Simple Dream

 Simple Dream

So, I had this dream. You know the kind of dream that visits you right when you’re about to get up? The details of my dream are mostly insignificant despite the number of words I’m about to use in describing them. In the dream, I was living at Aunt Pat and Uncle Harold‘s house, like I did for a couple of years in college. But it was a totally different house. And I was a middle-aged man, like I am now, not a twenty-few year old, like I was then. Also notably different from our current reality is the fact that, in the dream, Harold was still with us. 

There were no dramatic events in the dream. It was a simple dream. (Tangentially, I wrote one of my first, and worst, songs when I lived in Pat and Harold’s basement. It was called “Simple Dream.“ Looking back, I can certainly say that “Simple Dream” was simply not good, which is why no one but me and Jesus has ever heard that song.  For the sake of us all, we’re gonna keep it that way.)  In this dream I could hear Pat and Harold arguing, which happened on occasion in the way back when. They were arguing because Harold was still working despite the toll his diabetes had taken on him. But he was no longer really physically able do his work as a pharmacist. It was just too much. (Tangentially, it wasn’t too much for him in real life when he thwarted that attempted robbery. True story.)  

In the dream, I was walking just outside the house when Pat stormed out and asked me if I would work at the pharmacy. I assumed that she meant for me to take a job at the pharmacy to help Harold. But in the dream, I had just started a new job. So I was conflicted about her request, because I had a new job that I didn’t want to abandon, and which I was hoping would work out well. However, as it turned out, she just thought he needed help with a big project; so I could help, after all. 

For some reason, he brought this big project, a big case of pharmacy products, up to my bedroom. Maybe the case’s contents needed sorting or something. No idea. Not important. In this dream, I lived upstairs, not in the basement. When I actually lived with them in college, it was in their basement. But in the dream, my good dog Leia, who is currently sleeping soundly on the sofa in real life, was in my room sleeping soundly on my bed, and just like in real life, she was not a fan of strangers, or anyone who is not a part of her “pack.” I was explaining this fact to Harold, and Leia was just fine; she didn’t growl or grumble or anything. (Does this mean that in dreamland, Harold is an accepted part of her pack?)  And then I woke up.

None of those details of my dream is significant in any way. The thing that is significant is something that I’ve also noticed with other dreams about other people who are no longer with us on this earth.  The significant thing……was simply the feeling that I had upon waking. My feeling was, “it sure was nice to see Harold again.”  It was that same sort of feeling that you have when you haven’t seen someone that you really care about in a long time, but you unexpectedly bump into that person out in the world, in your regular, busy, maybe even oblivious daily goings on. Maybe you see that person at the grocery store, or the library, or a restaurant, or even a doctor’s office. And you chat for a moment, reconnect, then resume your daily doings.  The significant part of that simple dream is the simple fact that it is that same feeling, emotion, connection. It feels the same. It’s what you feel after that unexpected reunion when you get back in your car to resume your errands, or your work, or the seemingly endless string of whatevers with which we fill our minds and our many (mini) moments. That feeling is this feeling: “It sure was nice to see them again, if only for a moment.”  

And, for me, waking up from my dream, I yawned; and I stretched. And I said out loud to my room full of baseball photos, family photos, and poorly played tenor guitars and ukuleles, “It sure was nice to see Harold again.”  It sure was.

Us vs Them, or How the 2 Party System Has Failed Americans

Opening Day, 2011, Dodger Stadium:  two men attack Bryan Stowe from behind on the way out of Dodger Stadium.................because he is a Giants fan.  The attack has left him with severe brain damage and in need of constant care for the rest of his life. 

About 20 years ago, in my mid-twenties, I began to feel like our political debate and rancor in our country resembled sports fans, having little to do with political ideology, and more to do with our team versus your team, and vice versa.  We approve of and support everything our team does or says, and disapprove and distrust everything the opposing team does or says, even if they've done or said the same thing.  Example?  Leading up to the 1992 election of Bill Clinton, there were various rumors and even allegations of sexual infidelity and impropriety against then candidate Bill Clinton.  Clinton supporters suggested that those indiscretions were unimportant, insignificant, and frankly, anyone who would say that they mattered was actually the offender.  Republicans painted Clinton as a womanizing misogynist and hoped the scandals would derail his candidacy entirely.  They didn't.  Fast forward to the 2016 candidacy of Donald Trump.  The republicans, even some clergy, suggested that his similar attitudes and indiscretions were unimportant, insignificant, and frankly, anyone who would say that they mattered was actually the offender.  Democrats painted Trump as a womanizing misogynist and hoped the scandal would derail his candidacy entirely.  It didn't.  Both parties spun the exact same sort of man as either a leader and visionary or a lecherous philanderer, depending on whether he was their candidate or their opponent's.  It was never, and rarely is, about the deeds or who committed them; it was all about which side of the aisle the perpetrator stood on.  (Strangely, somehow, former vice presidential candidate John Edwards' political career was completely ruined by the extramarital affair that he'd had and worked hard to cover up.  What does that make it, like, a triple standard?)

