise you... what did me was Hannah's accounts of Paul's selfless and consistent time and energy poured into these kids when he could have been hobnobbing with his agent or hanging out at training camp with the big boys (literally). Instead, he finished his tryout and then flew directly back to Austin to be with the kids the last full day of camp for the summer. Now Paul attended Sunshine Camp as a camper, and later returned as a counselor so he has some history with this camp and organization, but I was fascinated by his humility and commitment to this camp of kids who would be far, far from the thoughts of most potential NFL players the second week in August. I don't really know him, but I respect Paul Mosley.

Most people know the work of author J.D. Salinger, deservedly, through his most celebrated writing...Catcher in the Rye, a profound coming of age story, but last year Ariele gave me a copy of another Salinger work, Franny and Zooey. It is another piece of classic Salinger that I certainly enjoyed reading, but when I got to the last two pages I, literally dropped the book and even though I was on an airplane at the time, exclaimed "no way!" After I assured the flight attendant that I was OK, I picked up the book and reread this passage, "...And don't you know--listento me now--don't you know who that Fat Lady (in the audience) really is? Ah, buddy. Ah, buddy. It's Christ Himself. Christ Himself, buddy."

Billy Crockett released a record a little over 20 years ago entitled, Surprises in Disguises. I like that. It really is true that God shows up in and around and in the middle of the strangest people, circumstances and events. I still don't expect it much in an Adam Sandler movie, but He keeps on surprising me with disguises every day...and that makes following him all the more the adventure it really is supposed to be...Heck, the fun of the faith is often just keeping up...and looking for him in the eyes of the college student, the running back, the Fat Lady in the audience...Which is all the more reason they should bring back Joan of Arcadia...but don't get me started, buddy...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Happy 2nd Birthday Mr. T (Thomas Bickle)!

2007-08-16T21:54:00.000-07:00

Eagles- Wasted Time

2007-08-13T22:03:00.001-07:00

Wasted time?

2007-08-13T20:09:00.000-07:00

One of my all-time favorite Eagles' songs came from the Joe Walsh era and was entitled "Wasted Time". The lines that always got me in those days were, "You never thought you'd be alone this far down the line... And I know what's been on your mind. You're afraid it's all been wasted time." Well I was in my twenties then and not married...a few years later I met the girl of my dreams, got married, had three beautiful daughters and 13 years later, watched the girl of my dreams walk out of my life and our marriage. The girls stayed with me and the last 12 or so years have been wonderful, excruciating, amazing, exhausting, and exhilarating all at the same time. In those years, I managed to continue to work 50-60 hours a week as a minister with teenagers and still be a single parent for three young girls. The job and the parenting was all I had time for...or maybe it was all I rationalized that I had time for. Money was always, always tight and there didn't seem to be enough to go around for housing, food, clothing for three maturing young ladies and school expenses, without doling out more to be dating and entertaining. It wasn't a huge sacrifice...and I'm not just saying that...it just didn't ever make it high up on the priority list most of the time. There were a few romantic scares that had me thinking about that kind of relationship again, but they never lasted long and maybe I sabotaged them before they ever got a chance...I'm not sure...I just know that my oldest now lives on the other side of the country in Oregon, my middle daughter finishes up her summer camp counselor job this week and we make the 14 hour drive on Saturday to haul her stuff back up to Nashville for school. And then my youngest gets home on Saturday also coming back from a camp counseling responsibility and we haul her stuff up to Arlington on Monday to get her back in school as well. So, I'm sitting here some 25 plus years after I first listened to those lyrics and wondering if they don't REALLY apply to me now, way more than they did when Don Henley first sung them. It is true that in one sense, I never thought I'd be single this far down the line, but in a very very true sense, I really am not alone, even if I'm still single. I wouldn't trade anything for the relationship I have with my daughters now...I repeat ANYTHING! There are certainly things I would do differently now if I had it to do over...I would probably would still do the paisley shirts and the beard and Afro...the mullet, probably not, the bell bottoms...not so much...bell bottoms on a 5"4" guy look like calf dresses...not so attractive. But, I have way more friends than I deserve and the relationships along the way that still bless me 5, 15, 25 years later are incredibly humbling. So when Hannah and Calla head off for school this week, I'll check in every week or so, Ariele puts up with talking to me every couple of days... and my big lug of a dog, the Great Pyrenees named Cleveland, slobbers on my pants leg every night when he puts his humongous head on my knee...and I have this ridiculously understanding faith community that allows me to do my thing with them and a staff of friends who work beside me...so single maybe...alone...kinda...wasted time...not a chance!

