Alabama – Page 2 – Mostly From Memory

Fog

I had to drive in the fog this week. I’m not talking about the kind of patchy fog you drive through while you’re crossing a bridge and then you are back in the sunshine. No. I drove for two and a half hours through the kind of fog in which Edgar Allan Poe set all of his stories. At least that’s the thick fog that I imagine when I read him. So naturally, I decided to do some drive-by photography. I love a good foggy morning; it makes me feel like Sherlock Holmes. A damp haze like this gives me a craving for a good mystery. For whatever reason, fog pulls on my creative nature. I was feeling pretty inspired and artistic in this dreamy landscape until I passed a big chicken truck that had turned over in the ditch just outside of Natchitoches. That wreck halted my daydreaming and caused me to slow down and give my undivided attention to the road, at least for a little while. Then I began to wonder if any of those chickens made their escape into the mist. I hope they did. I love a good escape story as much as I love a foggy morning. Maybe they took up with the herons in the swamp.

As much as the fog tugs on my imagination, I’m glad that it isn’t foggy all of the time. It can be stressful when you cannot see very far ahead of you. I imagine that’s what happened to that poor truck driver. He probably had to take evasive action to avoid killing someone he only saw at the last split second. Who knows?

The wrecked truck reminded me of something I learned about as a teenager following the progress of Operation Iraqi Freedom in the newspaper; The Fog of War. Originally a German term, it describes how the chaos of battle brings confusion and situational uncertainty to soldiers—and even top brass—who often become disoriented and are unsure of what to do next. I have never been in combat, but I have been in a lot of fog, and I can appreciate the analogy. My cousin Mark got disoriented in the fog on the Coosa River once during a fishing tournament. He navigated his bass boat by GPS right up out of the river and into the woods. I think the problem with disorientation is you don’t know you are disoriented until it is too late.

The vicissitudes of life can put us in a fog. The beauty of that fog and the creativity that it inspires is hardly ever seen in the moment except by the rare longsighted optimists, or the visionaries who are gifts to humanity. The rest of us only see the beauty in hindsight-that is if we make it through. There have been a few-and thank God only a few-truly foggy patches in my life. Times when you can only see as far as the next step and you aren’t fully sure of that; when you have all but lost direction; and when the mist has nearly halted any progress you thought you were making. It may take a while, but eventually we can look back and see the beauty of those times. And, with a twinkle in our eye and compassion in our voice, even recall them with joy and hope, and tell about them to someone going through their own fog.

We are often tossed and driven on the restless seas of time

Somber skies and howling tempests oft succeed the bright sunshine

But in that land of perfect day, when the mist has rolled away

We will understand it better by and by

This fog the other day covered a large swath of Louisiana. A friend who was working on the other side of the State that morning was telling me how foggy it was for him too. I’m glad I wasn’t in it alone. Eventually the fog “burnt off” as he put it, and it turned out to be a bright sunny day. But I’m glad I got these pictures. I didn’t want you to think I was exaggerating.

All Quiet on Pew Number Five

There was a wedding at church on Saturday.

There was a wedding at church on Saturday. The kind without all the fuss of rehearsal dinners. Or rehearsals. Or the hassle of getting a hotel room. No frivolity, just a simple wedding like I remembered when I was a kid, with cake and punch in the church foyer. I really like these kind of weddings.

As my family sat in the pew on the Bride’s side waiting for the wedding to start, I noticed that it was uncommonly quiet for our church. Even the children were whispering. At least some of them. You can almost hear what your neighbors are thinking when it is that quiet. But that is what the Bride wanted, no filler music that didn’t mean anything. Just one song to walk in with.

Silence makes some people uncomfortable. And uncomfortable people make the rest of us uncomfortable. But I like quiet places. A lot more than I like canned mosquito music that nobody asked to listen to, or TV noise. I like to be able to hear the ticking of my watch. I like to hear the birds singing outside. Most of all I like being able to hear myself think.

