I suppose like a tree that falls in the forest, but not so loud
and so obviously unnoticed
More like the leaf in a forest that flutters it’s life away,
obediently photosynthesizing in beautiful complexity
and offhandedly destroyed by the green teeth of a translucent worm
Or a galaxy a million times too far to ever be seen or detected
Turning in vacuum silence, faithful in it’s purposelessness
A slow drop of honey down the inner wall of a wild beehive
The sparrow’s dark nail on the inside toe of his left foot
The perfect harmony of two brown bottles in the wind
in the ditch of a New Mexico road
A rock at the dark bottom of the Baltic Sea
with the perfect profile of Jesus
So perfect it would be lined up for by a billion teary-eyed seekers
But as it is, eternally covered in gray fish mud

None of these things matter to our conscious, purpose-filled lives
But it should be noted that our consciousness is a thin film
on a massive ocean of selfless unnoticed things
And in that light, maybe the sheer imbalance of it
warrants the proposition of another.
An observer that notices the rainbow film
But also sees through it and meets the return glance and smile
of his unnoticed creation.

Over the years I’ve tried saying many different things to help them go back to sleep. Everything from “there are angels in your room to protect you” to “this house is made of solid rock and no monsters can get in here”… both of which have backfired miserably.

There is one thing that I’ve found that works every time. Next time your kids wake up from a bad dream, try this… Tell them that it’s almost morning. That there’s a red glow in the east, and all the little birds are waking up and having coffee… getting ready to sing. Works like a charm.

This was some of the most disturbing 9/11 footage I’ve ever witnessed. We’ve all seen the news footage and the slick professional documentaries, but the rawness and the realness of these amateur videos – the sounds and the emotions… wow. My kids didn’t talk. We all sat in silence feeling the weight of that day. A couple of times when I sensed a graphic scene approaching, I told the kids to cover their eyes, and they did.

Some would criticize Pam and me for letting our kids watch this, but I would rebut. Which is worse? Letting our kids watch a graphic PG flick that treats death with a blase’ distance, or letting them watch graphic footage that is the truth and nothing but. See, here’s the thing. Truth can’t be known unless truth is first felt. Some Christians might argue and say that we can’t trust our feelings. Many times no, but Jesus touched and allowed his wound to be touched.. to be felt. He knew his own teachings would not have the same impact as a rated R graphic display of his sacrifice. Parables don’t cut it. Crucifixes don’t. Songs, stories, and Sunday school lessons from sweet old ladies don’t even come close. Truth must be felt.

This morning I went to the studio to work a little and when I came back I found pictures my children had drawn of the twin towers burning. If you’re a parent you know that this is one of the ways kids process feelings. It was their little versions of the truth. I think they can handle it.

One last glance up at my patchwork creations. I’ve been tinkering with these wings for some time. Sewing, strapping, bending, testing, re-sewing… wondering in the quiet of my shop if these strange conglomerates of extravagant dreams and meager budget will even hold. The stretched canvas drums softly in the breeze, seams flutter, and I feel a confident tug upward. I’m proud of them. They’re not the prettiest wings – definitely not industry standard, but I think they’ll do.

They’ll have to, because behind me a shadowy figure approaches. His name is Now Or Never and for the life of me I don’t know why I invited him. The arrangement is such; if I can’t jump he’ll be doing the pushing. The bugger’s perfect for the job… cold, indifferent, and immediate. Never talks, never warns or encourages. Rumor has it he whispers just a single word before he pushes – unique to each pushee. Cold hands on the back, one stark utterance behind the head, and off you go.

The air has become strangely still. I slide my foot to the edge. Pebbles crumble into the canyon. The time has come.

I don’t think I can take the step. Good Lord, there’s the hands. If I live through this, I’ll let you know what he said.

I’ve spent a lot of restless nights wondering what this whole music thing will lead to.  Whom should I network with?  What kind of music should I write? Am I too old?  Is it too late?  Are the walls of my age closing in? Will the world ever hear the songs I once thought destined for the multitudes? I gotta say, I’ve gotten myself in a tizzy or two about the whole silly thing.

Back in January or so, God whispered something to me… just sing.  So now I’m singing. Wherever I can and whenever I can: Munday Chamber of Commerce, Clyde Woman’s Club, Abilene Credit Union banquet… you want me to sing? I’m there. And two really cool things are happening: I’m enjoying it, AND I’m seeing a sincere reaction in people. Eureka! That’s what this is about – touching people.

So let me pull this all together. I’m a songwriter and that’s what I do.  So I was out gathering eggs the other day and thought of the aforementioned picture of a hatchling chick.  And it has dawned on me over these past few days – sometimes what seems like a cursed barrier to a destiny is really the protective shell of incubation.  And if it feels like the walls are closing in on you, maybe it’s just you out-growing your walls. Thank you God for YOUR timing.

I’m no spring chicken. If I were, I guess I’d peck. But as it is… I’ll sing.  Sing my way right out of this shell.

Today my son built skis. That’s all.  Just scraps of wood, pieces of tin, and old shoes. Did they work? Not quite. But they were beautiful to his Mommy and Daddy. We are very proud.