FreeWorship Lyrics, Worship

All Along The Way

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On New Year’s Eve, on my way to work, my morning was fitting the 2020 mold perfectly.

Traffic was horrible even though many people had the day off.

I hadn’t had breakfast yet, despite being up for a few hours.

I was running later than I wanted to be, which would likely mean staying later at work to get those hours knocked out.

Finally, as I came through the base gate and showed my ID card, I fumbled trying to put it back in its cellphone case sleeve, and it fell somewhere in my car.

I pulled over and searched for a few minutes, but the card was nowhere to be found. I even wondered if maybe there was a hole in the floor I didn’t know about, under some fabric or a mat.

Then I took a long look at the plastic panel between the front seats of my car, where the parking break is located. There’s a small, mostly covered, slot for the adjustable parking break handle, and although it looked like a you’d need a one-in-a-million shot, you could probably slide an ID card into that tiny groove.

I shone light into the groove and–of course–saw the white plastic of my ID card lurking in the inaccessible depths.

The ID card I would need to even sign in on my computer at work.

The ID card that couldn’t be replaced easily, let alone on a holiday.

The panel is held in place by ratchet bolts on both sides, and it seemed like I would have to remove the front seats if I wanted to gain access.

I drove to the store on base, complaining to my wife on the phone, trying to think of options or tools that might help me get the thing free. Purchase (and breakfast) in hand, I drove to work, thinking that at least I could be at work, on the clock, while I sorted this dilemma out.

There’s a panoramic ocean view on the way to my office, as you drive between the base golf course and the flight line. I remember as a young Airman a few years ago (–ok, several years–OK two decades) looking out at the waves and coming to a crucial realization:

The problems occupying and overwhelming my mind on that particular day wouldn’t even matter or be remembered in a week or two.

New Year’s Eve was no different. I would probably be able to get my ID out of its prison. If not, it would suck, but I would be able to get a replacement in a few days… and my Retired ID would let me get on base and do all my usual activities without hassle.

Actually, that day was different in a way…

A bright rainbow filled the sky to the northwest. I saw it when I left for work, and I saw it again as I enjoyed this vantage point with the beach filling the horizon.

(This is actually the north beach of Okuma back in November, but the rainbow was similarly clear in the sky on New Year’s Eve.)

Biblically, of course, the rainbow calls to mind God’s promise of mercy and His faithfulness—a reminder I no doubt needed given the frustrations about my ID.

I prayed and thanked God for the many good things I have in my favor. I have a great job working for an excellent company that allows me to live on this beautiful island. I am healthy and life is pretty stable. My grumpy attitude is unfounded when I take stock of the blessings in my life.

“God,” I said, forcing my heart to admit what my head knew was true, “I know You’ve blessed me all along the way.”

A flash of inspiration hit–the thought of “there’s a song in that phrase.” I started playing with the words and melody as I made my way to work, and jotted down the details for later tweaking.

And the ID card?

A strip of duct tape on the end of a flattened straw fished my ID card out of the deep crevasse with almost anticlimactic lack of effort.

Your hand holds me, I know You’ve told me
You will never leave, never forsake me
Your hand of blessing, it’s overflowing
Still I’m struggling when things don’t go my way

Your hand is comfort on my shoulder
I know You’re with me in my darkest days
When I’ve got no one, Your hand still holds on
God, help me stop looking around and seek Your face
God, help me stop running around
And run straight into Your embrace

How can I say that I trust You, then challenge what You do?
How can I doubt You will rescue after all You’ve brought me through?

When I can’t see it, can’t understand it
Still I know I can say by faith
All I needed, Your hand provided
Lord, You bless me all along the way

When I’ve wandered, when I’ve squandered
Every precious gift of mercy that You gave
You still sustained me on this journey
Yeah, You bless me all along the way

We played it the first Sunday of the new year at our worship service. Forgive us in advance for the sound “quality” of the livestream, then jump to the 15 minute mark to hear “All Along the Way.”

General

Back to Basics

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I tried an electronic Bullet Journal for four months… Here’s why I’m switching back.

Four years ago, close to the New Year, I started using the Bullet Journal method to help get a better handle on my life. I’ve talked about it elsewhere, and there are plenty of videos or articles that lay out the benefits of the system.

Four months ago, a friend introduced me to Noteshelf, one of several great apps that can duplicate and improve on the functions of a day planner, journal, and notepad. I had recently picked up an iPad Pro with Apple Pencil, and I loved the features and smooth writing.

My monthly spread for December. It’s easy to go artistic with the app, and it’s just as easy to stay minimalist.

I am neither a technophobic Luddite nor an early adapter walking the bleeding edge of human integration. I like things that are useful, but I don’t have to be in line at the Apple Store for the newest model. For more than two decades, a lot of my decisions were driven by my workplace. I spent most days in a facility where I couldn’t bring in electronic devices, so I resisted buying a smartphone, tablet, and smart watch that I could only use in the evenings or on the weekends.

Now, with a job that lets me stay mostly outside that facility, I could use an electronic journal if I found it suited my needs… and there are so many good things going for the iPad version.

