Parenthetically Yours

Help-Portrait.com

Jeremy Cowart is a friend of mine who over the past six or seven years has become one of the most sought-after photographers, not just in Nashville, but across the country. His eye for detail and composition combined with his seemingly magic lighting and post wizardry create a signature style that's being copied by literally hundreds of photographers, amateur and professional alike. 

But. What's great about Jeremy is that he's a genuinely humble and all-around good guy. He'll be the first to tell you that he doesn't know what he's doing, but that he stumbles upon great shots. We're not fooled. He absolutely knows what he's doing, but he does chalk up some of his better photos to providence and happy-accidents. 

This fall leading into the holiday season, Jeremy is initiating what he hopes will become a movement. If there are any creative types who read this, consider joining at www.help-portrait.com.

I won't try to explain it, but rather will let Jeremy do the explaining himself.

(rw) 

You Had to be There

There are some things that you just “had to be there” for. The retelling doesn’t do it justice. That’s because the retelling can never satisfy the details necessary to explain why something was so funny, or epic, or sad.

For instance, all the words I could muster up could never clearly explain why it was so funny last night that my friend Lee choked on rice while laughing at Katie as she successfully guarded her tongue after burning herself and dropping a pan of brownies. You'd have to know that Lee also choked on a noodle a few months ago while sitting at the same dinner table. You'd also need to know that he'd just hit his funny bone so hard it put him in the floor with a numb arm. Epic, funny stuff. 

Also,if you happened to be at this year’s Gospel Music Association’s Dove Awards, you know that if you weren't there, you wouldn’t have been able to understand just how poignant and brutal Steven Curtis Chapman’s performance of “Cinderella” was. For those who don’t know, "Cinderella" is SCC’s song written for and about his adopted daughter Maria, who tragically died several months after the release of the song. 

If you were there in the audience, though, you would’ve known that during a commercial break, singer Donnie McClurkin came onto the stage, got our attention, and made an announcement that Aaron and Amanda Crabb were rushing to the emergency room because their two year old daughter had just fallen from a window and that it didn’t look good. We in the audience were shell-shocked. We prayed, we whispered, we prayed a again for little Eva. Then I noticed that the stagehands were setting up Steven’s band. I recognized his son Caleb tuning his guitar. There was his other son Will adjusting his drumset. Will is the son who was driving the vehicle that Maria ran in front of that fateful afternoon. I thought, “Surely he’s not about to come out and sing that song.” Sure enough. He did.

We were stunned and silent. Honestly, it was too much. Not a dry eye. In spirit, we were in two places at once: on the stage with him and in that ambulance headed to the hospital with the Crabb family. When it was over, we stood for well over a minute with a mixture of tears and applause. It was the defining moment of a show that was, quite frankly, void of meaning. But in that moment, the Dove Awards show was transcendent, and ironically, sacred. It took on a depth and weight that is never present or expected at awards shows. Even tributes and memorials come off feeling put-on and manufactured. But you couldn’t have manufactured this moment, which is precisely what made it bigger than the sum of its parts.

And that’s the miracle of Providence.

But you had to be there.

(rw)

Favorite Things Friday - Good Friday Edition

In honor of Good Friday, this week's edition of Favorite Things Friday will all be Easter/Resurrection themed. Well, except one, but we'll get to that in a bit.

CARNEY "Resurrection"  There's a undiscovered genius in Los Angeles named Reeve Carney. He and his brother Zane (a ridiculous guitarist) have a bandly aptly named Carney. I happened to catch one of their famed shows at L.A. Molly Malone's on Melrose Ave a few years back and was shell-shocked and speechless...and that's putting it mildly. It was kind of a big deal. What's even better is that they're all sold-out, crazy Christians. They're making unbelievably passionate and genius art that is dripping with the Gospel, but it sounds NOTHING like what you would hear on Christian radio stations. Thankfully. Fall in love with Carney. Please. In keeping with this week's theme, here's a video of them performing their song "Resurrection." Be forwarned, it's an epic 9 minute musical free-for-all. The editing is lame and the audio is even worse. But the tag of the chorus is "It don't mean a thing without the Resurrection." The band has other better-produced videos available to watch, but search out my personal favorite "Think of You."

THIS COMMERCIAL FROM THE 80s:

 

TO BE ANNOUNCED  Ok, so this is not Resurrection themed, but it's a favorite thing this week. I'm out on a tour right now and the opening band, Addison Road, had to bail on the tour because the singer had a baby last week. We've had a few bands substitute and fill in the opening slot but tomorrow we don't have anyone to fill in. To cure this, several guys in the crew formed their own band called To Be Announced and they're opening the show. It may not sound very interesting to you guys, but it is AWESOME! These are the guys who work the hardest (first up, last to bed) and get none of the attention. A couple of guys have even made a fake documentary about this. None of what you see and hear in the documentary is true, except that they really are playing tomorrow to open the show. I give you, TO BE ANNOUNCED!!