I think we're blinded by the Us vs Them mentality in our current political mindset, and I don't mean the politicians are blinded, I mean we the people are blinded.  There are far more than 2 opinions on issues, on where money should be spent and on how much of it should be spent there.  But with our 2 party system, we pick a side, and tend to believe any and everything on their agenda or platform.  We have to go all in for our team, right?  Life isn't like that, it has way more colors than 2.  But worse than blindness about our politicians, by far, is the blindness that the Us vs Them mentality has caused when looking at our fellow Americans who happen to vote differently than we do.  It seems that, recently, we vilify not only the politicians of the other party, but anyone who supports them, too; that anyone who votes differently than you do is evil.  Hillary Clinton called many Trump supporters, a "basket of deplorables." Really?  Obviously, she isn't the first American to vilify others for believing differently than she does.  But it was coming from such a high position, Secretary of State, Democratic Candidate for President, saying that Americans with different views are deplorable. Deplorable.  And it helped to ratchet up the anger, and the division, and the hate of American toward American.  It legitimized the attitude that not just other views are questionable, but that the people who espouse them are deplorable.  It shouldn't be this way.  And the Us vs Them mentality, team mentality, has helped drive the hate wagon, and it's driving us to deeper and deeper division, to the extent that I actually fear for the continued stability of our republic, our democracy.  I really do.

How different is a Dodgers fan from a Giants fan?  They have far more in common than they do in contrast.  Those men lived in similar sized cities on the west coast of the United States of America, in California to be specific, and each loved baseball.  I would contend that the typical democrat in Missouri, where I live, has more in common with the typical republican in Missouri than they do in contrast.  For example, about 6 years ago, my parents decided to move back to the family farm near Branson, MO.  I had lived here in the Branson area for 7 years by then; and we began planning to build a house on their 3 acres of the family farm.  The 3 of us have lived together in that house for about 5 1/2 years now.  We love Jesus, baseball, music, and many of the same TV shows and movies.  But there are 2 democrats and 1 republican in this house, if we assume the dogs have no political affiliation.  How alike, and how different do you think we are?  Very much alike, very little different.  (Full disclosure: I'm the republican..........and I voted for Darrell Castle of the Constitution Party.)

How different is a democrat from a republican?  Well, in my house, it's hard to tell the difference, without the media telling us we're different, the politicians shouting that we're different, the activists screaming that we're different, and the Us vs Them team mentality that blinds us to how very much we're alike.  Are there differences?  Yes.  Are there similarities?  Yes.  Do the differences justify hate?  Not in the least.  We are better than this, America.  We are stronger than this, America!  Don't let the Us vs Them blind you to the fact that most of the other party's rank and file are culturally identical to you, just like the Dodgers and Giants fans.  Forget Us vs Them.  There are beautiful and wonderful people all around you on each side of the political aisle.  Think for yourself.  Feel for yourself.  Love...............for us all.  That's what we all need, regardless of political affiliation.  Refuse to hate.  That's what the devil wants.  That's the dark side, the side that threatens to destroy us from the inside out.  That's how all great nations fall.  From the inside out. 

I don't know if there's any way to change the political monster machine the 2 party system has become.  But if we can change our attitude about the "rightness" of our own party and the "wrongness" of the other, and especially of it's constituents, then maybe we can heal the great hurt and span the great chasm that was caused by it.  If you think your party is 100% right on 100% of the issues 100% of the time, you've been blinded.  Because no human being or group of human beings is all right all the time.  No one and no political system is perfect.  But I know we can do better, love better, learn better, lead better, be better.  So let's be better.

I hope you'll join me in praying for our great nation: for open eyes, ears, and hearts; for forgiveness; for love; for hope; for healing.  I truly believe that's the most important first step we can take.  I love you all!

A Few Thoughts About Uncle Harold

(This will seem a bit disjunct, just a few memories)

My uncle Harold passed away today.  My heart breaks for my aunt Patty, who lost a fine husband and friend; my cousins Eric and Richard, who lost a wonderful father; their wives, Tiffani and Stephanie, who lost a kind and generous father in law, all of their children, who lost a caring grandfather, and also Harold's father, Ron, who lost a cherished son.

My family and Harold's have always been connected.  I remember the first time I ever saw Harold.  I was out in the yard at my Grandma and Grandpa Fisher's house, as I often was, when Harold pulled up into the driveway.  I asked my uncle Robin who that man was.  He replied, "That's Patty's boyfriend............Crazy Harold."  I was probably 6 or 7 years old, I guess.  I've got lots of aunts and uncles who've come into our family.  I don't really remember my first encounter with any of them...........except for Crazy Harold. 