Pling...Pling...

dg

A Portland Poetress

2007-08-10T15:17:00.000-07:00

Just a quick opening word...Mr T...Thomas Bickle, the gutsy little two year old who is battling cancer that I mentioned in an earlier blog, had his surgery today to remove another tumor, and his mom reported this afternoon that the surgery went well...I'll keep you updated when I find out more...

And while we are speaking of children, I have three of the grown-up variety, at least they are 20, 21 and 24 years into being grown-up, and I am equally proud of all three. I know parents are supposed to say that even if one of them is an evil Chucky child...which none of mine are...they are, in fact, all beautiful, all smart...occasionally smart-asses...refreshingly cynical, and remarkably independent and free-thinking young adults...and I wish I could take credit for it, but everyone who knows us knows they are just pretty special. Anyway the eldest of that trio is Ariele, which is pronounced like the letters R...E...L... It is Hebrew for "lioness of God", but the traditional pronunciation comes out sounding like "aerial" (you know the thing sticking up on the front or back of your car that lets you listen to annoying talk radio) so we softened the beginning "a". One of our friends early on called her "REL Speedwagon" which regretably, never quite stuck. Ariele lives and works in Portland, Oregon with an organization called The Burnside Writer's Collective. She has been a writer since she was old enough to collect thoughts and put them down on paper, walls, encyclopedia margins and anywhere else she could find. When she was in the 7th grade, she was a part of the gifted and talented program for a school district outside of Austin, and the teacher who worked with that program called me one day and said, "Mr. Gentiles, I'm a little worried about Ariele's choice of reading material for this special literary project we are doing which involves choosing a book regarded a "classic" and then constructing a tangible representation of the great themes and messages of this work." When I asked her what the issue was, she replied, "Well...she has chosen Fyodor Dostoevsky's "The Brothers Karamazov" and frankly Mr. Gentiles that is a book most students don't read until upper level college courses, and then they are usually English majors specializing in Russian literature...I'm just concerned that the reading will be too difficult and it would only set her up for failure." I thanked her for her concern and diligence, but assured her that Ariele could handle it...which she did beautifully. When she was a sophomore in high school she submitted a paper on Herman Melville's "Moby Dick", making the case that this classic work was, in fact, an example of one of the first literary works of postmodernity. Now that was in the late 90's when theologians, philosophers and educators had just begun to debate the postmodern cultural paradigm shift. I was not surprised. She entered her college undergraduate work as a pre-med/forensics major. She was CSI before CSI was cool, but at the end of her sophomore year changed her major to English because she missed the outlet that writing and literature provided in feeding her soul...and today she is one of the rare English graduates actually doing work in her field... I don't know all that awaits her along her journey, but her unique passion and insight has left an indelibly written impression on this dad's heart... I'm proud of who she is and who she is becoming.

Here's a example of a post from a few days ago on her own blog Saint Vespertine to give you some insight as to why I love her and her writing so...

human beans.

i like to playtend that we human beans
are more than just ivory sinew and skin,
more than thewless puppets on
stringsSuspended from clouds
dancing us onward to mortal fate’s end.

and those

red beating hearts sagging on shirtsleeves,
stitched and re-stitched with gossamer threads
of hope and the like, repairing the rends
split by those knock-about kinds of dreams
and sinister forces seemingly unseen.

yet then there’s

the art of growing up into cleverish beasts
of vague and clawing responsibility,
stretching our skin and excavating our bones
into adult-sized tombs, long red claustrophobic rooms
to lie and wait, lighting fires for heat
against the cold prospect of death and defeat.

so

i hold my red kite against the blue of the sky
and count the dust clouds as the ambly pull by.

Roar on "Lioness of God"...

Pling...Pling...

dg

Baseball Bean Berry Berry Good to Me...