It don't mean a thing without the Resurrection

(rw)

Big Picture from the window seat

It’s easy to get caught up in my own superficial issues and personal drama. I mean, it’s happening to me, right? So how am I not supposed to get caught up in it? I can be like a fish in a net, fighting a losing battle. But the drama isn’t the net. The net is me. I get caught up in me. All it is is self-centeredness. If you put you at the center of everything, then everything becomes about you. Even other’s issues or struggles become about how they’re affecting you. It’s a common problem that we have because we’re human beings.

I’ve always heard that the best way to get over yourself is to serve someone else. Whether it’s a spouse, a friend, a relative, a homeless guy…whatever. Just go do something for someone other than yourself. It really does work, at least for a little while. Definitely worth the time.

Me? I take a flight.

My dad worked for Texas International Airlines (which became Continental Airlines) when I was growing up so I was flying at an early age. I loved the window seat then, and I love the window seat now. Sure, it makes it difficult getting up if I need a restroom break, but the pros outweigh the cons. See, I’m kind of a Big Picture person. Ask Katie about this, who is a details person. I may not remember word for word the conversation, but I have a general idea about what we were talking about. It can be annoying, to say the least. Again, ask Katie about this.  Here’s an example:

Did you hear so-and-so is having a baby?

No way! When did they find out?

Uhm…

Well, do they know what they’re having?

I, uh…

When are they due?

I think they, uh…(I’m still thinking about the first question)

Randy! Did you ask them anything?

They, uh…she’s, um, having a baby…? I think?

So, being a Big Picture person, it always serves me well to take a flight. I remember taking a flight at some point in high school (who knows when or why I was flying? Remember, Big Picture.) and having an epiphany-type moment. As the cars and houses became smaller and smaller immediately after takeoff, I remember having a sudden realization that inside every single car, and inside every single house were actual people dealing with life that day. There was hurt, joy, apathy, success, distress, boredom, genius, secrets, and on and on. This overwhelmed me and it’s all I could think about for hours.

Since then, I can’t get in a plane without thinking about it and it spills over into everyday life when I’m in traffic or standing on a stage looking at hundreds of faces staring back at me. I’m constantly reminded of that Big Picture epiphany I had in that window seat all those years ago. We’re ALL going through it. Fill in the blank. Everybody hurts. Or laughs. It’s overwhelming, but hopefully it makes me a little more understanding. A pinch more compassionate.

Now, don’t get me wrong. More than I’d like to admit, I’m a thoughtless, self-consumed cliché of a jerk. But every so often, the revelation will unfold and remind me that I’m not actually the center of the universe.

(rw)

Favorite Things Friday

It’s good to be back on the blog and to be sharing all my opinions with anyone who will listen (er…read?). Turns out, that’s about 100 people. Not enough to swing an election…but more than enough to, say, help me move. A good number. (note: no. I’m not moving. Just a figure of speech.)

It’s Friday. It’s time to let you in on my little secrets this week.

KONA COFFEE  So yeah, I went to Hawaii last week and got back this past Monday. Before I even boarded the plane in Nashville, I knew what I would be bringing back home: a tan and some Kona coffee. Only coffee grown in the Kona region of the Big Island can be labeled “kona,” therefore it’s a very limited (and expensive) coffee. On the mainland, it’s generally only available once a year (late spring) and usually fetches $30-$50/lb. I thought it would be much cheaper in Hawaii. Ha. Nothing is cheaper in Hawaii. Even sunburns have a consumption tax. I bought two 8 oz. bags (one for me, one for a friend) at $19 a pop and am a third of the way through mine. You really can tell a difference. It’s mild and mellow, like Hawaii. Even this dark roast I’m sipping this very moment has zero bitterness, but strong flavor. I’m more than a little tempted to drink this other bag and not tell my buddy I got any for him. Is that wrong?

AMERICAN IDOL  Yeah. It’s that time of the year (we’re about five or six weeks deep at this point) and I have to admit, I’m completely hooked…again. For the most part, there’s a ridiculous amount of talent on that show, year after year and my picks have won the past three years running. The top 12 was just rounded out last night (I picked 10 out of the 12 so far, thank you) and now we get into the popularity contest of it all. My picks for the final two? Lil Rounds and Danny Gokey. They both have great stories, humility, charm, and talent for days. I used to be totally ANTI-IDOL…but with my growning appreciation for David Cook, Carrie Underwood, Eliott Yamin, Kelly Clarkson, Jennifer Hudson, etc…well, you can’t argue with genuine talent. I’ll admit a few big disappointments so far this year (which I won’t mention for risk of sounding too much like a super-geeky-fanboy), but all in all, once again, Katie and I are glued to the TV every Tuesday and Wednesday nights.

