Musings of a Wannabe Rock Star, One Year Later

This entry won't be particularly deep, entertaining, or funny. Just some stuff I've been thinking about.

This month marks one year since the members of the band Uncommonsense parted ways (amicably), and the only time we've all been together since was for Jonathan's wedding. I wrote about this briefly just after it happened here. From the outside, it was the same story that happens to the vast majority of the bands out there. Band forms, band breaks up. Band replaces personnel. Band plays some gigs. Band breaks up. Band re-forms with a few personnel changes and perhaps a new name. Band finally gels a bit and gets some momentum going. Band breaks up. Band re-forms again. This time it really seems to work, and band buys a van and a trailer full of gear and hits the road. Band plays all over the country, to large crowds occasionally, but more often to tiny crowds in cramped venues. Band records a solid project, footing the bill themselves. Band sees some major label interest, but nothing definite. Band signs to an indie label of dubious parentage. Band tours some more, building a fan base. Then the band comes to that critical point where they either have to quit their day jobs and take a huge gamble on this thing, or do something else. Band decides to go their separate ways.

From the outside, that's what happened to us. We did all the above things. We played in churches, at camps and retreats, at summer music festivals, in coffeehouses, in Kemper Arena once, and even in bars and clubs. (I've prayed with several drunk guys, unsure whether they would remember it the next day.) A very common story. In our case, the uncommon (hee!) part of the story was what was less visible.

One less-visible thing was the bond, musically and personally, that the members of Uncommonsense had. Musically, we were very tight. We made lots of musical mistakes, but we had a feel for each other on stage that is hard to find. We could glance at each other and change the plan on the fly. We listened to each other and played as a band, not as a collection of would-be soloists. Personally, we were real friends. We were accountable to each other. We shared our lives. We fought at times, like brothers do. But we were friends.

The other thing that was less visible was the set of goals the band had. A disclaimer here: we were, of course, trying to make money with this band. Some bands claim that they're not trying to do that. They're either lying or already have a vast store of wealth. Or they only last a month. You have to make enough money to keep going. We made enough, just barely. All of that money went back into keeping the band going - it wasn't a financially profitable venture at all. But making money wasn't the main goal. Chris (the bass player and my best friend) and I felt that we accomplished two very important goals with Uncommonsense.

The first was that we were successful in serving youth pastors across the country. When we decided to call it quits, we got several really nice e-mails from youth pastors saying how much they appreciated what we had done.

The second was that we played until the guys who had no backup plan (Jonathan and Grant and Victor) had a good shot at making it on their own. Jonathan will make (and is making) a living playing the drums - in fact he would probably be doing just that whether or not he had ever been in Uncommonsense. The boy can play. Grant came to the band as a decently good rhythm guitarist, and became an artist and a gifted worship leader (those are two very different things, in case you didn't know that). He's doing well on his own too. Victor can flat out sing. He can do rock, soul, R&B, or whatever. He'll make his living doing music as well. The rest of us had backup plans. Lance (the previous drummer) is a plumber, and plays drums for his church. Chris is a very successful realtor, and leads worship in the same church worship band. I'm a youth minister in El Dorado Springs.

Now here's the kicker and the whole reason for this post: I have to confess that sometimes when I'm playing music with the youth group band here in El Dorado Springs, I'm still a wannabe rock star. It's embarrassing to admit - I'm almost thirty years old and I'm still stuck on that. I know that my current job really does more to contribute to the lives of students than any band does. I'm aware of how fortunate I am to have the privilege of serving at this church. It isn't a perfect church - not by a long shot - but by God's grace we've so far been free of most of the church-splitting conflicts and moral deficits in leadership that have plagued many churches. I love my job. But in some sense there's a part of me that still wants to be a fighter pilot or captain of a frigate in the British Navy in Lord Nelson's day or a Navy Seal or Aragorn. That same part of me still wants to be a rock star.

