My Practice Session

My Practice Session

(“God wants you to silence stupid and ignorant people by doing right.” 1 Peter 2:15)

I must admit my practice session did not go well.
Right notes
in the
wrong locations.
Rests where they did not exist and a
panic I would miss the next measure of
quarter notes on the upbeat. I would try
to catch up with the voices by the next
turn of phrase.

But they brag on me just the same,
and I feel the shame of someone who receives
what they do not deserve. If only I spent more time
on the difficult passages,
taught my fingers to move in ways they were not accustomed to.

I am my own worst critic, but I know they can hear the patches
where I fumble, where the time is broken into shards on
the ambient air. I would rather show up to rehearsal with
every bar perfected like the vineyard’s best wine.

I suppose I can hide my fumbling fingers beneath the
beats of the snare that fills the voids where I forget
where I was headed. Maybe by the end we will be an
ad hoc wedding of the drum kit, bass, and my tentative
tempo. The staccato notes run away from me sometimes and
the drummer only stares. We laugh when it is over and
start again to see if we can keep the time.

I say all this only because I feel the need to let you know
I am much better about making it up in my head than I am
about transferring it to my fingers. My handwriting is
nearly illegible. I hope my beats will be readable.

There Was No Sea

There Was No Sea

(People won’t say ‘Look, here it is’, or ‘Look, over there!’ No: God’s kingdom is within your grasp.” Luke 17:21)

It was New Year’s Eve and I
was determined to meet the beginning
with knees bowed all night. I was nineteen.

I asked the pastor, “Can you lock me in the church?”
“Overnight, I mean.” Impressed with my spiritual hubris,
after our watchnight service
he turned the key to make the church safe
and showed me how to exit in the new sun morning.

I was determined to meet the beginning
with stomach rumbling. I started the fast the previous morning.
I read books, book after book, and knew that God
always
showed
up
when people were serious about skipping a meal or so.

The night started like brushes on a snare-drum playing
60s club jazz. I was glad I was going to do what no one
else wanted to do, though I was not proud about it. I
just wanted to put in the effort.

The sea was red only one night I remember when
friends pointed me past the breakers where the algae bloomed.

This night there was no sea, no mountain, no slippery waterfall
to climb and no music to pass the time. So I prayed. Then stood up.
Ten minutes in I said everything I wanted to say and wondered how
God could possibly be impressed by my short-windedness.

The Santa Monica Pier was a place where homes of embedded barnacles
embellish the pilings. Buskers played for money above,
teenage couples practiced kissing below.

This night there was only a linoleum floor, no melodies, no creatures,
no hippies and no lovers. There was only me, a teenager singly trying
to make God show up. And not for experience’s sake, I had a backpack
full
I wanted to unload. There was a library there, a turnstile of paperbacks
mostly about doctrine and victorious living. I picked one I hoped would
allow me to leave, finally, as a conqueror.

I have never possessed a string of pearls, nor discovered one in an oyster.
I knew they were made when the oyster felt itchy, and I was itchy
For an experience with God.

But not that itchy.

Hours passed, I read book after book, interspersed with repeated prayers
(though I was sure God hadn’t forgotten what I said by my third go around.)
Two hours in, two in the morning, and my faith felt as alive as shorn hair
at the feet of a barber’s chair.

I slept on a pew, though I vowed to stay awake. I read, though my eyes
began to ache. I prayed, shorter and shorter (and had visions of steak.)
I knew nothing about listening; don’t know much now. So I called my
girlfriend (quite early on that New Day). She came quickly and whisked me
away
To Winchell’s donuts where I ate chocolate greedily and with shame.

The evening began like a jazz trio and today I know better, so I let God
say whatever he will through the wandering bass, the ravenous piano
or the frugal drums merely marking time.

No More "I Can't"

“By his divine power, God has given us everything we need for living a godly life. We have received all of this by coming to know him, the one who called us to himself by means of his marvelous glory and excellence.” 2 Peter 1:3

Two of the most deadly words in the English language are “I can’t.” We limit our options, we subtract possible joy and, saddest of all, we do not make room for God and His gifts. That is not to say that we can, in some fairy tale way, have three (or more) wishes and obtain anything we want. I cannot, for instance, suddenly be fit and muscular if I have been sedentary and listless until that point. But, what I am able to do is begin a pathway toward that goal.

Endowment Plus

Endowment Plus

(“Therefore, with minds that are alert and fully sober, set your hope on the grace to be brought to you when Jesus Christ is revealed at his coming.” 1 Peter 1:13)

He improvised a dance that delighted starlight,
steps unseen, light and pristine, with backdrops falling
like crystal confetti like vapor trails behind each leap and twirl.

He synthesized the structure which his muscles had memorized
in practice in private, before no one’s eyes. The mirrors were his
only judges, the note-beat-touch synchronized so well his body
met the music head-on and passed through it like liquid;
fluid and precise.

So when prompted to perform by the impromptu crowd,
he flashed the confidence of a thousand repetitions and
leapt upon their suggestion, a deer careening across the
evergreen brush like everyman walking home a completely
new direction. He did not fear the pauses,
and landed like prism light opening up the sun.

Only the closest few, the three, perhaps four, knew
the repeat completions he turned to perfection in the
quiet late and blurry early when no applause would be heard;
only the slow breath of one unhurried to string each unit
a symphony of movement;

While we watched, embarrassed into thinking he
never had danced this way before. While we watched,
commenting of born talent and gifts; silly and jealous
about genetics without

Learning the secret of repeating that turns effort
to effortless; endowment plus preparation.

Me and My Models

“Don’t just listen to the word. You fool yourselves if you do that. You must do what it says.” James 1:22

I loved model planes and cars as a young boy. That is to say, I loved the idea of assembling them so they would look just as wonderful as the picture on the box. I loved biplanes, and I also lived in Southern California during the “funny car” era of drag racing. So, those were my two primary choices, plus the one odd Plymouth Barracuda. I chose it because favorite teacher drove one, although reverse didn’t work. He had to always park in a way that could drive straight out.