THE JESUS I NEVER KNEW. My friend Tony Lucido gave this groundbreaking book by Philip Yancey to me a little over a year ago. I’m just now picking it up to read. Why did I wait? I recommend this book to anyone who grew up going to church.

Thank you, and good night!

(rw)

Favorite Things Friday!

Well...one of my favorite things is college football...and sadly, it's over. I'm so torn because on one hand, I CAN"T STAND the Florida Gators. Yet, I love Tim Tebow and the SEC...so, I'm caught in this tension of elation and frustration. I was rooting for OU and Tim Tebow. And, if OU had been playing Texas for the National Championship (which should've happened), I would've painted myself burnt orange and donned a longhorn helmet.  It was all very confusing and left me apathetic to the entire BCS process. 

This week, Katie and I attended an amazing marriage seminar by Dan Allender. It was sponsored by Al Andrews and Porter's Call, a ministry for artists and musicians here in Franklin. It was disturbing, frustrating, revelatory, beautiful, and mind-splittingly amazing. Thank you Al and Dan for messing up things! It's already had an effect in our marriage (in a great way!). 

Finally, for all you techy-geeky folks out there, this isn't so much a favorite thing, but a favorite possible thing. There are many rumors out there that Apple is going to introduce a large version of the iPod Touch (maybe Macbook Touch?) later this year. Basically, it will be a fully-functioning tablet (meaning, no keyboard) computer. For those of us who travel so much, we can leave our clunky laptop computers at home. Oh...the joy!

Until next week...here's a favorite quote:

An immature man will die nobly for a cause while a mature man will live humbly for one. - JD Salinger

(rw)

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.

Franklin is a ghost town. By that, I don’t mean that it’s uninhabited. I mean it in the same way one might say, “Arkansas is RAZORBACK country,” or, “Nashville is a guitar town,” or, “Rome is a Pope town.” In other words, they like their ghosts around here. Last year around Halloween, Katie was at Bible study one evening, so a couple of friends and I went on the Haunted Franklin Ghost Tour (yeah, I get the irony). We spent 90 minutes touring various buildings downtown behind a sarcastic thespian-type wearing a civil war-era get up as she filled us in on the local haunts of Franklin’s sordid past. It was actually really informative and since I’m a history nerd, I loved it. I also know which downtown buildings I DO NOT want to spend the night in. Scary stuff. Who knew my town was Tennessee's most haunted? I mean, if you believe all that.

My memories of Halloween revolve around KISS because I only remember dressing up as Ace Frehley for three years in a row. I also remember watching KISS Meets the Phantom of the Park on Halloween night one year. It had to be 1978 or something. Mom and dad were at a party so we got stuck next door with our neighbors. After returning home from tricks and treats, our bellies full of discount candy, we settled down by the warm glow of the television. It was my generation’s Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show. Of course, the main difference is that the Beatles were geniuses and KISS were buffoons. Tell that to a 10 year-old boy with stars in his eyes, though. It was bigger than Star Wars for me. 

I’ve never lived in Franklin, though, until after the wedding in January, so this will be my first official Halloween here. Apparently, it’s a pretty big deal downtown where we live. Our neighbors said they spent hundreds on candy last year and that kids are literally lining up the sidewalks. One lady used a counter to keep track of her ghoulish little visitors and by the time the night was over, she had clicked the thing over 1,500 times. Up and down Main and Fair streets people have begun decorating like it’s Christmas. One family is readying their garage to be transformed into a haunted, um, garage (?) with a GIANT pumpkin façade. Kids will walk through the mouth of said pumpkin to get inside. I’m not kidding when I say they’re REALLY into Halloween here.

But before some of you get up in arms about the theological correctness of “celebrating” All Hallow’s Eve—don’t. It’s all in good fun here and the kids get to play dress up and get free candy. That’s it. Hopefully my (and your) faith and theology can withstand one night a year giving away sweets to 6 and 8 year-old Spidermen and Hannah Montanas. And I can’t wait. I already have my Ace Frehley mask.

Check back next week for my Top 10 Ways to confuse trick-or-treaters.

(rw)

OH yeah...it's Watercooler Wednesday!