I know the reason I still want to do/be all those things is that God has "set eternity in our hearts." We're made to yearn for the epic of His making creation right again. And this yearning makes us desire something larger than the humdrum. I think my problem is that sometimes I don't realize the epic nature of the struggle that is cleverly disguised in the humdrum. As one who spends my days ostensibly ministering to and discipling teenagers through the impossibilities of adolescence, I know that God is calling me to take some risks I hesitate to take. It's easy to run a snappy-looking youth ministry program. I've sort of figured out how to get students to show up in decent numbers and have a good time while they're there. I can run a program that looks good to the parents and the church board - solid numbers, "good kids," and the like. But the risks come when I try to lead these students to be more than "good kids," when I try to reach the "bad kids," and when I abandon the easy route of snappy programming for the much more difficult route of dependence on God's leading and focusing on connecting students with people who will pour their lives into those students and ultimately connecting those students with a God who won't be content with leaving them the way they are. I truly believe that doing this takes much more courage than standing on a stage in front of thousands. I also believe it's more difficult. Playing music to entertain a crowd or even to move them to action is difficult, but making a long-term difference in someone's life is excruciating. If someone in the crowd doesn't like what you're doing, there are hundreds or thousands of others in the crowd who are easier to please. Even if the whole crowd boos, there are other crowds. But living in relationship with someone, risking that they will reject that relationship (and perhaps even reject their faith) is a different matter entirely. Ever wonder why so many performers - even Christian performers - have messed-up relationships? Part of it is that the relationship with the crowd is so much easier, and it's tempting to substitute that easier relationship for the harder work of an ongoing personal relationship. I know that my work as a youth minister is ultimately going to make a much bigger difference in the lives of these students than the boys from Pillar or Relient K or Grits or even Fallout Boy or Green Day or the Black Eyed Peas will. (Nothing against those bands - fine musicians all.) I'm a big admirer of Bono from U2. I know it's cliche right now for youth pastors to be Bono fans... I'm still a fan. Bono (and other musicians who have used their various platforms to speak out on issues political or otherwise) has taken a lot of criticism from all points of the political and religious compass for his outspoken stance on gun control, poverty, and other issues. Again, this is so cliche it almost makes me ill to write it, but the reason I admire Bono is that he hasn't backed off from the controversy and he's actually brought about a great amount of cooperation from unlikely partners in trying to solve some of the world's problems. But here's the thing - I have an opportunity to impact the lives of these students in a way that even Bono never can.

So even though in some ways I'm still a wannabe rock star, I'm realizing that the rock star, the fighter pilot, the frigate captain, the mysterious ranger fighting for the realm of which he is heir to the throne - all those aspirations were placed in my heart for a really really good reason. I pray that God will give me the grace to live up to that Reason.

I welcome your thoughts.

High on Water

It has long been a semi-secret dream of mine to climb the water tower near my church in El Dorado Springs.

Well, allegedly, recently some individual (who may or may not be an acquaintance of mine) may or may not have supposedly climbed (or not) said alleged water tower.

And here are some alleged pictures.





Let no one follow this foolish young (or old) man's (or woman's) alleged example. Especially not wearing flip-flops! But it was a mighty fine view of the sunset. Supposedly.

Tonka Tick Madness!

I've written here before of a great little overnight backpack not far from my home. It's a state park called Ha Ha Tonka, and there's a seven-mile loop trail that's got some great scenery and crazy rock formations. Well, my dad and I went and hiked said trail on Fathers' Day weekend. It was a great time with my dad, and I was really glad we did it. That said, it was also ritickulous! I've never seen so many ticks in my life! I had some DEET repellent cream that I was smearing on myself, but when we were hiking I would look down every few minutes and there would be upwards of 20 or 30 ticks on EACH pant leg. I'd brush them off, only to be retickulated a few steps further on. I think it's intickative of the move away from widespread DDT spraying in America. (Not that I'm convinced DDT was a good thing, mind you - it apparently almost wiped out some predatory birds. Don't tell me that's a bunch of bosh, either, because according to the best research I can come up with that issue is far from settled.)

Anyway, the ticks. I read somewhere that a pair of guinea fowl will clear two acres of ticks almost completely within one year. I'm considering buying some. The ticks were so bad on this trip that I don't have any enlightening photos to accompany this post - I was too busy brushing off ticks to take pics. (Oy - this post is really overdoing the lame wordplay.) I still have lots of itchy bites on my legs, too.

But I was glad my dad did that hike with me. It was fun despite the crazy ticks, and we had a good talk on lots of issues.

Right now my dad and mom are in Yosemite, so recently vacated by Dwain, and before that, by Pastor Joe and family. My mom and dad rode an Amtrak train to California and rented a car for the drive up to Yosemite. They like this Amtrak traveling stuff - I'm pretty jealous myself.

My Mature Little Sisters

Okay, this one is about my family. If you don't care, don't read it.

I'm the oldest of three siblings. I have two little sisters, and we're each separated by about two-and-a-half years. Lynette is the older of the sisters, and Karen is the younger.