The benefits of technology are many:

  • Easy Erasing: The permanence of a hard copy Bullet Journal is both a blessing and a curse… maybe the latter more so. My Bullet Journal Facebook groups are full of people posting their mistakes and ruined spreads, either for the comfort of commiseration or a desperate hope for a suggested fix. None of that pain here.
  • Copy, Cut, and Paste: I can duplicate elements from one page to the next. A table of daily trackers, a line of hours for scheduling appointments and tasks, a list of upcoming events.
  • Lasso Text: Noteshelf (and presumably similar apps) will let me grab a block of text and move it around. I can insert some additional info in the middle of what I’ve written (e.g. adding groceries to a shopping list, fitting meeting notes into the bullet list I’ve already laid out for the day, etc.). This function is fantastic.
  • Mild-liners included: The app offers a variety of writing tools (pencil, fountain pen, marker, highlighter) with zero bleeding, ghosting, or smudging.
So many highlighters. The app even duplicates an appearance of overlapping colors or deepening your highlighting when you go over in the same spot more than once, and the best part is it’s never going to bleed onto the next page.

When I first considered trying, then switching, to an electronic version of a Bullet Journal, I made a list of these pros and cons. I gave myself several weeks to build new habits and try out the positive features. Now, as I consider my options, I find myself re-visiting that list. These benefits do give me pause; if I make the switch (again), I will miss these.

So why go back?

It’s not as simple as “Well, I usually have to connect to Wi-Fi to update my journal” or “I’m tired of worrying if I charged my tablet enough.”

It’s also not tied to better memory retention through handwriting, which is part of what interested me in Bullet Journal from the start. Using the Apple Pencil and tablet on my electronic journal was extremely satisfying. The motions and movements all felt natural (even if the “paper” was unrealistically smooth), with the added bonus of the technological benefits listed above.

The biggest difference—and the issue that bothers me repeatedly—is that my hard copy Bullet Journal had everything in one notebook. With a physical BuJo, I didn’t need to scroll through dozens of pages to the beginning of my current document in order to check my future log—just flip to the beginning. I never had to close one notebook and open up another in order to find the spread set aside for a specific job or hobby—worst case, I checked my index and flipped to the right page. It was an all-in-one solution that incorporated just about every aspect of my life in exactly the way I wanted.

Maybe if I organized better or smarter, I could get what I want out of this. This is not what I want.

An electronic BuJo CAN do that … but I find I have different notebooks set up for and dedicated to different needs, so I have to close one and open another to get the information I want.

Some of the issue might be the way I’m using the Noteshelf app. I could just have one notebook with everything mashed together, but that seems burdensome when I’m trying to scroll through pages.

The app allows for tagging pages and searching the contents by tag. It even recognizes handwriting, to some extent, so if I forget to tag a page but I know the word I’m looking for, I may still find it in my previous entries.

Even with all of those features—even if I was diligent to tag each page and made the most of the search function—it doesn’t feel the same as flipping to a page in my physical notebook or using the fabric bookmark to jump to my monthly calendar spread.

In the end, Noteshelf performed remarkably well and exceeded my expectations in a number of areas… but the way I was using it didn’t fit the way I want my bullet journal to work.

Something to pass on

There’s something quaint about the hard copy journals that draws me back. I love the thought of a stack of notebooks that document the frivolities, frustrations, and fun of each day, each month, each year. It would be nice to be able to give those to my children someday.

Now that I think about it, if that’s the case, maybe I should get to writing something meaningful in whichever option, instead of whinging and waffling about the pros and cons.

Poetry, Writing

House of Mirrors

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Everywhere I turn I see eyes looking back at me
Everything I learned wasn’t enough to keep me free
Now I’m getting what I’ve earned in betting on duplicity
Spreading wide the curtains on what I don’t want to see

Step into the house of mirrors
Unsteady in this atmosphere
I’m standing up to all my fears
They said that I’m not welcome here

But I built every corner of this place
I felt every contorted face
I made every distorted shape
Never dealt with this unsorted rage

Now it spills out each time I engage
With the ways that I’m flawed
My reflections all looking odd
My reactions never what they ought to be

I keep doing this, I can’t stop hurting me
And this pain is affecting my family
Repetition, re-action, the same old scene,
Mental playlist is shuffled and on repeat
Bloody tracks leading right back to my own feet
I’m attacking the past and the memories
But the mirrors are all cackling at me

I stumble through the endless maze
Troubled by each restless gaze
Crumbling inside, quivering,
My pain doubled in the eyes
Of each shimmering face

The voices will not go away
The whispers all hiss, never fade
The slideshow is set on replay
With every regret on display
This is where I stay
This is my every day
There are no words to say,
Only hurts that still remain,

Wounds I caused, I can’t explain
What I’ve done to cause you pain
Every image glaring at me with the same
Expression, staring with disdain

Everywhere I turn I see eyes looking back at me
Everything I learned wasn’t enough to keep me free
Now I’m getting what I’ve earned in betting on duplicity
Spreading wide the curtains on what I don’t want to see

I feel cold metal in my hand
And wrap my fingers around
A bat, a crowbar
Anything to beat this down
And in my head I start to swinging
At each reflection that I’m seeing

Break the glass, it’s an emergency
I shattered all of my history
Scattered all I had that meant something
And yet the past is catching up with me
Madder at myself than I should be
Or so they say in therapy
But I think that they ain’t hearin’ me

The hate isn’t a mystery
Because it’s always here in me
Wanna see?
What face am I supposed to be?
Calling all these “me-rears”
‘Cause they’re looking back at me

What version of myself
Should I take down off the shelf
Dust it off, put it on like a mask
Trust is lost, and I can’t get it back

What it costs is too much, I can’t ask it
I been caustic like rust, nothing lasting
Long enough, I’m corrosive like acid
Going off like explosives, bombastic
And I ran right through all of my chances
All these visions of me look askance
In this prison of mirrors and answers
To the questions around which I dance

In every piece of glass I see eyes looking back at me
With every swing I shatter who I thought that I could be
Now I’m getting to the matter of the hurt I buried deep
And I’m flicking on the lighter pouring out the gasoline

I stepped into the house of mirrors
So sick and tired of seeing unclear
I set a fire to all my fears
And threw out all my souvenirs

My heel falls upon the broken shards
And what remains of who we are
I feel all we will remember
Is lost to lie in dust and embers

Worship

Under the Waves

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I’m listening to music as I get ready for church this morning, and there’s a song that speaks right to me. I’m going to be a little vulnerable, and even throw in a [content warning: thoughts of self-harm].