2007-08-05T16:08:00.000-07:00

Barry hit 755 and A-Rod hit 500 over the weekend...One more and Barry breaks Hammerin' Hank Aaron's all-time homerun record, which Henry wrestled away from The Babe in April of 1974. Barry will most certainly hit the inevitable "records-were-made-to-be-broken" magical #756, perhaps before this blog is posted,, and his less than warm, fuzzy relationship with the public and press, and his alleged juicing notwithstanding, it will be a hallowed baseball moment...At least it will be for me. See, I had this love affair with baseball long before I recognized how deep blue Vickie Roy's eyes were sitting beside me in my 4th grade class at Howell Park Elementary. Aaron, Mays, Mantle, Ford, Dean, Feller, Dimagio, and Williams were the objects of my affection. I had all of their cards, I combed the boxscores every daybreak in The Morning Advocate just minutes after the paper boy deftly deposited it at the foot of the holly bush beside our driveway... and they were the ones who had me out on our neighborhood sandlot, every daylight hour of every summer vacation day. I loved baseball...I still do...so yes, I care about the homerun record, but it is much more for me about Hank Aaron's name resurfacing for another generation of baseball fans to know and appreciate a genuine real life superstar and sports hero. He came along just a few years after Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in baseball, so he also faced many of the same injustices and endured many of the same hardships that all African-American players faced in those early days. His first professional baseball paycheck came with the Indianapolis Clowns of the storied Negro leagues. He led them to a championship in his rookie year and was signed by the Boston Braves who moved to Milwaukee not long after Hank became a Brave. He was a natural 5-tool (hitting for average, hitting for power, catching, throwing and running) gifted athlete, and although he had great success in the Negro League and the minors hitting crosshanded...left hand over right... he still became a quiet, but powerful leader in the game. I distinctly remember the fall of '67 when Robert "Hiya" Didier came back to our one of our fall baseball practices. Hiya had been an all-state catcher for us the two previous years while I was a freshman and a sophomore. In those two years we were the Louisiana state champions the first year and we had been eliminated in the state semis the next. Hiya was one of the main reasons for our success. He was smart behind the plate, handled pitchers like a sports psychologist, had a cannon for an arm and literally attacked the ball when he was at bat. He was the finest all around player I ever was on the field with in high school or college. He was drafted by the Atlanta Braves right out of high school and he was back that fall to visit us and tell us what his first spring training was like with the Braves. We wanted to talk about him and his first training camp...all he wanted to talk about was Hank Aaron...what a classy guy he was...how he yanked pitches a foot off the plate 450 feet into the left field upper deck, and how he had the strongest, quickest wrists of anyone he'd ever seen. I wasn't there to see Hank, but listening to "Hiya" I sure imagined I was, and my respect and admiration for him grew. Everyone knew, both during and after Hank was quietly chasing down Ruth's record, that he endured ridicule for his audacity as a black man to erase the hallowed Babe Ruth's longstanding record,and even received death threats...and yet he handled it all with dignity and class.

Yup. Barry will break Henry Aaron's career homerun record by a few...maybe even a lot... and that record will probably be broken by the same A-Rod who hit his 500th homerun on Saturday when Barry tied Hank, but neither will ever replace the gentleman hero, Hammerin' Hank Aaron...my hero 45 years ago...my hero today...

Pling...Pling...

dg

A Clueless (but learning) Single Parent Dad

2007-08-01T11:16:00.000-07:00

I have been a single parent DAD for the last...oh...twelve and a half years...with three kids...with three kids who were GIRLS...yup...I'm bad, I'm BAD! Actually the truth was...there were times, especially early on, when I wasn't very good at it at all. Now, I think I was always a pretty good dad, just not too hot at spinning all of the plates that single parents have to keep an eye on. Because I have worked with teenagers all of my adult life, and I talked with and worked with families of all kinds, I thought (I really did) I knew kinda what the issues were, and that single parents were just like two parent families with a few minor challenges. I was an idiot (on more than just that issue, but that one in particular), because I quickly found out that the dynamics and unique challenges of being out there on a limb by yourself with little or no backup in the daily routine of life is something you don't really understand until you have been there. My girls were 7, 8 & 11 when we started this adventure together (they are now 24, 21 & 20) and they have grown into incredibly amazing young women in spite of the laborious chore of having to help me have a single parent clue, as well as do their own work of growing up in this crazy culture.

So....since I'm new to this blogging thing, I don't know what protocol is, but I think I'll spend a while on this blog talking a little about the single parenting experience, telling a few stories on my girls (with their permission) and myself, and maybe it will be a help to somebody who needs a laugh or a little encouragement for a similar situation...doesn't mean I won't break in from time to time with something I can't stand not talking about it...but that's the call for today. Come along for the ride if you'd like...

Pling...Pling...

dg

What Would Jesus Drive...A '51 Chevy Pickup...?