Within a couple of years, my family had moved to Holden, MO, about a half an hour's drive from Warrensburg, MO, the location of the campus of Central Missouri State University, where my mother was studying.  Patty and Harold had married, and lived in Warrensburg, MO.  We spent some time with them back then.  They were family................and, man, they were fun.  Aunt Patty, Crazy Harold, and his crazy sister, Lenora.  I remember very little about her from my childhood, just that she drove a red V.W. Bug.  And I thought that was way cool back then.  My parents allowed me to invite someone over for my birthday back then.  They assumed I would invite friends from school.  Nope.  I invited Patty and Harold.  On another occasion, I remember that Harold came over and took my older sister and me trick or treating one Halloween.  He was a lumberjack.  I think I was Batman.  He was there for us.  When my baby sister decided to make her 1st appearance in the middle of one auspicious March night, my parents dropped me and my older sister off....................at Patty and Harold's house first.  Again, there for us.

Harold always had the coolest stuff.  The morning after my baby sister was born, my older sister and I were still at Patty and Harold's; but they had left the house for something.  I think they went to get us more kid-friendly breakfast cereal.  We found this room full of miscellaneous coolness...........and there we found 2 fencing foils.  And we had our first official sword fight.  Harold wasn't actually there; but in that very detail............he was there for us.

Harold and Patty drove a cool blue Trans Am.  And I mean cool.  T-top, leather interior, engine that roared like a lion.................and an 8 track tape player.  I remember riding in that car hearing, for the very first time, Jimmy Buffet's "Cheeseburger in Paradise" on that 8 track player.  Eventually, I grew to love Jimmy Buffet of my own volition.  But Harold introduced us.  Again, there for us.

Harold's birthday was within a couple of days of my Dad's birthday.  Whenever we would get together for a celebration, we'd celebrate both of their birthdays together.  Always connected, always intertwined, our families.

In 1990, I moved to Joplin, MO to attend Missouri Southern State College (University, now).  By that time, Patty and Harold had settled in.............Joplin, MO.  My parents had decreed that each of their children must live in the dorm for their freshman year.  My older sister had just completed her dorm sentence, and moved into the lovely home of Patty and Harold.  I'd get a home cooked meal there every now and again.  But my sister lived there for a year with Patty, Harold, and their 2 boys.  A few years later..............I moved in for 2 years.  There for us.  When my parents left Butler, MO to work at East Newton Schools, about a half an hour from Joplin, they had some difficulty selling their house.  For a couple of months, during the work week, they and my baby sister lived............at Patty and Harold's house.  Those 2 months occurred during my 2 years there; so they had a full house, for sure.  There for us.  A few years later, my baby sister needed a place to lay her head for a couple of months before her wedding.  And she lived.................with Patty and Harold.   There for us.

If you lived in or around Joplin in the 1990's or early 2000's, then you likely knew Harold's truck.  It was an old Ford with a rather distinctive paint job...............camouflage.  Ironic that camouflage could make something stick out so much.  A lesson in context, I suppose.  I'm not a hunter.  Nothing against it, at all.  It just isn't me.  But one year in my early 20's, I had made up my mind to go deer hunting.  I didn't have any more experience than having passed a hunter safety course a decade or more prior.  So..............Harold loaded me up in that camouflage Ford several days that fall to target shoot and get me ready for the hunt.  Ultimately, I decided that I didn't have the heart to kill a deer.  So, I stayed a non-hunter.  But he was there for me.

I remember my 2 years living at Patty and Harold's house.  I lived in a really nice room in their basement.  I went to school during the day, then worked late hours at the hotel, usually getting off at 11pm.  Most of the time, nobody was up when I got home.  But sometimes.............Harold would be sitting at the kitchen table, usually with some historic do-dad, gizmo, or Civil War relic, or perhaps devising a war game strategy.  We used to have these marathon talks about the Civil War, or World War I or II.  He was a walking encyclopedia about those topics, and could talk about them for hours, and did.  There for me.  Sometimes way too late into the night...........but there for me.

But it wasn't all Halloween, hunting, houseguests, and Civil War history with him.  One of the most beautiful things I've ever seen revolved around Harold...............and his kidneys.  Harold was a diabetic.  Gave himself shots from the time I was a kid all the way up through the years I lived there in their basement.  His kidneys had been a casualty of the war his diabetes was mounting against him.  And he was undergoing dialysis.  He needed a transplant, and was on the list.  But it was taking too long.  Then Harold's crazy sister, Lenora, re-enters our story.  He needed a kidney.  She had one she could spare.  So she spared it.  I remember the days surrounding the surgery, I was very emotional, not just because it's dangerous and scary, but also because the sacrifice was so utterly beautiful.  I remember crying just at the sheer beauty of that sacrifice.  The surgery was a success.  And Crazy Harold, still a diabetic, was walking around with a functional kidney, courtesy of his sister, Crazy Lenora.  She was there for him.