Growing up, I always had to be better than both of them at everything. I of course would regularly beat them up just to prove I could. I would always outdo them in whatever they were doing, and laugh scornfully to rub it in. Unfortunately for me, though, I was the sibling with the, uh... laid back... approach to life. When you're on top of the heap, you tend to lose your edge, after all.

I had zero attention span. I was oh-so-fashionably ADD. After a while this had a telling effect on my quest for superiority in everything. Lynette learned to read well early, and taught Karen all she knew. Karen began reading Nancy Drew books... at age four. I did well in school for the most part (although my report cards all talk about my problems with "lack of focus" and "daydreaming"). My sisters did better. We all loved music and took piano lessons. We all enjoyed acting and drama. By high school, my sister Lynette was better than me at acting. By the time I started college, both sisters passed me up in their piano skills. I decided to switch my area of specialty to synthesizers, since I didn't have the chops to out-play either of them on the keys.

Karen eventually became the best pianist our side of I-70 (she recently charmed a piano store owner out of a really nice grand piano for much less than it was worth, just because she can play Debussy like Pujols can play baseball).

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Lynette eventually got a scholarship for theater and now teaches the subject at Shawnee Mission South High School, a job she accepted to the great consternation of many top-flight acting schools, Broadway producers, and film agents who were stalking her day and night and demanding she sign fat contracts. Watching her run a rehearsal is better than the special features on any DVD you can name - the lady knows her stuff.

I? I became a six-year college student who couldn't settle on a major and eventually got a bachelor's degree in youth ministry so I could hang out with hyper teenagers whose attention spans were compatible with my own.

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A couple of years ago Lynette married a strapping, hirsute fellow named Joel. He's a theater guy too, besides being a swell fishing, camping, and video gaming buddy.

Last year Karen married a strapping, hirsute ninja named Brandon. He's a preacher, ninja, and a fine backpacking companion.

Both of my sisters are better than me at most things.

Both of my sisters' husbands could snap me like a twig.

But I can still program a synthesized sound from the waveform up, or take a sample of a cow mooing and turn it into Beethoven's Fifth. Let's see them do THAT. Oh, and whereas both of my sisters had to condescend and marry somewhat below their station, I married Cindy. If you think a thermonuclear detonation creates heat, you should see this lady walk into a room.

Okay, enough of this mushy talk about my sisters. I've got to be able to keep my supper down, after all. Speaking of supper, y'all should try my fajitas...

Comfortable Discomforts

So earlier this month, I added Great Smoky Mountains National Park to my list. To the best of my recollection that makes ten national parks, not including various national forests, national monuments, national historic sites, etc. I'd really like to see all of them before I die. I know there are amazing natural wonders outside the boundaries of national parks, but you're pretty much guaranteed to see some cool stuff when you go to one. The Department of the Interior at least got that part right.


My favorite park is, and probably always will be, Yosemite. But Great Smoky Mountains National Park was great too (Hee!). The reason I went was that my friend Travis Sayler and I organized a four-day backpacking trip for several of our young COGH minister colleagues.

There ended up being five of us once all the riffraff chickened out after hearing the daily mileage figures. Meh - lightweights. ...And I have to admit we chickened out too after the first day. We cut a significant chunk of the mileage off our original plan. The trails in GSMNP are for serious. Our highest altitude of the trip was just a bit over 6,000 feet, which isn't much, considering. So I must admit I underestimated the difficulty. After all, I've hiked "fourteeners" in Colorado and done okay. I even did Half Dome in Yosemite, one of the toughest (but most rewarding) day hikes you'll ever meet. But even though Great Smokies never gets very high, there just aren't many level places on those trails. That, and I seriously over-packed. Hey, I'm an eagle scout. "Be prepared," right? I was prepared for a tsunami or a blizzard. But I was hauling close to fifty pounds on my back. No problem, right? Well, as I said, there are no level places on those trails. One day we gained over 3,000 feet in about three or four miles, then lost 1,500 feet of that again in the next mile or so. Ascents like that are tough. Descents are, too. They take a different kind of toll on the body, but descents aren't as easy as you'd think when you're hauling a heavy load, especially on narrow, rough, steep trails with dangerous washed-out places and not a lot to stop you if you start falling down the mountainside.