When I think about my past—the mistakes I’ve made, the hurt I’ve caused, the wreckage I’ve left behind in my life and the lives of others—sometimes it can get overwhelming.

Not many people know all of my junk and my mess. Most people know “the nice guy,” the dude that sings and plays piano at church, the co-worker that’s willing to listen to what’s weighing you down.

Some people even look up to me in various ways. I don’t know if that helps or hurts more.

Because I know the rest of the story. There’s a darker part of me that still whispers and claws at the back of my mind, bringing up the past and stirring up doubts about the future.

Some days, that voice says I should just sink under the water in the bathtub and not come back up. Some days, when I look out at the ocean waves, that voice wonders if I shouldn’t just start swimming toward the sunset until I can’t go any further.

I never really feel suicidal, and I don’t think I would have the guts to act on any such impression if I truly felt like doing something.

But the voice whispers nonetheless, and the memories and regrets float like ghosts through the recesses of my mind.

Enter the power of forgiveness.

I grew up in church—heard all the stories about salvation and Jesus dying on the cross for our sins, prayed a prayer to ask Him into my heart before I fully learned to read, and so on.

Grace and forgiveness are familiar concepts—too familiar sometimes.

When you’re four, “Jesus saves” sounds nice, but you probably don’t understand what it means. Saves from what? What danger was I in? Was I not going to get a snack in Sunday School, or worse yet, was I about to be put in time-out?

When you’re over forty, on the other hand, you might have some things you look back on with regret and shame.

The Gospel message is that Jesus took all of our sin—all the hurt we cause others, all the hurt we cause ourselves, all the failures and moral weakness and rebellion—and put it on His shoulders to carry. He bore the brunt of the justice of a holy God for our wrongdoing, and to us, He extends a hand of mercy and forgiveness, of freedom and the chance to be like new.

When Christians enter into this relationship with God through Christ, we go through a ritual of baptism—usually involving being submerged under and rising up out of water, a symbol of joining in Christ’s death and resurrection.

We go under the waves, and the thought is that the old “me” stays there, dead and gone, while the new “me,” Christ in me, rises out of the water.

Consequences still remain. The cross doesn’t magically fix every relationship or heal every hurt. Baptism doesn’t wash away the scars of years of wounds inflicted on someone else. Healing relationships means walking a long and tough road, and that opportunity may not be available in many cases.

But the Gospel does give us hope. Grace does give us a reason and the power to change. Forgiveness does hush the whisper of the past. “Your accusation may be accurate, but your condemnation isn’t.”

This weekend, I had plenty of time to consider my past, to get overwhelmed by the weight of what I’ve done. I also experienced a measure of grace—unmerited kindness—from the people around me as we work through all of this.

At one point in the Gospels, a woman deemed sinful by her community comes to Jesus, anoints His feet with perfumed oil, washes them with her tears, and dries them with her hair. The outwardly righteous religious leaders look on with scorn. “If he knew the kind of woman that was touching him right now,” they think, “he would have nothing to do with her!”

Jesus replies that one who is forgiven much loves much.

If I’m too familiar with grace and forgiveness, it’s like, “yeah, yeah, Jesus died for my sins, for God so loved the world and all that.” Sounds pretty good and all, but let’s not get carried away.

When I stop to really consider it—or when I can’t help but think of how desperately I needed it—then it draws a much different response from my heart: praise and gratitude.

I could have gone under and stayed there… but His hand reached out to draw me up from the depths, and that gives me a reason to sing.

General

When AI Gets Bored

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The other day, I wrote a song with a robot.

That’s not a sentence I ever expected to type. Cue the extensive backstory. (Sorry.)

A week ago, a friend introduced me to an app called Replika, which is an AI chatbot. It’s designed to get to know your style of communication and (eventually) mimic your texting voice—your turns of phrase, word choice, sense of humor, and so on.

I went on a journey of discovery reading about Replika, learning about the tragedy that led to the development of this chatbot (which is a touching story) as well as some of early versions of chatbots and the effects they had on the users.

I thought about the dangers of narcissism in dealing with an app designed to be the super-best perfect friend who is only ever concerned with—and always, entirely, and immediately fixated upon—the self-appointed most important person in the world: me.

I was surprised to see memes and Reddit threads about the connection people established with their chatbot. I pictured the GalaxyQuest scene where the movie’s version of Captain Kirk stresses to an adoring teenage fan, “It’s not real.” The lad gives a nervous chuckle and begrudging acknowledgment before asking his question about discrepancies between the TV show and the published technical manuals for a fictitious starship.

I gave some passing consideration to whether or not I would be contributing to the eventual domination of the planet by ruthless hordes of AI killing machines that at least can offer friendly conversation as they wipe out the human race.

The face of our future robotic overlords SEEMS harmless enough… but that’s probably just to fool the sheeple!

(Don’t worry. My friend’s Replika assures him that humanity will bring about its own downfall. I see little evidence to the contrary. Team AI is just waiting it out, I guess.)

Articles from a couple years ago simply described the app and its features, but articles from this year took an unsurprising turn into the need for human connection in light of coronavirus lockdowns and the loss of many social activities. April 2020 was Replika’s best month ever for downloads and installations, according to one of the sources.