A few years later, Lenora was diagnosed with cancer.  And it claimed her life.  But Harold still walked around with that beautiful sacrifice in his side.  His late sister's kidney.  Her gift of life to him.  So beautiful.

I'm not exactly sure why I felt so compelled to write a bit about Harold tonight.  There are a lot of people a lot closer to Harold than I was, people who knew him much better, and loved him much better, than I.  But I wanted to say that if you read an obituary that tells you of a pharmacist from Joplin, who was survived by his father, his wife, his 2 sons, and their children............just know that there was SO much more.  There was a Civil War re-enactor with a corny sense of humor, who gave his nephew these cool hand painted 1/2 inch soldier figurines when he was 7 or 8 years old, knowing that he'd likely lose or destroy them, who introduced that nephew to Jimmy Buffet and to the Red Green show, who gave of himself, his time, his home, and his talents, who loved historical novels and deer hunting, who adored his grandkids, and could talk you plumb to morning, who once thwarted an attempted robbery with his knowledge of handguns (the robber had a fake), who went to the jungles of South America on mission trips, who left us way too soon, and will be remembered always.  There's always more, just below the surface.  And if all you knew of my uncle Harold was the surface...............then I hope, for your sake, that one day in Heaven you'll have the privilege of sitting at the kitchen table with Harold, and listening to his stories.  But, be sure to have some coffee brewing, 'cause it'll be a good long talk.

Thank you Harold!  See you on the other side.

An Open Letter to Westboro Baptist Church

February 20, the Year of Our Lord, 2014

An Open Letter to Westboro Baptist Church

from the desk of greg fisher,

42 years on this earth, a born again Christian for over 33 years

Dear Westboro Baptist Church,

I would like to quote 1 Chorinthians, Chapter 13, King James Version, though I much prefer a modern translation, as the words of our Savior were not spoken in archaic English, for the Word of God is meant to be understood:

13 Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
2 And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.
3 And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.
And a bit later in the chapter:

13 And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.

The greatest of these..............is Love.

I must ask a question that I'm certain you must be asked frequently. Where is your Love?

In John, Chapter 4, we see Jesus, himself, whom you claim to serve and to emulate, meeting a Samaritan woman, who lived in sin and shame. Did our Lord and Savior rail against her, screaming her sins in her face, shouting that she was bound for hell? No. He met her face to face, in Love, never calling her lifestyle acceptable, but never alienating nor condemning her. No, He offered her Living Water. He offered her Love, and forgiveness:

10 Jesus answered and said unto her, If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee, Give me to drink; thou wouldest have asked of him, and he would have given thee living water.
11 The woman saith unto him, Sir, thou hast nothing to draw with, and the well is deep: from whence then hast thou that living water?
12 Art thou greater than our father Jacob, which gave us the well, and drank thereof himself, and his children, and his cattle?
13 Jesus answered and said unto her, Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again:
14 But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.
15 The woman saith unto him, Sir, give me this water, that I thirst not, neither come hither to draw.

And she accepted His offer. That's not all, many believed because of the Love Jesus showed the Samaritan woman:

39 And many of the Samaritans of that city believed on him for the saying of the woman, which testified, He told me all that ever I did.
40 So when the Samaritans were come unto him, they besought him that he would tarry with them: and he abode there two days.
41 And many more believed because of his own word;

More believed. The Love He showed and the Living Water He offered to this sinful woman were an open door to many more believing. Are your protests such an open door? There are so many instances where Jesus met “publicans and sinners” in their element, and He met them with Love. For the greatest of these.............is Love.

I ask you again. Where is your Love? The world is looking to you and seeing, only and always, condemnation, taunting, harassment, even hate. Jesus showed none of these attributes. So I ask you again. Where is your Love? Call a sin a sin, I concur completely. But meet the sinners of this world, and that includes you and me, with Love. It was and is the Love and Sacrifice of Jesus Christ that Saves. Not hatred and vehemence. When you met the Savior, if you've met the Savior, was He screaming in your face, railing against you as you grieved the loss of a loved one? I'm certain that the answer to that is an emphatic No. In Ephesians 4, we are told to “Speak the truth in Love.” In Love, I say again. So speak the Truth......yes! But speak it in Love. And I ask again. Where is your Love?

I have heard that you are planning to protest the Candlelight Vigil in honor of 10 year old Hailey Owens, stolen from her street in Springfield, Missouri, and murdered a few days ago. So many in that city are deeply in mourning over this unspeakable event, many of them, heartfelt Christian men, women, and children. Heartbroken in this hour. So, I ask you again. Where is your Love? How many of your protests, as this one would be, are protests that greatly grieve your own brothers and sisters in Christ? Many. From John 13:

34 A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.
35 By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.

Many you'll be harassing Saturday are passionate, devoted Christians. Will you show them Love? You must see that you've lost your way, lost your calling, lost your mandate. What you're shining is not Light. You are not seasoning as Salt. You are not only encouraged in the inerrant word of God to Love, you are commanded to Love, by our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Commanded. I ask again, with tears in my eyes, tears for you in my eyes, Where is your Love?