But even though I'm whining, I must confess I loved it. One day I was hauling up a tough grade on a trail appropriately named the "Sweat Heifer." I was feeling the weight in my pack pretty intensely. A mosquito landed on my leg and began his snack. I started to smack him, but then said, "Drink all you want, buddy - that's a drop of blood I don't have to haul up this hill." I had my teeth gritted, my lungs on fire, my legs burning, sweating more than the trail's namesake, my stronger (and more lightly packed) companions out of sight far ahead of me, and I just started giggling. Delirium? Probably. But also, I was surrounded by relentless beauty. I was... not at my desk. I was pushing through the pain and I knew I wouldn't quit. I was having frank discussions with God on all manner of topics. There was almost a comfortable feeling that came over me when I looked at the distant views, the mossy rocks on the trail, the freshly green hillsides around me.

The nights were the best. Two of the four nights, we stayed in Appalachian Trail shelters. Shelters on the AT are unique backpacking experiences. They're made of rock, logs, and tin roofs. There are several wooden racks that everyone sleeps in. It's completely random whether you'll have the shelter to yourself or share it with twenty strangers.

One night, we five young ministers shared the Peck's Corner shelter with two or three atheists,
a hippie universalist, a Native American who was reading Screwtape Letters, and a Scottish agnostic. That evening we all sat around while some burned incense, tobacco, or marijuana (I only burned part of my supper - for reals), discussing the world and God and matters of faith. The full moon rose just after sunset and we discussed evolution vs. creation. We talked shop on various methods of packing, the best trail foods, and how to save weight. (Did you know that through-hikers on the AT sometimes cut the handles off their toothbrushes to save those few fractions of an ounce?) We talked politics. And we went to bed with no one angry and no one being argumentative. (Contact highs? Perhaps. ...Just kidding. The marijuana use was covert and at a respectable distance from the shelter.)

One of the atheists even told us he was glad there were Christians out there like us - Christians who didn't view people like him as the enemy. And for all you Christians reading this, they aren't! So much of the time we use battlefield rhetoric in some potentially dangerous ways. There's a "culture war" or the Left is "making war on Christians" or any number of others. When we talk like that about people, those people tend to get a bit nervous, and understandably so. We have to remember our battle is NOT against flesh and blood. Write that down - it will be on the final.

So that night I slept on an upper rack above a Native American who turned out to be a world-champion snorer. The Scottish fellow was no slouch, either. Again, though, I loved it. I fell asleep grinning, an odd comfortable feeling coming over me.


Oh, I love my REI Half Dome two-man backpacking tent. It's light, easy to set up, well-ventilated, dry as a bone in torrential downpour, and they thought of everything. Two of the nights on the trip I shared this tent with my friend Kevin Askew. If you're looking for a great two-man tent, get this one. (REI, if you want to talk paid endorsements, I'm listening!)

Since I'm talking gear, I also recommend Merrell boots and Smartwool socks. I had no idea what a difference merino wool socks made for your feet. And no, they don't make your feet hot and itchy. Buy Smartwool and enter a brave new world of foot comfort! The Merrells are highly recommended as well. Brandon Speak (my brother-in-law) and I were the only two on the trip who had them, and we were the only two who had little or no blistering on our feet. Randy J. Bland, another friend who did the trip, had his feet in shredded, bloody agony after the first two days. I loaned him a pair of Smartwools, and he said the next day was relatively pain-free. Also, Smartwools don't stink nearly as bad as cotton or synthetics. Again, Merrell and Smartwool, if you're looking to pay someone for endorsements, I promise to do a nice writeup in my blog.

Out On A Limb

This is a great video that features the Skit Guys, my favorite acting duo of the moment. It won the Southwest Airlines "Wanna Get Away?" commercial contest.

Church Signs Continue to Shock, Awe

The latest entry in the "World's Worst Church Sign" Contest has it all: vagueness, failed attempts at clever irony, insider churchy language, and simple awfulness.

This one has a story attached, even. The sign read, "When eagles are silent, parrots will squawk." I saw it, thought it over, and chuckled a bit. I told Cindy about it, and she, always trying to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, said she thought the intent was good. We decided it meant that if the noble, good, and true folks don't speak up, then the gaudy, noisy, and rude will rule the day. But... wow. Then Cindy happened to mention the sign to a coworker in a conversation about noisy birds outside classroom windows or some such. The coworker acted a little offended that Cindy would mention it in such an offhand fashion, saying she thought it was an important reminder that we need to be silent and listen for God to speak in our lives. When Cindy told me this, my reaction was a hearty guffaw. So God is the squawking parrot? I love this town.