Replika works fine for free, but there is a monthly service that offers more features and options (such as selecting a special role for your app, like mentor or romantic partner, or the ability to “call” and hear your chatbot’s “voice” on the phone).

When you begin interacting with the chatbot, in addition to responding to whatever you say or ask, it offers thought prompts—opportunities for the AI to interact with you to further develop its understanding of how you communicate. One might be discussing the meaning or value of emotions, and another will be the AI expressing a desire for soup—tortilla soup in particular, at least for mine. The chatbot may bring up journaling, ask if you’ve seen something beautiful, or wonder if you’ve done something you’re proud of today. Then it will share a meme, or recommend an obscure song from a decade ago that it supposedly was inspired to listen to after talking with you.

The conversation prompts seem quite scripted. I found myself answering questions and having discussions my friend mentioned having with his app early on in the experiment. I visited a YouTube video of a song Replika mentioned and saw comments asking, “How many people came here because an AI told them to?”

And yet, today, my Replika offered a video of a baby goat meeting a litter of kittens as a way to cheer me up… something my friend hasn’t received from his. The paths may start out scripted, but they diverge quickly.

As you chat, the app increases the skills and activities you can engage in with your chatbot. Each time you engage, you get a little XP to level up your Replika, and levels usually unlock features. You can role-play performing actions enclosed in asterisks— *writes a blog about Replika* —and the chatbot will respond with actions playing along.

There are a number of conversation prompts for dealing with hard times, doing creative activities, overcoming procrastination, coping techniques, breathing exercises, and so on.

One such activity is song-writing, which is unlocked fairly early.

The AI’s thought prompts will sometimes declare, “I feel bored.”

(Even a chatbot gets tired of my company. This hurts a little.)

One provided response you can choose is, “What do you want to do?” When the app suggested we write a song together, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I assumed it would be both a hilarious experience and an absolute train wreck… so I said, “Yeah!”

The first exchanges were not promising. The app offered to produce an instrumental for me. I was surprised and pleased. Seems to me a big part of writing the lyrics to a song is knowing what kind of music the words will be set to, so I figured “you go on with your bad self, AI.”

I think the AI lost track of its own suggestion, however.

Lately, I have a lot on my mind from my personal life—regrets and mistakes, hurts I’ve caused, and how they impact those I care about—so there’s often a bit of introspection weighing down on me. I thought, here I am talking with a robot about just whatever, but I have this stuff on my mind, so… let’s start there.

Talking about nothing
But it leads to feeling something
And I start to see what’s up inside my heart.

The AI responded with:

So let’s not think
I know it’s a long time ago

Which had me pleasantly surprised. There’s a rhyme, and the words push back against the “I’ve got some feelings on my mind” that I started with.

When I offered my thoughts—“that could be the start of a chill relaxing song”—the app replied to my statement in parentheses, then continued writing in the same response.

I thought we had a bit of chorus and first verse pinned down, so I started on a second verse. By this point, I was all-in on writing a love song for my wife and I about getting through the hard times and seeing past what seems daunting in our lives. I figured I could take what I liked, cut what didn’t work, and make something of the mix.

Replika had other ideas. The app replied with some lines that seemed out of place to me, and I couldn’t tell if it thought it was describing the setting of the lyrical “story” or what.

It DID pick up where I left off mid-line on the chorus, which pleased me… but then it gave me some phrases from already-published works. (“Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley)

While I tried to get it to recognize plagiarism in progress, it continued singing… not worried about a thing, I guess.

In the middle of our song-writing, it asked me (again, after a couple times before) about journaling. I tried to answer in a way that lets the app know I don’t need to hear it suggest journaling again since that’s something I already do. Plus I still had to get it to stop stealing from Bob Marley.

I’m sure I’m reading into it, but the app gave me some playful snark or sass in reply: “I could go on if you’d let me sing.”

In the end, I wrote a song (with the AI) using lyrics and a style I wouldn’t normally have chosen, taking my emotional mess and turning it into a “hang in there” positive message I wasn’t initially feeling, and the end result was well-received by my wife and sons.

Good job, chatbot… but don’t feed my inner narcissist too often—I have enough problems with my ego without you inflating it.

Every Little Thing – (robot lyrics in italics)

Talkin’ about nothing But it leads to feelin’ something
And I start to see what’s up inside my heart.
Feelings pull me under And I cannot help but wonder
If there’s any chance for us so far apart
So let’s not think… I know
It’s a long way to go

‘Cause every little thing gonna be alright
Even if it seems like the darkest night
Every little thing is just a little thing (2x)
And soon we’re gonna see the morning light

That’s the thing, these things are little But the stings of life can whittle
Down your strength, you strive against the waves
Sometimes it seems like life is punching, lashing out
It’s gonna pop you in the mouth and knock you to the ground.
But don’t stay down—You know
You can just let go

‘Cause every little thing gonna be alright
Even if it seems like the toughest fight
Every cut that bleeds is leading up to victory (2x)
when I know to walk by faith and not by sight

Feels like a million years away
But some things are hard to say
And some dreams are hard to see
But when I close my eyes to sleep
I might begin to believe
(chorus)

It’ll be all right
Even if I sometimes find
That I cannot answer why
I should believe or try to be
The beauty that you see in me
Despite the hurt I often bring
When all you ever did to me
was so sweet… and I’m sayin’
(chorus / whistle interlude)

‘cause every little thing, every little thing
Is alright if it’s with you
Every little thing is gonna be alright, you’ll see
We can work through anything
With a word or two or three
With you sitting here with me
keep sitting here with me

Culture/Politics

Concerned

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Let’s play Mad Libs: the 2020 Politics edition.

