Monday Morning Music Ministry

8-31-20

My late wife and I had a formula for dealing with matters that helped contribute to a happy marriage. I would concentrate on the big issues that arose; and she would handle all the minor matters.

Therefore, I addressed things like nuclear disarmament, the World Trade Organization, and amnesty for illegal border crossings. Nancy handled the small things like household budgets, car insurance, and the mortgage.

It actually worked out well. Behind most jokes and pathetic confessions in life, as this is, there are principles that represent truth and tangible benefits. “Tangible,” in my analogy, is the lesson that life is made up of “big” and “small” matters – a cliché in itself – but meaning that we often are seduced into thinking that correct decisions about “big” challenges are sufficient to bring success.

Ignoring or dismissing the “small” matters in life is like building a house on a foundation of sand. Both types of challenges are essential to address, but the “small” matters comprise the mortar that holds the bricks of our lives together.
This too is an old chestnut, you might think, but I saw these clichés in a new light as I prepared the annual “kids leaving home” message here. This year, the pesky virus turns that topic on its head too – children going away to college, or other Rites of Autumn. Some kids leave, some stay, others will be somewhere in between this year.

I have observed about children growing up under our care that the days seem to drag… but the years whiz by. And they are gone before we know it. Life shouldn’t work that way, but life seldom follows our scripts.

I see my two grandchildren in Northern Ireland a couple times a week, and even so “I can’t believe how they’re growing!” – which is great, but a distant second to in-person contact. You can’t hug a Skype screen, which how we visit. I have two other grandchildren 45 minutes from my house, but because of an argument whose details I totally forget, I have not seen my daughter or them for three years, except briefly once by a mistake. Life shouldn’t work that way, either.

I have been touched by a song since before the first of my three kids even went off to college, and I share it every leaving-the-nest season. Now all three are in and out of college, in professions, successful and busy. I have grandchildren, as I say, and for all these factors, there is another script I cannot write, nor would want to – that life could switch itself into reverse gear. It is great to see children leave, and a great and proper fulfillment, unto lives of their own. And, I suppose, they will have bittersweet tears when their own children leave their nests.

When we stop and think – when we stop to think – the “big” moments in a family’s life can make us smile with pride or chuckle at significant milestones. But the “small” things, the mortar that holds us together, things like drawings from grade school, lamps in the attic, toys from birthdays past, memories of little joys and (ultimately unimportant) childhood crises… those are what we cherish best and miss the most.

For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.
A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to harvest.
A time to kill and a time to heal. A time to tear down and a time to build up.
A time to cry and a time to laugh. A time to grieve and a time to dance.
A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones. A time to embrace and a time to turn away.
A time to search and a time to quit searching. A time to keep and a time to throw away.
A time to tear and a time to mend. A time to be quiet and a time to speak.
A time to love and a time to hate. A time for war and a time for peace.

There is a season – turn, turn, as the song puts it. I understand. I have read the script. But sometimes these old bones find it a little harder to dance to the script’s music.

Thank God for all things. But remember to savor the small things.

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Click: Letting Go

5-19-14

A report from Colorado — Estes Park YMCA Conference Center, surrounded by late snows, young deer and elk, hundreds of professional and aspiring writers at the Colorado Christian Writers Conference. I have been on faculty, and critiquing the work of creative people yearning to Write His Answer, in the words of the conference motto.

In keynotes and session speeches, in prayer circles, the topics were many, but — as in other years, and without human direction or agenda — a matter of concern kept asserting itself: children. The crisis with children. Poverty here; AIDS in Africa; child sex trafficking in Asia; schools, orphanages, corruption in Swaziland; forced prostitution of young girls — children — in Thailand.

And when children are not parts of the headlines, they are parts of the story, the subtexts.

To speak about decline in morals and the media… we recognize that children are prime targets.

To speak about human trafficking… children are the victims.

To speak about the AIDs crisis in Africa… children suffer as the infected AND as orphans.

To speak about the persecuted church worldwide… children are the battleground of cultures suppressing Christianity.

In America – drugs: children. Education: children. Pornography: children. Poverty: children. Homelessness: children. Broken homes: children. Abortion: children.