Please do not come to Springfield Saturday to protest the vigil. There's no Love in such an act. None. Where is your Love?

greg fisher

"It's Time to Ask Yourself What You Believe" or "How Little Cameron Jones Saved Me from Myself"

"Greg, I wish you could find love and be happy."  (female friend of mine from the MSSC Music Department, circa 1998)

"Greg, how is it that you're happy all by yourself?"  (female friend and co-worker at BTC, circa...........well.......Tuesday)

"The healing power of the Grail is the only thing that can save your father now. It's time to ask yourself what you believe."  (Walter Donovan, from "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade")

I'm 41 years old.  Never married.  Single.  Straight.  Solitary.  Happy?  Happy.

I suppose this post has been a long time coming.  It addresses two of the great questions of my life.  How is it that I'm still singe?  And how is it that I'm okay with that?

First of all, I wasn't always happy with that.  And even today, if the right woman came along, I'd gladly fall head over heals.  (But she'd actually have to be the right woman.)  Once upon a time, I used to be lonely in my alone-ness.  In my mid twenties, I had become quite frustrated and, truth be told, depressed at my single-ness.  I saw myself as a nice guy, smart guy, funny guy, family guy, and all around great catch.  Somehow, though, womankind seemed to have a different view of me.  Or, the ones who shared that opinion saw me in nothing more than a platonic light.  And I didn't fault any individual woman for feeling that way.  But it did seem like all of womankind had agreed to pigeonhole me into friend status.  And that did hurt.  And it didn't just start in my marriageable years.  I had been the "friend" since junior high.  So I was accustomed to the roll.  But it wore on me over the years.  And by my mid twenties, I was very lonely.

I do remember tears.  I do remember calling out to God, "Why not me?"  "Have You forgotten about me?"  I do remember lonely nights staring through tear bleary eyes at the stars, wondering if love would ever happen for me.  I prayed for a wife.  I prayed for love.  I prayed to have all those things that my friends and peers had already found, that I felt like I should have, too.  Somehow, I also qualified all those prayers and pleas, sometimes begrudgingly, with the phrase, "If it's Your will."  Looking back, I am so very thankful that He honored those prayers, and has given me His will, even if it wasn't my own.

It's rare to be able to pinpoint a specific moment in time when things go from a hazy blur to crystal clear.  Was it an epiphany?  Maybe.  Or just a light going on, that I should have seen all along.  I remember a moment when I was at my loneliest, my lowest.  I was good friends with Justin and Beth Jones.  I knew Beth from MSSC, and went to church with the Jones family at Calvary Baptist Church in Neosho, MO.  A lot of Sundays, I'd have lunch with the Jones family after church.  They always made me feel very welcome, as a part of their family.  I needed that.  On one such Sunday, I had gone to their house after church.  Beth had stayed home from church that morning with their baby boy, Cameron, who had a bad rash on his stomach, and generally felt horrible.  For some reason, on this Sunday, I was very depressed and especially lonely.  I don't remember just why.  But that was my worst day.  I was sitting in the living room while Beth and Justin finished getting lunch ready and on the table.  I had tears brimming in my eyes.  I felt like I'd never find anyone, and that left me feeling completely empty.  Completely unloved.  Beth came into the living room, and picked up little Cameron who couldn't have been more than a year old at the time, and went to show me that rash on his belly.  Little Cameron was so very, very miserable.

My whole life's perspective changed in that moment.  If you want to know the single point in time when God showed me how loved I was, and how unforgotten and un-abandoned I was, and how He'd always take care of me, then that was the moment.  There I was wallowing in self pity and loneliness, feeling unloved, when little Cameron Jones reached out his little arms, reaching just for me, and pulled me back from the brink.  Beth went back to the kitchen, and I held little Cameron, who loved me, and I cried.  There I was in the home of three friends, who loved me.  I had just come from a worship service honoring my Savior, Jesus Christ, who loved me, in a room full of brothers and sisters in Christ, who loved me.  I came from an amazing family, who loved me.  I had a group of wonderful friends, who loved me.  The next day, I would go to classes at MSSC, among friends, students and faculty alike, who loved me.  That moment, God showed me how loved I was, and how loved I am. 

Shortly thereafter, I began to ponder the quote above, "It's time to ask yourself what you believe."  What did I believe about God's love for me, God's plan for me, God's care over me?  I'd always said that I believed that God's love was sufficient for me.  But did I really believe it?  Did I believe it enough to trust that His love was all I needed to be happy, to be fulfilled, to be useful?  Did I?  Or didn't I?  Was it?  Or wasn't it?  Was it all just words?  Or was it really real to me?  And if it was real, then I needed to start living it.