2007-07-30T10:11:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in a circle of teenagers yesterday when the question was tossed out to be kicked around, "Is there something you always wanted, but never got?" There were several standard "I'm clearly in the throes of puberty" kinds of answers, that I awkwardly identified with, along with several answers that were remarkably profound, and not only way beyond what I would have offered when I was their age, but considerably more self-aware that I would offer now. The proof...my answer...a 1957 cherry red Corvette.
Now in my defense, there were very few teenage boys with a pulse in the mid to late 1960's who did not also lust after that high octane beauty...but it got me to thinking. A couple of weeks ago I was in North Louisiana at a camp and my friend John strolled over to my beloved 1993 ford F-150 pickup truck and cattily asked, "Dave, have you ever owned a vehicle that was not at least 10 years old?" It was a fair question...we don't see each other very often and the last three vehicles he had seen me drive were the '93 pickup, a '91 Montero, and a '73 Caprice Classic (yeah, I know , sweeeeet!). The last new car I bought for the family to drive was a 1986 Colt Vista...a bold, but crappily designed, step by the Chrysler Co. to blaze a trail into the new SUV/wagon/van market. 200,000 miles (it had spunk if not much else) later it gave up the ghost, and I decided I would drive pre-owned cars from there on out. My first car, that I bought while in college with hard-earned minimum wage ($1.60 at the time) dollars for $500 cash money, was a beautiful 1962 Impala Super Sport hard top. It's puny little 265 hp engine was about half of the power of the Corvette I had dreamed of, but it was a champ and drove the 1000 mile round trip from Baton Rouge to Baylor U. many many times over the next three years. One of the things I've come to realize about myself as I've grown a lot older and a tiny bit wiser, is that most of my early car dreams were about image and not practicality or utility. So were my houses and my clothes, and a bunch of other things I decided I wanted and needed. A number of years ago, Sociologist Tony Campolo got into a little hot water (not a new experience for Tony) by making the statement that Jesus would never have driven a BMW. I'll let you take that one up with Tony, but the furor and discussion led eventually to a website (not started by Tony) called http://www.whatwouldjesusdrive.org/. I'm not kidding...but I love it, because it calls us to examine not only our motives, but out priorities in using the resources God has given... and not only us personally, but the also those he has given us as caretakers of this planet.

So..I'll hang on to my pickup as long as it will run, and I have moved out of the suburbs into town to be close to the office and save gas...and I'll keep looking for ways to be a better steward of my stuff. By the way...even though I still think the '57 Corvette is a beauty, I've set my sights on a new dream vehicle...a 1951 5-window Chevy pickup...yeah, just like the ones in the middle of every Old Navy store with the plastic dog sitting up in the front seat...now that is a sweet ride...without the 150 assorted t-shirts sitting on the back fenders.

Pling...Pling...

dg

Cancer bites...Thomas rules...

2007-07-27T12:58:00.000-07:00

So this is my very first blog post. And... I really intended, when I finally joined the blogwagon, to write something incredibly witty charming and powerful...which would never have happened, but at least I intended that way. I have followed the blogs of some of my friends and favorite people and have been encouraged to follow suit by friends and family, but it never happened...until now...Thomas (http://www.thomasbickle.blogspot.com/) has inspired me...Thomas is an active adorable, rambunctious nearly two year old with amazing parents, Scott and Sarah Bickle, who this past week got the gut wrenching news that Thomas's cancer had returned. Yeah, I know... when you are two, the words "cancer showed up" should never have to be spoken, but " the cancer returned" is completely unacceptable. The tumor (ependymoma) was discovered when he was 6 months old, was removed, chemo and then radiation were administered over the next year. Things have been going well lately, until the news this week that a new small tumor had been discovered. There will be surgery early next week and then more chemo for the brave Mr. T. A couple of things come to mind...but mostly I'm just angry...This is not even remotely fair...and if I even hear one of you begin to breath those words "but life's not fair!", I'm gonna clock you with my harp...OK, I don't really have a harp and my Martin is too pretty and of sentimental value to waste even on sensible violence. Still remains...this is not fair...I'm not really mad at God...I am old so, eventually you learn that all of these things you have witnessed and experienced don't match up with a God of mercy and compassion and justice. Which means there is another explanation or God doesn't exist. Because I am old I have a whole lot of stuff in column A that won't let me blow off the notion of God. It just has convinced me that God is not consulting me on every disappointing thing that happens in my life, and we... as really irresponsible tenants in this amazing creation of his really don't deserve our deposits back. We, if fact, have set some scary shit in motion with our "we are rockstars and we can trash the Holiday Inn Express room if we want" attitudes about living in community and being responsible stewards of the planet we call home. And Thomas had absolutely nothing to do with that.

But Thomas still has cancer and I'm still crying tonight for him and Scott and Sarah...and I'm still praying because I still believe that they belong in column A.

Pling, Pling...(that's harp strings signing off...)

dg