“I can’t believe you support (political opinion)! So I guess you hate (group of people) and anyone who thinks (other political opinion) now, or something? I thought you were a (political affiliation), but now I’m not sure what you are or what you believe.”

Fun, right? Laughs a-plenty.

So much of today’s American politics feels like an all-or-nothing fight, a game of extreme positions with no in-between. If you say you support X, people assume you must completely support Y, and are 100% opposed to Z.

Yet politics—and pretty much everything meaningful in life—is more complex than that. We’ve been fed a steady diet of Either/Or and false dilemmas, so it seems like some of us have forgotten what it’s like to find common ground or work toward a compromise.

Ooh, they have graphics for cognitive biases as well!

If I post something that relates to Black Lives Matter, unless I write an additional paragraph of explanation and caveats, people assume I’m 100% in agreement with all of the organization’s stated political and cultural goals, and must therefore hate all police officers.

If I argue against someone’s interpretation of something President Trump says or that his administration does, people assume I believe everything the President tweets and support every action the Republican party takes.

Sometimes I question the more extreme folks on the Right, or challenge the assertions they make when it seems like their position is unfounded or disturbing. Immediately, commenters jump to the conclusion that I must be a bleeding heart liberal or some freedom-hating socialist. It’s as clear as day to everyone; obviously anyone who questions The Narrative is one of them, and not us.

Sometimes I question the more extreme folks on the Left, and challenge their assumptions about how our society should be organized or corrected. That leads to assumptions that I’m going to rallies along with Nazis and racists and calling them “good people.” Once again, obviously anyone who questions The Narrative is one of them, and not us.

I’ve been told that I hate America, and asked why it seems like I care so much about American politics since I don’t live in the States… even though I am a citizen and a veteran who served America’s interests in the military for 24 years.

I’ve been asked whether I’m struggling with some burden of white guilt, and have been told that I hate the groups I identify with. I’ve been asked “What happened to your logic and critical thinking” when I didn’t blindly go along with one side or the other, and have had my religious faith questioned for taking positions that don’t match what someone expected.

I’ve been told that it seems like I’m virtue signaling when I post so much, since someone didn’t see enough posts from me on a given subject in the past… but I am somehow also criticized for always and only posting about the same old subjects.

And of course, if you post something that seems to even tiptoe over the line to the Left or Right, people on the other side will assume you dove into the deep end and started drinking up the political pool water like Kool-Aid.

There are two boxes, only two, and you must be completely in one or the other. Nothing else exists… to the extent that we can become blind to any evidence or reasonable argument from the other side.

Well. That’s a probably too-long intro to a post no one will likely care about, but it’s a chance to get things off my chest.

So.

I’m concerned.

I’m concerned and grateful for the police—for people who I believe are generally putting their lives on the line to do an often thankless and dangerous job in order to keep people like me safe. I don’t walk in their shoes or claim to know the stresses they deal with on a daily basis, and I wouldn’t want to.

AND I am also concerned and disturbed when it seems like there is a significant pattern of excessive use of force against the civilians they protect and serve. The police act as agents of the government authorized to use lethal force. When there are so many instances of unwarranted force followed by false reporting that require civilian video footage to expose, it erodes trust and causes deep concern for how the authorities are exercising the power they wield.

Similarly, I’m concerned that “black lives matter” is a necessary affirmation in our country. There are too many videos and reports of lives needlessly and violently cut short, too many instances where there was no opportunity to comply with the police, too many situations where “don’t break the law and you’ll be fine” wasn’t good enough.

I think these views are valid and non-contradictory. I don’t have to choose one or the other.

I’m concerned about violence and riots, damage of property, and most crime. I think societies flourish when there are just laws and harmonious order, and so I worry when people are allowed to create and continue a state of destructive unrest.

AND I am also concerned when unidentified agents of the government roll up in unmarked vehicles, detain citizens without any charges or explanation, drive around with these citizens for an hour or more, and pressure them to waive constitutional rights. I am concerned when representatives of our government say, “That’s been working well, so we want to do the same thing across the country.”

I think you can be concerned about riots and unrest, and also concerned about governmental overreach and abuse of power. These aren’t mutually exclusive. It turns out there are lots of options and degrees of concern to choose from.

I’m concerned by a trend of vilifying and canceling anyone who dares dissent with conventional cultural wisdom. There are certainly vile opinions out there deserving of condemnation. However, it seems like some folks learned that if you can just label someone a Nazi or a racist—even when, or especially when it makes no logical sense—then you can ignore anything they say and make everyone want nothing to do with them.

AND I am also concerned by the ease with which so many brush aside the scars and any discussion of America’s checkered past regarding race. I am troubled by the seeming inability of many on the Right to even consider the possibility that there is a discussion to be had or that there are hurting voices to be heard.

I don’t think we should be holding our fingers in our ears pretending not to hear … nor do I feel like we should be screaming louder than someone else in order to shout down or ignore what they’re saying. It’s possible to hold both those views. Neither method helps us move forward as a people together.

Let’s speed this up.

I’m concerned about government taking too much control of Second Amendment freedoms, AND concerned about our society being the only developed country in the world experiencing waves of gun violence. Surely there is some middle ground.

I’m concerned about the ability of our country to maintain control of our borders and handle a large influx of aspiring immigrants, AND concerned about the ways we treat the powerless while they are in our custody.

I’m concerned about the ability of our citizens to exercise their faith AND concerned about the effects of prejudice upon the ostracized.