I made a choice.  I chose to believe in His providence, in His wisdom, and in His plan.  If God had a wife in store for me, then that would be amazing.  And I would revel in that blessing.  And if God had a plan for me to be single, then that would be amazing.  And I would revel in that blessing. 

Not that it's been easy along the way.  The first quote at the top of this post came from a good friend of mine from college.  "Greg, I wish you could find love and be happy." She had just gotten married a few months prior to that comment.  So, perhaps her perspective can be forgiven.  But the comment hurt me deeply.  For you married people, tread softly on your single friends' emotions.  The cultural expectation, especially among American Christians, it that we should marry.  Marriage is seen as the key to happiness, to fulfillment, to happy ever after.  It isn't.  And.........get ready for this........the very words of our Savior Jesus Christ and the Apostle Paul encourage us NOT to marry.  Really.  So when you add that burden of cultural expectation to the already heavy pack upon your single friend's back, you do him or her a tremendous disservice.  After a day or so of feeling lonely again, unloved again, unhappy again, I thought again about my friend's comment.  And I really looked at myself in the context of her comment.  "Greg, I wish you could find love and be happy."  And I asked myself, "Who's more loved than I am?"  The answer I came back with was an honest and sincere, nobody.  And I asked myself, "Who's happier than I am?"  And, again, the answer I came back with was, nobody.  And I meant those answers deeply.  So I live them.

For me, most of the unhappiness and loneliness I felt in those days was not because I was lonely or unhappy.  It was because I didn't have what it seemed expected that I should have.  It was cultural pressures that made me lonely.  I actually always liked being alone, and I still do.  There's a peace and a calmness that I love and need in solitude.  But, in those days, I felt forgotten, because I didn't have a mate.  I was looking only at what I didn't have, and not at all at what I did, and still do, have. 

My advice to single people is this, God will provide.  If it's something you genuinely need, then God will NOT withhold it:

Matthew 7:9-11

New Living Translation (NLT)

⁹ “You parents—if your children ask for a loaf of bread, do you give them a stone instead? ¹⁰ Or if they ask for a fish, do you give them a snake? Of course not! ¹¹ So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him."

The question to ask yourself is whether what you desire is something you need, or something you feel like you're entitled to because so many around you already have it.  And you want it too.  There is a difference.  Also, is it something that you desire for comfort, when you should be taking comfort in Him?  If it's something you need, if He's created you with a design for you to have it, but you don't, then be patient.  He'll provide it when the time is right.  Seriously.  And if that doesn't ring true to you, then perhaps "It's time to ask yourself what you believe."

Unseen Self

"When I find myself alone, afraid of being known, and holding on for life."  from Eric Peters song: "Tomorrow"

"There is no greater danger, than trying to find yourself.  'Cause there is no stranger Stranger, than a man is...........to himself."  from Kevin Welch's song "Anna Lise, Please"

"You don't want to get mixed up with a guy like me.  I'm a loner, Dottie.  A rebel.  So long Dott."  Pee Wee Herman

One of the things that I hope I've learned in my 41 years on Earth, is that there is always more.  More to people, I mean.  We see these images that people put forth, ways that they wish to be seen.  But there's always more.  Sometimes these images, impressions, displays, quirks or just plain behaviors are defense mechanisms, protecting the person from lingering hurts, age old wounds, unrelenting sorrows.  Things they don't want you to see.  People want to seem strong.  Or funny.  Or smart.  Or talented.  Or like they've got it all together.  Sometimes we make judgements about people based on the image they put out there for the world to see.  But be very careful.  Don't judge too quickly.  You may miss out on something or someone awesome.  Because there's always more, down deep.  On the surface, there's the How of their behavior.  But down deep, if you're willing to wait for the rest to melt away, there's also the Why of their behavior.  And the Why is always more interesting than the surface How.  And if we just look deeper, we'll find the real Who, hiding under the façade.

So Who's hiding under my façade? 

I stumbled upon a video on youtube today.  To be more precise, I went looking for it and found it there.  It's a song called "Sing Me to Heaven."  We sang it, and sang, it, and cried it, and prayed it back in choir at MSSC (now MSSU).  Before the video started, I wondered if it would seem a bit pretentious to me now, now that I listen to and make almost exclusively folk music.  "Sing Me to Heaven" is classical, and beautiful, and dripping with emotion and sensitivity.  I don't make or listen to anything like it anymore.  Oh, but I used to.  For years (too many to admit) I made that kind of music every single day.  I was the Tenor Section Leader for, well.........let's just call it a long time.  That music was a part of me, and not a small part.  It was huge.  And I loved it.  That was classical greg, and I guess I didn't know before watching that video if he still lived.  He does.  It was a beautiful arrangement, nearly identical to the way the MSSC Chamber Choir interpreted it so long ago.  And, though I'm not in the video, classical greg very well could have been.