The (almost) thief in the night

It’s been an emotionally jarring weekend. I left town Thursday night for shows in Philly and Chicago and I was looking forward to seeing some old friends over the weekend. Katie had plans of her own Saturday night with a girlfriend and called around 10:30 p.m. on her way home. The next call came at 11:45 and her first words were, “Well, I’ve had an eventful night. The cops just left.” Someone had tried to break into our back door around 11:15 but thankfully she had locked up everything less than one minute prior. Just typing those words still unnerves me.

They didn’t get in and as soon as they appeared, they disappeared. But what they left in their wake was something entirely more horrifying. Fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of the might-have-been.

Katie and I became CSI:Franklin the next morning looking for clues and recreating the scene. She had me shove windows, doors, etc trying to determine exactly what happened. We even found a few fingerprints but were unsure if they were ours or theirs. Kind of comical actually, but we needed anything to ease our collective minds. I unintentionally provided some comic relief by throwing my 165 lb weakling of a body into the door trying to recreate the sound she’d heard. “I think you’re too little,” she said through giggles. It helped her to laugh so I decided to not be offended by her calling me “too little.” I prefer the term “too awesome.”

The most difficult aspect of all of this is the constant replaying it over and over and over in our heads, adding or subtracting bits and pieces, playing out the various what-could’ve-happened scenarios. I suppose a big (BIG) part of that is my protective nature for my wife. As much as I’m ashamed to admit it, I truly think it would feel good to kill this person. And I don’t want to do it quickly. I want this person to understand what it means to fear, to wince, to flinch. Because that’s what they’ve done to my wife. She is the bravest person I know and it’s made her jumpy. I know this is all part of the shell-shock and it will pass, but the fact that some outside source has inflicted pain on her has made me a raging lunatic inside. I mask it. Partially for me, partially for her, but I literally want them dead. By my hands.

But this is not reasonable. Or right.

The most likely story is that this person was an addict looking for money, anything, to feed the monster living within them. We live in the downtown area of a small town. There is a social services building less than a mile from our house and we often see vagrants along our streets so this is most likely the case. Do I blame them? Sure. Do they deserve punishment? You bet. Should I have mercy? Absolutely.

We can’t live in fear although it makes the most sense right now. But, as we heard in church Sunday, the thief comes to steal. We also heard that perfect Love casts out all fear. This person who made the failed attempt to break in is my enemy. Yet I’m told by Love to love him, to forgive him, and that mercy will be shown to those who show mercy. Forgiveness and Mercy is a conscious choice, one that doesn’t come naturally. My flesh wants to sink a knife deep into his chest. God’s Spirit wants my enemy, His wayward son, to come home and find rest.

And that’s the difference between judgement and mercy, the law and the cross.

(rw)

Inspiration in row 14

Heroes seem so few and far between. At least that’s what I tend to believe. They’re not unlike comets—a rare event that happens from time to time stirring up a lot of attention then vanishing into air that’s thin and opaque.

I was on a flight recently and an elderly man and his 27 year-old grandson sat next to me. Typically I don’t talk on flights. One could even say I'm anti-social. I like my space and my time. I realize this is selfish, but it is what it is. The first thing the man did was take out a weathered leather day-timer and opened it up to September. He said to his grandson “In September ’01 I had a brain aneurism, in September ’06 I had colon surgery, and this September I took this trip. A lot of things have happened in September.” A few minutes later he leaned over and asked me, “Did you have a grandfather that fought in World War II?” From that statement I knew three things: 1) I liked this guy, 2) I wanted to get to know him, and 3) I could learn a lot from him. I put everything down and got ready to listen and learn.

Ken Shotts was born in 1927 and was part of the US occupation force in Yokohama, Japan when he was 18.  Are you kidding me? I was desperately trying to learn Winger songs when I was 18. He was keeping a watchful eye on the Imperial Army with a machine gun in his hand.

He and his grandson were returning from a trip to Washington D.C. where he was able to see the WWII memorial and was greeted by Sen. Bob Dole upon arriving. He told me great stories of people he met while stationed in Japan and how he went back there in 1963 for an evangelical crusade and visited some of the friends he had made in the 40s. Like me, he is a musician and was in a band while in the army playing standup bass. He's still active musically and has been leading singing at a retirement home for 36 years near his home outside Dallas. He told me that he’s used the same hymnal for all 36 years and has written down every song he’s sung and every person he’s met over all this time.

He told a great story about when he was working for Toshiba USA and was asked by one of the visiting Japanese managers to translate his message to a gathering of the US sales force. Knowing very little Japanese, he obliged and sat patiently as the foreign manager spoke briefly. When he finished, he nodded to Ken that he could translate. Ken had no idea what the man had said so he decided to make up his own speech on the spot. It was encouraging and uplifting to the gathered salesmen and everyone applauded as Ken sat down. Ken knew one of the visitors from Japan and asked him what the manager had actually said. Jibberish, he said. They had tried to pull one over on Ken, but he unknowingly turned the tables on them. My kind of guy!