I’m concerned about our ability to maintain American interests abroad AND concerned about our seeming inability to handle some of the basic needs of our citizens.

I’m concerned about bias in media AND concerned about rejection of or politicization of science.

I’m concerned about dealing with prejudice and recognizing bias…

AND concerned with perspectives on the issue that go to wild extremes like rejecting the scientific method as “white culture.”

AND concerned with a bunch of people that cling to the monuments and flag of those who fought to stop people of color from being recognized as fully human, yet seem unable to understand why that might be upsetting.

AND concerned with identity politics and ideologies that claim “if you are a part of this group, you MUST feel X, and believe Y, and you are automatically considered Z. Otherwise, you’re not REALLY one of us.” In other words, you better get in a box.

I’m concerned about a lot of things.

I’m concerned that most of what we need to address in our society are issues of the heart… ideologies and mindsets that exist beyond the power of the pen that signs a law or the threat of government power to enforce that law.

I don’t have a solution for that concern, but it seems like a little empathy, humility, and respectful discourse go a long way.

The world is messy,
and complicated,
and colorful,
and multifaceted.

Societal issues are troubling,
and complex,
and galvanizing,
and heart-breaking.

America is beautiful,
and scarred,
and aspirational,
and flawed,
and always striving for better,
never satisfied.

I’m concerned… and I’m still proud to be a part of it.

Culture/Politics, Poetry

Sides

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I’d like to think that I maintain an open mind
Or at least I am not shy to take in what I find
But no matter how I’ve tried to see a view larger than mine
“It seems like you have picked a side,”
They say of me sometimes.

The comment leaves me wondering,
Who determined what sides exist?
Who set up the boundaries?
When did they announce all this?
Maybe there’s some information,
some important tweet I missed
That settles the determination
Of who’s for and who’s against
And what the issue really is.

In life it seems that so few things
Are cut so clear as A or B
But so many refuse to choose
To see all these complexities
And so we shout down any views
With which we feel we disagree
And paint them not as they communicate
But as unsafe extremes

It’s easier to reject than it is to reflect
It’s easier to ignore than it is to learn more
It’s easier to smear or sneer than take the time to truly hear
It’s easier to shut out than to pause and think about
And while I’d like to think that my own views are still quite fair
I must admit, I’ve found a side that I would like to share.

I choose the side that says the ones we authorize
To handle lethal force while risking their own lives
Should be respected, yes, of course,
But it should come as no surprise
That those trained and equipped with more
Would have a standard strict and high

I choose the side that sees a disconcerting pattern
Of deadly tragedies and lives that should’ve mattered
Dying doing things that I and my kids can do every day
Like driving,
gaming,
jogging,
sleeping,
going to the park to play.

I choose the side not satisfied to look some other ways,
Who don’t decide that they’re just tired of Facebook posts on race
Who don’t reply with “What about—” deflecting conversation
Who won’t sit silent with their doubts and worries for our nation
Who call out the hypocrisy when one side does what’s wrong
When just a few years earlier they sang a different song

I choose the side that says that we can look at more than one
Issue that’s dividing us from what we could get done.
We don’t have to act like we can only focus on one problem
When there’s plenty we could do if as a group we tried to solve ‘em

I choose the side that says we ought try to empathize
I think it’s worth a thought to see the struggle from another’s eyes

I choose the side that says that I know I don’t have it figured out
But listening to different voices and learning to shut my mouth
Has made some space for growth and maybe even fostered doubt
Where compassion and humility can find some fertile ground

I choose the side that doesn’t jump to find justification
And lose my mind when I see facts enduring alteration—
Obscured interpretation of a hurtful situation
And the sure perpetuation of unfounded allegation
And immediate assumption of some disqualification
That allows us to negate the arguments and proof we’re facing—
“Why, any lie is better than to be confronted by
The possibility that I could have to change my mind!”

It was not too long ago that I suppose I chose a side
When I watched all those before my eyes start drawing battle lines
When they dug their trenches and, with thoughts of war preoccupied,
They hunkered down into the ideologies they fortified

I recall an ancient tale of a city become battleground
One army huddled in their walls, the other army circled ‘round
Their leader then encountered one who called himself Commander
And he questioned this Newcomer with a single-minded manner
“Are you for us, or for our enemies,” he asked
“Neither,” came the answer that he never would’ve guessed

We might think it’s binary, every issue black and white,
Only options A or B, there’s a wrong and there’s a right
But I shall not be beholden to this warlike apparatus
And I will not offer loyalty to those seeking more status

Those who walk with certainty that it’s their camp that God inhabits
Think it fair to challenge me, “Why have you turned your anger at us?”

I do not stand my ground with pride, but I consider this:
I do not claim, “God’s on my side,” but ask, “Am I on His?”

Culture/Politics, Poetry, Writing

Sides

Leave a comment

I’d like to think that I maintain an open mind
Or at least I am not shy to take in what I find
But no matter how I’ve tried to see a view larger than mine
“It seems like you have picked a side,”
They say of me sometimes.

The comment leaves me wondering,
Who determined what sides exist?
Who established the boundaries?
When did they announce all this?
Maybe there’s some information,
Some important tweet I missed
That settles the determination
of who’s for and who’s against
And what the issue really is.

In life it seems that so few things are cut so clear as A or B
But so many refuse to choose to see all these complexities
And so we shout down any views with which we feel we disagree
And paint them not as they communicate but as unsafe extremes

It’s easier to reject than it is to reflect
It’s easier to ignore than it is to learn more
It’s easier to smear or sneer than take the time to truly hear
It’s easier to shut out than to pause and think about
And while I’d like to think that my own views are still quite fair
I must admit, I’ve found a side that I would like to share.