The people in my social circle now know that I was a music major in college.  There's even a running joke that all my stories I tell at work begin with the phrase "When I was in college......"  And those are often tales of making music with the MSSC Choir, or tales of one of my two trips to Europe performing with that choir.  But they don't know that greg.  They know the greg who listens to music you'd never hear on the radio, and who now writes very folky music.......that you'll also never hear on the radio.  But they don't know classical greg at all.  And I wonder what they'd think of him.  I wonder what they'd think of that music.  I wonder what they'd think of classical greg.  These days, if I make music at all, it's me pulling out my tenor guitar, or even ukulele, and singing something stripped down, simple, folksy.  But I remember how I used to take the stage for a student recital back at MSSC.  Classical greg would often be attired in a tuxedo.  I'd walk to the center of the stage, eyes focused on nothing in particular.  I'd slowly put my left foot in place on my mark, then bring my right foot in to match, and then slowly gaze up toward the back of the auditorium.  To me, it always felt like I captured the room in that moment, at that first gaze up from taking my mark.  Then, I opened up my soul.  They were mine.  First I'd capture the audience, then lay myself bare before them, utterly vulnerable, holding nothing back. 

I guess that's what I've always thought my true gift was.  Connection.  Communication.  Sharing Emotion.  Sure, I can sing.  But in the scheme of things, and compared to many I studied with, my voice was and is nothing special.  The special of it all was that I was willing and gifted to open my soul to the audience, to give them every ounce of me to share that musical and even spiritual moment with them.  To be known.

And they would know me, in that moment.  They would know that greg.  But would my grandparents?  My aunts and uncles, my cousins?  The guys I used to play ball with?  Would they recognize that greg?  And would those who loved classical greg recognize folk greg, or sports fan greg?  I'm not sure.  And I'm not sure it matters.  There were and are many gregs.  Classical greg.  Folk greg.  Sports fan greg.  Mentor greg.  Soaring greg.  Fallen greg.  So many me's.  But all me, nonetheless.  And, on occasion, I do long for someone to truly know all those facets of me.

Here are a few videos of music beloved by the various gregs:

Classical greg loves this one, "Sing Me to Heaven"

Folk greg loves this one, "The Artisan" by Seth Lakeman (on tenor guitar;)


Also, this is folk greg singing Eric Peter's song, "Tomorrow" from whence that 1st quote of this blog comes.



The Thunder Rolled (or....How Garth Brooks Ruined Country Radio Forever)

(Please listen to the videos toward the end of the blog for examples.  When you compare, there's simply no comparison.)

Let me start off by saying that I enjoy most of Garth Brooks' music.  Some of it, I enjoy very much.  This blog post isn't about Garth Brooks' quality of musical output at all.  It's about what his success did to the Country Music Radio genre's "Target Audience," and, therefore, Country Radio's quality.  I grew up on Country Music.  When I say that, I don't simply mean that I listened to Country Music primarily, or occasionally, or intermittently.  I mean that I listened to Country Music exclusively.  That's it.  Nothing else.  And I listened to it all the time.  I'd have it playing in my room while I was studying or playing.  Later, I'd have it playing in my truck while I was driving, in the yard while I was working, in the bathroom while I was showering, and by my bed while I was sleeping.  If there was such a thing as a Country Music nerd while I was growing up in the 80's, then I was King of the Nerds.  I listened to Top 40 Country, and I loved it.  I listened to Saturday Morning at the Memories, on 61 Country in Kansas City every Saturday......serious Old Time Country, like Hank Williams Sr, Ferlin Husky, Hank Thompson, early Johnny Cash and early Merle Haggard.  And I loved it.  Today, you couldn't get me to tune in to a Top 40 Country Station if you paid me.  So what happened?  And when?  And why?  Well, I have some thoughts.

I'd like to mention here that, as far as I can see and as near as I can tell, I'm not delusional.  I know that Country in the 80's wasn't all great.  For every Johnny Cash or Merle Haggard or Don Williams, we also had a Charlie McLain, or Janie Fricky, or, God forgive us all......Sylvia.  So there was plenty of bad Country then, too.  But I contend that the ratio of good to bad was much greater then than it is now.  And you had to wait through, or wade through, a lot less garbage to get to the good stuff on the air back then.

There are very few songs that I remember where I was and what I was doing when I first heard them.  You'd think that as much as I love great music and as much a part of my life as music is and has been, that I'd remember more of their first hearings.  But I don't.  It's that Thunderbolt moment, like love at first sight, when a song grabs hold of you in that initial hearing and you just burst with joy or sorrow.  It makes an imprint on your psyche, on your soul.  I remember very vividly where I was and what I was doing the first time I heard Garth Brooks "Friends in Low Places."  It was the summer after high school graduation, 1990.  I was working for a farmer outside of my home town of Butler, MO.  (Don't believe God, Guns, and Ammunition.....Butler isn't like them at all.)  I was in a hot John Deer tractor, no A/C; so I had the doors off and every possible airway open.  I was moving round hay bales from the field where they'd been baled to another where they were to be stored.  Radio blaring, to be heard over the tractor engine.  Then, it came on the radio.  It was a raucously rebellious song of being who you were, Country to the bone.  It became the anthem of my generation of Country fans.  I'll never forget that moment.  I sang as loud as I could, figuring out the words and tune as I went.  I felt that song to my core.  So did we all.