It is a cliché to say that children are our future. But clichés are clichés because they are, first of all, true. However, children do not HAVE to be the first-in-line victims of a culture in decline. But they are. They cannot defend themselves; they believe what the culture tells them; they are the most vulnerable.

When I talk about headlines, it is literally the case. Recently 300-500 girls were kidnapped by a radical Islamist group in Nigeria. The kidnapper’s leader has gone public, blatantly threatening horrific fates, hinting of swaps of the innocent children for his fellow monsters in local jails.

Almost lost in the media coverage, and clearly a subordinate concern of the US government, is the little detail: the children are Christians.

If it is not becoming acceptable in the eyes of our media and government, it is at least a reflection of the frequency — almost to the point of boring triviality — that children, and Christians, and Christian children, are persecuted, brutalized, raped, jailed, and driven from their homelands.

In 1904 an American citizen was kidnapped in Africa. The businessman, Ion Pedecaris, was a pawn in the factional rivalries of the Pasha Raisuli and his Arabian government. A little history lesson: the First Lady of the United States did NOT pose for a photograph with a sign (as Michelle Obama did this week with the handwritten Twitter hashtag and “Bring Back the Children”). No, her husband, President Theodore Roosevelt, sent a message to that African government: “Pedecaris alive or Raisuli dead.”

The man was freed.

I know it is a fantasy, but I got to thinking, this week in Colorado, if Mrs Obama — I would settle for a cartoon of Uncle Sam — could hold a sign that said: #Bring back our sense of proportion… or justice… or honor… or respect for children… or defense of Christianity. As I said, I am afraid this is a fantasy.

Let us remember the children – care for them, protect them, cleanse their environment. If our generation has messed up, maybe the best thing we can do – not the only thing, but surely the FIRST thing – is to beg their forgiveness. And God’s.

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Here is a tender lullaby Slumber My Darling, written more than 150 years ago by a man I am increasingly persuaded was America’s greatest composer, Stephen Foster. It is performed by Alison Kraus, (amazing) vocals; and YoYo Ma; Mark O’Connor; Joshua Bell; and Edgar Meyer. The images are by the amazing Beanscot Channel.

Slumber, My Darling

5-16-11

I am rounding out the week at the Colorado Christian Writer’s Conference in Estes Park. One of the two such annual events chaired by Marlene Bagnull (the other is in Philadelphia in August), this conference is a magnet for veteran writers, aspiring writers, editors, and publishers. It overflows with practical training and teaching, but not the least of its offerings –- and blessings -– is the spiritual uplift.

Despite this economy, registration was higher this year then last year. Creative people are more passionate about telling God’s story (“Writing His Message,” from Habakkuk 2:2) than ever! And there is a message to tell.

The theme of this year’s conference, for the morning and evening sessions and keynotes, was the crisis in the culture, writers being engaged to save our nation.

It struck me that over the course of the week, no matter what the focus, there was a unifying theme. Of course the decaying culture, and other obvious headlines, connected the dots of all the talks and presentations. But an underlying subtext –- one that should grieve us all -– became evident in spite of ourselves.

To speak about decline in morals and the media… we recognize that children are prime targets.

To speak about human trafficking… children are the victims.

To speak about the AIDs crisis in Africa… children suffer as the infected AND as orphans.

To speak about the persecuted church worldwide… children are the battleground of cultures suppressing Christianity.

In America – drugs: children. Education: children. Pornography: children. Poverty: children. Homelessness: children. Broken homes: children. Abortion: children.

It is a cliché to say that children are our future. But clichés are clichés because they are, first of all, true. However, children do not HAVE to be the first-in-line victims of a culture in decline. But they are. They cannot defend themselves; they believe what the culture tells them; they are the most vulnerable.

Let us remember the children -– care for them, protect them, cleanse their environment. If one generation messed up, maybe the best thing we can do –- not the only thing, but surely the BEST thing –- is beg forgiveness and leave them a better world.

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Here is a tender lullaby Slumber My Darling, written more than 150 years ago by a man I am increasingly persuaded was America’s greatest composer, Stephen Foster. It is performed by Alison Kraus, (amazing) vocals; and YoYo Ma; Mark O’Connor; Joshua Bell; and Edgar Meyer. The images are by the amazing Beanscot Channel.

Click on: Slumber, My Darling