flow fatal

I’ve heard from three old friends this week. That’s always a good week.

One was the girl I asked to my 10th grade church valentines banquet. She could drive, but I couldn’t, and I was a traditional sort of guy so I got one of my friends to drive us. Trey drove and we sat in the back seat of his station wagon as if it was a freaking limousine. And then, because the whole situation wasn’t dorky enough, I recorded George Michael’s Father Figure over and over again on the same tape and allowed it to play, over and over again on the way to the banquet. Oh man, I was such a dork and I am sooooo sorry Krista.

The second was a guy that I’ve known since the 5th grade. Brandon. I’ve got a lot of funny memories of Brandon. We used to have knock down dragouts on religion, specifically as it related to the world of Southern Baptistism (made that word up) and the Assemblies of God. We were good friends, but at total odds on things like tongues and whether or not you could lose your salvation. It’s funny how far we’ve come since then. I’m now serving in the Salvation Army and Brandon is a worship minister in a Methodists church. Wow!

And then there’s Elizabeth. Dear, dear Elizabeth. I’d call Elizabeth one of my best friends in high school. In fact, I have called her that. You know those movies with the pretty girl and the dorky guy who happen to be good friends? That was us. My friends used to ask me all the time why I didn’t ask her out. I played it cool, but the answer was “because she’d say NO!” Haha. Elizabeth taught me a lot about faith and sacrifice, but one of the most important things she did was to help me to set some dating standards, standards that very much kept me on the straight and narrow and standards that I credit to eventually leading me to Jamie, that awesome chick I’m married to. Sadly, Jamie wasn’t nearly as hard core about her own dating standards, but whatever. So, for those of you who’ve heard me speak on the subject of dating, just know that I stole half that stuff from Elizabeth.

A friend of mine recently wrote me with, what appeared to be, another version of the make poverty history bracelet. One more item we can wear or post on our blogs to make ourselves feel like we’re actually doing something. Now, truth be told, there may be more to my friend’s idea than that. I don’t know, I didn’t ask, and it was wrong of me to jump to conclusions. But, even as I apologized to my friend for the possible misunderstanding, it finally dawned on me why I hate those campaigns so much. The obvious answer is what I’ve already stated; that I hate anything that can allow Christians to go on feeling like they’re actually about God’s business, when all they’re really doing is talking about being about God’s business. Particularly when it comes to the subject of social justice. But the truth is, I hate it about myself. When I see those bracelets and blog banners, I’m really reminded that I too am just talking about social justice, but not really doing much to get my hands dirty. Being a hypocrite is…well…the worst. And so, this week, I strike out to try and change that about myself. Hopefully my own “stop human trafficking” banner will soon be written across my heart.

I read a funny phrase this week that was attributed to Rick Rueben. Rueben is the producer who first produced the Beasty Boys and has gone on to produce everybody from the Chili Peppers, to Justin Timberlake, to the Dixie Chicks, to Jay Z, and the list goes on and on. In fact, he’s nominated for a Grammy this year for producer of the year. It’s a lock and he should probably be receiving one for producer of the last two decades. Anyway, when asked about how he chooses whom he will produce and whom he won’t, he said that sits down and asks the artist to play some of their songs on an acoustic guitar or piano. He said something that I’ve always believed and that was that, if a song can sound good on piano or acoustic guitar, then it’s a good song. I totally agree. But then he made another statement that made me laugh. He said that there’s nothing even he can do when an artist is “metaphorically challenged”. Haha. Sadly I very much relate to that. I’ve been asked before why I never pursued music on a full time basis. I’ve always answered that I simply didn’t have the guts. I’ve often also thrown in that I’m not disciplined enough. But the truth is, I’m also just not a good enough writer. However, until this article, I could never quite define why. But now I know. I’m metaphorically challenged. Things like “a sky that was blue like jazz” just do not naturally come out of me, and so I’m stuck with covering other people’s songs or my own very average attempts. Sigh. I turn 35 this year and my dream of rock stardom is slowly…or maybe quickly, slipping away.

Good night Kirk. I’ll never write like you, because I never had any idea what you were trying to say. The sun is gone, but I still have a light.