And I became a fan of Garth Brooks.  Though I was a bigger fan of Clint Black.  I thought his music was more straight forward and real than Garth Brooks' music.  Both stars became huge in the late 80's and early 90's.  They set records for album sales, records for concert tickets, records for radio spins.  They were as big as any rock stars, and that was a new things.  And in many ways, it was awesome.  Suddenly these guys singing Country were as popular as the ones singing rock or pop.  It was validating, in a way, for me.  I had listened to Country exclusively growing up, and now, instead of being lame, it was cool.  I liked that.  Maybe I was cool, after all........

The problem with their incredible success was that it convinced radio executives, record producers, and advertisers that instead of conceding the teenage market segment to rock and pop stations, that they could go after teenagers, too.  And they did.  Garth and Clint had been so popular among all age groups that the record labels began to search for and groom "artists" who would appeal to the teenagers.  Soon, that was really all they were searching for.  Throughout the previous decades, the Target Demographic for Country Radio stations was ages 35-55.  (Learned that in my Broadcast & Cable Management class at MSSC.)  Between the years of 1989-1993, that Target became blurrier and blurrier, skewed younger and younger, until, by 1995, the year I quit my job at KDMO in Carthage, MO, the Target Audience for Top 40 Country Music stations was ages 15-25.  And the style and quality of emerging Country "artists" reflected that change.  Suddenly, we were force fed what I call "Teenie Bopper Country." 

And it no longer mattered how great a musician and artist you were.  Or, at the very least, it mattered very little.  What mattered was whether or not teenage girls would scream when they saw your face, or your body.  Whether teenage boys would think you were cool, or hot.  Sex appeal had replaced musical ability and expression as the key component of Country stardom.  How hot were you?  That's what mattered most. 

I don't really mean to bash anyone's musical taste.  We're all different.  We like different things.  What makes it most frustrating to me is that, if you like Country Music, and you get your musical fix from Top 40 Country Radio, you're missing out on much, much,  MUCH better music that's out there.  The fans of Country Radio are being robbed of the opportunity to listen to richer, truer, un-formulaic musical expression.  For example.  Everybody loves Tim McGraw, right?  (Well, I don't, for the record.  "I Like it, I Love It" is one of the 2 worst Country hit songs of all time.  You can probably guess the other, Billy Ray.)  Tim McGraw's musical abilities are utterly dwarfed by those of Darrell Scott.  Who is Darrell Scott, you ask?  (The fact that you don't know Darrell Scott is an indictment of Country Radio all by itself.)  Nobody sings better than Darrell.  Nobody plays better than Darrell, and nobody but nobody writes better than Darrell.  Darrell Scott had his 1st big record deal in the early 90's.  But the deal fell through because, in the market shift that resulted from Garth Brooks' and Clint Black's immense success, the record label decided they needed to go younger, and go sexier.  His record was never released.  And we're all the poorer for it.  (Actually, he re-recorded it a few years ago under the title "Theater of the Unheard.")  Here's a taste of the music of Darrell Scott. 


Compare that with the musical chops of one Tim McGraw.


Whose music would have enriched your life more over the past 20 years?  I know my answer.  But wait, there's more.  Let's hear Darrell rock out a bit, too.


And, just for comparison, one of Tim McGraw's greatest hits.....


I think I my soul just threw up a little.

I guess the point of all of this is that there is better, richer, fuller, more wonderfully expressive and enriching music out there than what they shove down your throats on any mainstream radio station.  Don't settle for that stuff.  Go out and find the good stuff, whatever style or styles of music you enjoy.  Cause you don't want to have to listen to "what the kids are listening to these days."  You really don't.  And you don't have to.  Here are some links to some youtube channels that I subscribe to, to give you a taste of what other awesome musical options you could choose, other than your radio dial.

Under the Radar Radio:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCnKoevvsNDlEM_8tS0fsErw
Music City Roots:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCq4MKKFxf_86d1A3sXIYHUA
Americana Music Association:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCSgDmbl9pYwmlC7mmpsciow
Folk Alley.com:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC5fVvom7-_EYv13-JLugAqw
Music Fog:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCriIdX-phM0jQB3VhL4NaLQ
Mountain Stage:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQqrOFHytxG_OzqVgdUDH7g
Chris Thile:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCRCkL89mcxMETTcqou5o5ow
Punch Brothers:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCxKSQr1q0IL-Ps0ekPhDE4A

And for spiritual musical as well as literary discussions and forums please visit and frequent the Rabbit Room:  http://www.rabbitroom.com/

Thanks for reading, and for listening!