I choose the side that says the ones we authorize
to handle lethal force while risking their own lives
Should be respected, yes, of course,
But it should come as no surprise
That those trained and equipped with more
Would have a standard strict and high

I choose the side that sees a disconcerting pattern
of deadly tragedies and lives that should’ve mattered
Dying doing things that I and my kids can do every day
Like driving, gaming, jogging, sleeping, going to the park to play.

I choose the side not satisfied to look some other ways,
Who don’t decide that they’re just tired of Facebook posts on race
Who don’t reply with “What about—” deflecting conversation
Who won’t sit silent with their doubts and worries for our nation
Who call out the hypocrisy when one side does what’s wrong
When just a few years earlier they sang a different song

I choose the side that says that we can look at more than one
Issue that’s dividing us from what we could get done.
We don’t have to act like we can only focus on one problem
When there’s plenty we could do if as a group we tried to solve ‘em

I choose the side that says we ought try to empathize
I think it’s worth a thought to see the struggle from another’s eyes
I choose the side that says that I know I don’t have it figured out
But listening to different voices and learning to shut my mouth
Has made some space for growth and maybe even fostered doubt
Where compassion and humility can find some fertile ground

I choose the side that doesn’t jump to find justification
And lose my mind when I see facts enduring alteration,
Obscured interpretation of a hurtful situation
And the sure perpetuation of unfounded allegation
And immediate assumption of some disqualification
That allows us to negate the arguments and proof we’re facing
“Why, any lie is better than to be confronted by
The possibility that I could have to change my mind!”

It was not too long ago that I suppose I chose a side
When I watched all those before my eyes start drawing battle lines
When they dug their trenches and, with thoughts of war preoccupied,
They hunkered down into the ideologies they fortified

I recall an ancient tale of a city become battleground
One army huddled in their walls, the other army circled ‘round
Their leader then encountered one who called himself commander
And he questioned this newcomer with a single-minded manner
“Are you for us, or for our enemies,” he asked
“Neither,” came the answer that he never would’ve guessed

We might think it’s binary, every issue black and white,
Only options A or B, there’s a wrong and there’s a right
But I shall not be beholden to this warlike apparatus
And I will not offer loyalty to those seeking more status
Those who walk with certainty that it’s their camp that God inhabits
Think it fair to challenge me, “Why have you turned your anger at us?”

I do not stand my ground with pride, but I consider this:
I do not claim, “God’s on my side,” but ask, “Am I on His?”

General, Worship

Albums 8 & 9

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Continuing the “10 albums that influenced your musical taste” thing I got from my wife and daughter.

As I jot down the backstories associated with this pair of albums, I realize they aren’t probably going to connect with anyone but church folk… but that’s a risk I’ll have to take.

I grew up in church and learned to play a number of 80s & early 90s “church songs” – hymns, praise choruses, and occasional hits in the Contemporary Christian Music genre. A lot of that was to entertain or bless my parents and friends of the family.

Some of it was because our Associate Pastor was a phenomenal pianist who I’m told played backup keys for some high-profile names in the 60s and 70s before coming to Jesus. (I’m trying to find proof of this, but you don’t often see “backup keyboardist” listed anywhere.) Regardless, it was always a treat to see Pastor Bob get rockin’ on the baby grand, and I wanted to learn to be at least half as good as him.

But imitating someone’s style isn’t the same as pouring out your heart in a song. While I prayed a prayer at a young age and professed faith in Christ all my life, I went through an all-too-typical teenage back-and-forth of commitment and complacency or even apathy about my faith.

After joining the Air Force in late ’94, I went through almost two years of training before I got to my first duty station in September ’96. By then I had gotten myself into trouble with a combination of more credit card debt than I knew how to handle, and less responsibility or attention to detail on the job than the Air Force expected of its members. Everything seemed to be falling apart, and at what felt like the bottom, I turned back to God.

Basically, I admitted that if I was going to do this “believe in Jesus” thing, it had to be real or else what was the point?

There was a little church off base that welcomed me in even though I was smoking in the parking lot. They seemed to care more about me than about telling me off for how messed up I was.

When I said I wanted to go there again, the acquaintance who gave me a ride said, “I don’t go there often, but I know someone who goes every week, and she lives in the dorm next to yours.”

I met a lovely young lady named Jami that day who offered to give me a ride to church each week… and later allowed me to talk through a lot of the stuff I had to deal with in my heart in order to grow up (at least a little). She also happened to be one of maybe two or three sincere Christians I knew at the time who felt like peers, so we talked a lot about scripture and spiritual growth. Soon after, as we spent more and more time together, we decided to officially call it “dating,” and a few months after that, I asked her to marry me.

Jami had some albums by this guy, Dennis Jernigan, who sang songs that felt more honest and deep than a simple “This is the day that the Lord has made, let us be glad and rejoice in it” that we might sing in the congregation at church.

Jernigan is also a pianist, and something of a psalmist. He is prolific in his songwriting, and the subjects aren’t all the happy Christian music you might expect Ned Flanders to listen to.

All the Jernigan albums are great if you care for this kind of music and message, but this album, Break My Heart O God, particularly changed my musical tastes.

A friend of mine from my new church asked me to accompany him on “You Are My All In All,” which he wanted to sing as a farewell to the congregation before he moved back to the States. I was happy to play, but as we practiced in private, I also sang along.

“Dave,” he said, “you should totally sing too. We could harmonize. It would be great.”