There has been a slight curtain drawn over me since turning 40. I’ve had this gnawing sensation that the good half of my life is over and now I’m entering into the bad half. I know, that's an incredibly pessimistic (and not typical for me) attitude. Thank you Ken Shotts for showing me that life is not a series of halves or even quarters. There’s a flow and a stream to living and it's to be lived every day. You collect experiences along the way that hopefully decorate the journey.  They aren't there to stop the journey and set up camp. They are there for you to look at as you pass by, like strolling through an art gallery. There's beauty, sadness, truth, ugliness, craziness, warmth, light, and shadow. But you keep going, always reminding yourself that there is something new around the corner in the other room that will be worth retelling. Ken is 81, and is a gentleman whose mind is sharp as a scalpel and is still collecting stories to tell. 

I'm beginning to collect some stories myself.

(rw)

 

The Glamorous Life

I have a great number of friends who have this wild assumption that I lead this glamorous, rockstar lifestyle simply because I play music for a living. Now, I’m willing to admit that it can be nice not having a “normal” job. When I’m off, I’m totally off…and I’m off three, four, sometimes five days a week. The flip side of that scenario is that when I’m at work, I’m out of town, gone. And it’s rarely what any of my friends imagine.

Take this past weekend. We left at 6 p.m. on Friday evening for a 14 hour drive to Orlando. Thankfully Katie was able to come with us, so I had unusually sweet company. Usually it’s all a bunch of dudes making dumb jokes for hours until we start heading to bed. When we woke up, we were in a back lot at Universal Studios. I got up and walked Kates to the front gate where she was meeting up with an old friend for the day. It was 9 a.m. and already 90 degrees inside the park. The sweat running down my back was flowing like the Rio Grande by the time I made it back to the bus. Then it was time to soundcheck. Outside. In the heat. Once soundcheck and lunch were finished, the theme park had arranged each artist a VIP tour guide to take them from ride to ride, and escort them to the front of the line. This is usually one of the greatest perks about playing shows at theme parks. Usually.

Oh, a great time was certainly had by all for the first 90 minutes. As we were boarding our first big rollercoaster of the day, The Hulk, our guide told us to leave anything that might fall off. I left my hat, sunglasses, and phone along with several other guys. Long story short, three phones and a camera were stolen! Our guide turned his back for one minute and BAM! Gone. We ran out to see if we could see anyone or anything. Nada. Zilch. I couldn’t believe how naked I felt without my trusty Treo. Glamorous.

Then…that night, as I was getting ready to change in to my “show clothes,” I smelled something that made my eyes water. What in the world could be producing such a foul odor? My shoes? Nope. My pits? Nope. What the…? I forgot that I had taken my jeans out of the washer and packed them while slightly damp. At this point they’d been in that bag for a week. Totally mildewed. Yeah, the smell was thick. It was as if someone had smeared cat poop mixed with burnt hair all over my Levis before slinging chunks of rotten barbeque brisket on them…then washed them in buttermilk and brine before leaving them outside in the humid Florida air for a week inside a boar’s stomach. Unfortunately, these were the only jeans I’d brought for the show so I had to put them on. All night long I kept getting pungent whiffs of my pants and gagging. That’s not a lie.  On top of all that I found myself looking the crowd over for anyone fitting the description of our thief.

This is the stuff that the audience and my friends don’t see. The sweaty soundchecks, the painfully boring time between soundcheck and showtime (anywhere from 8 to 12 hours), or the alarm going off after less than four hours sleep yesterday to make a flight to Wichita (whereupon United decided to not put my guitar on the flight and after arriving two hours later they refused to deliver it until 10 p.m. so we had to send someone on a two hour trip to the airport and back…good times). They don’t see this stuff, but this stuff is where my true character is tested, where my real self lives, not on stages. That guy is show-Randy. He’s usually pretty clever and smiling. If you really want to get to know (and dislike) me, though, meet me at an early morning flight check-in, right after the security checkpoint as I’m furiously putting my belt and shoes back on (something that feels so immodest for some reason). That’s the point when I’m at my nastiest. My scowl in that moment could melt paint off a fire hydrant. I’m not proud of that guy. He gives my parents and Jesus a bad name.

(rw)

And although it's a late addition, this is part of today's Watercooler Wednesday at ETHOS. My YouTube guilty pleasure? I could watch local news bloopers all day long.  Especially this one!