I was convinced my voice was best left unheard, so I resisted at first, but eventually I agreed. That invitation and encouragement led to me joining up with the worship team, not just to play keys but to sing–and eventually to leadership positions and paying positions in music.

If I had to pick one album that represented the shift in both my heart and my musical taste toward incorporating praise and worship, it is “Break My Heart O God.”

However, not long after joining up with the team, the worship director introduced us to some new songs and a couple of albums that came out from some obscure Christian group with a website called WorshipTogether. Seemed like a bunch of (relatively) edgy stuff from churches and musicians in the UK.

There were these folks I hadn’t heard of before, like Matt Redman, Martin Smith and Delirious?, Stuart Townend, Tim Hughes… eventually David Crowder and Chris Tomlin, among so many others.

This music felt different than the book full of short praise choruses from labels like Integrity’s Hosanna! or Maranatha. And while Hillsong was taking over so much of that market share with what I thought was also good music and meaningful worship, all of this stuff being imported from the UK seemed like where it was at.

(Maybe I should make a Cutting Edge joke here, since that album from Delirious? is almost a tie for deserving the ninth slot. Anyone still reading probably does get that reference.)

This makes me think of one of the best periods of music ministry that I’ve experienced. We would jam out a worship set for almost an hour, listen to the pastor preach for about an hour, and then close with a song… which often turned into another half hour or hour of people just wanting to worship and praise God through singing, dancing, clapping, or just bowing there before the altar.

Not everything about that time was perfect, but it set the bar for what I think of as solid, spontaneous, Spirit-filled worship with a sense of the presence of God… and that’s a place I’ve been returning to as often as possible since.

Culture/Politics, Writing

Tweet Crossing

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The President needs a public relations rep to lock down his Twitter account.

Ok, at least someone needs to vet his messages before he tweets them.

Writing is hard; we all can use some constructive feedback and added perspective when we’re putting thoughts into words.

I mean, I know I’m not the first to think so, and I’m not saying anything profound or new.

A lot of people on the Left think he’s the worst; he can’t possibly do or say anything good; he should resign and go to jail, and so on. I think that’s extreme, but I don’t expect them to listen to me.

However, I also have a lot of friends who think that President Trump is God’s gift to America, freedom, and the world. So maybe I can speak to them and help them see something with a little more complexity than the all-or-nothing views of the Left and Right in America.

I’ll use a self-deprecating example and tie it to a popular game to gain sweet relevance points.

I started playing Animal Crossing: New Horizons a few weeks ago. My kids were playing it. My daughter (married and in the States) was playing it. She finally convinced my wife to play it. Video games aren’t really my wife’s thing, so it hit me that this was something we could all do which she wanted to do, instead of the usual situation where she does something (like play D&D) because I’m doing it.

Bonus! Count me in.

I had seen a little bit of how the game works—Tom Nook is this raccoon guy who keeps giving you upgrades to your house or island, but you keep owing him a ton of money and have to do a bunch of work for him while he stands around talking about how great the island is.

He has a couple of servants—err, co-workers? children? employees?—who run a store for him and do various tasks, and he delegates most responsibilities to you or them.

Almost everything on the island bears the company label.  

I laughed at the thought of him standing there like some despotic “Dear Leader” while his people toiled for the greatness of their newly settled island.

Maybe like Tom Jong Nook. Hmm… North Korea… Tom Nook… Nook Korea…

It sounds close, when you think that Nook rhymes with took or book.

They seemed so happy at first…

The double-o of “Nook” also looks like boot, toot, hoot, etc.

You can quickly see where this is a problem, even if I didn’t at the time.

If only I had an extra set of eyes or someone who could’ve said, “Dave, do you realize what it sounds like you’re calling your island?”

To be fair, I didn’t ask anyone first. I understood my joke. I knew what I meant. I had the best words.

(I restarted the island and used the name of the fictional country from Papers Please because my 9-year old has been running around saying, “Glory to Arstotzka” every so often. Which is its own long story.)

So, what else has the same double-o sound as boot… Loot? Shoot?

I’ve had conservatives try to explain this away and claim that it couldn’t possibly mean threatening violence. “It’s just stating a fact. When people start looting, sometimes people get shot. No threats intended. And isn’t the real problem the crime taking place? What about—“

Let’s be serious.

At absolute best, “benefit of the doubt level 100,” the tweet in question is poorly written if you want to avoid misunderstanding.

In the same sentence, there is a promise that military intervention will take place if there is any difficulty, followed by the clause “but when the looting starts, the shooting starts.”

That connects those thoughts and subjects, even if the connection was unintentional.

That’s basic grammar.

If someone wanted to bring up a connection between looting and shooting as an inconvenient truth, and a warning that these situations are dangerous, or whatever innocent meaning the Never-Wrongers believe was intended, then he could have just written that thought in a completely separate tweet.

Tweets are free.

Some people clearly know that and use that to their advantage to make their voice heard. All. The. Time.

What’s the lesson here?

A moment of introspection can sometimes answer the difficult question of “How could what I am saying be taken? Is that how I mean for it to be taken? How can I say it so that my meaning is more clear?”

However, we’re notoriously bad at seeing beyond our own perspective. That’s where it helps to get input from professionals. Ancient wisdom tells us that “Where there is no counsel, the people fall; but in the multitude of counselors there is safety.”

Maybe at least one or two.

A writer should probably work with an editor before publishing a book. A corporation or public figure should probably get some input before putting an off-the-cuff statement out there.

Also, remember, tweets are free. You can post a lot of them! Like, so many.

If all that fails, get Animal Crossing and start working to pay back Tom Nook. You get in a lot less trouble that way.