“Quiet as a church? If had a car that sounded like my church, I wouldn’t drive it out of the driveway.”

-Tom Trimble

As I sat there on the pew, hardly daring to whisper, I thought about how much racket I normally make at church. I have blown three speakers while playing guitar at church. Now I’m not proud of that, because it was expensive, but probably some of the loudest moments in my life were at church. But there we were, sitting on the pew trying not breath too heavily so as not to disturb the quiet. It was so peaceful. I think I’ll slip up there again soon when no one is there and just listen to the silence.

Magazines

I think that it is healthy to have hobbies or areas of interest.

I just finished reading A Hunter’s Fireside Book: Tales of Dogs, Ducks, Birds & Guns by Gene Hill. If you were not aware, I am not a hunter, but I appreciate good writing no matter the subject-within reason of course. Good writing can make even the most boring pastime seem interesting. While I don’t necessarily think hunting boring, I do think Gene Hill was a good writer. And I really enjoyed the book. This book was a collection of columns he wrote for various outdoor magazines in the 60s and 70s. I can understand how readers felt when they got a new magazine and turned straight to where they knew his column could be found. He finished his career as full-time columnist for Field & Stream magazine. He died in 1997. All of this reminded me of how much magazines used to be a part of my life.

Zach had a big pile of second hand Field & Stream magazines that he procured from the thrift store. I used to read them too, and I didn’t really care for hunting or fishing then either. But the stories were interesting. And so were the ads. We’d stare at those rifles. Or think of how much fun we could have with one of those 6 wheeled amphibious ATVs in the tiny black and white ad spots in the very back of the magazine.

There was another author that wrote a lot for Field & Stream, Patrick McManus. We had some of his books, but those second hand magazines from his era would’ve been worn out a long time before they could be found by a country boy at a thrift store.

Every once in a while Mom would buy us a bunch of National Geographic magazines from the thrift store or a yard sale. We even had a subscription on and off throughout my life. I loved those old magazines. The pictures were so interesting that you wanted to read the articles. I still want to go to see some of the places that I discovered reading those old yellow magazines; Angkor Wat, Easter Island, New Guinea, Hong Kong, India…Steve McCurry and Rudyard Kipling have taken me to India so many times that I would like to go in person some day. The advertisements in National Geographic were quite a bit different than the ads in Field & Stream. I distinctly remember the Rolex (specifically the Milgauss) and Canon ads. It was also interesting to see ads for new cars that you had only ever known as old.

I think that it is healthy to have hobbies or areas of interest.

Mom subscribed to Traditional Home. Those ads made me realize that we were in fact, poor. But I loved looking at the floor plans of those high dollar houses. That magazine also gave me an appreciation for interior design. It is hard to condense 15 years of reading a decorating and design magazine into a single sentence or even paragraph other than to say that poor design choices still bother me.

I guess the only guitar magazine that I have ever subscribed to was Premier Guitar. For the longest time I liked them because they never had people on the cover, just guitars. That changed when BB King died. I have stopped subscribing because I think the editor is a smart alec. Even so, whenever a new guitar student asked me a question about say, what a phaser pedal does, I have to work hard to keep from giving them a 5 page report with works cited and audio clips because they really want a brief AI answer, not a research paper, or even a magazine article.

I think that it is healthy to have hobbies or areas of interest.

Magazines were how I discovered a lot of things, like how to identify a quality piece of furniture. And where I learned a lot of guitar and gardening techniques. I started eating honey and gorgonzola cheese on crackers because I read it in a magazine. I learned how to intonate guitars and marinate grouse in magazines. I still haven’t marinated any grouse though, but I can intonate your guitar for $45 if you’re in the Jena area.

Some magazines would print corrections from previous articles. I liked that. I like it when things are made right. It also was a good reminder that real people worked to put together the magazine. I also liked that more than likely a reader caught the mistake. Sometimes a magazine would post a letter from a reader and it was as interesting to read as one of the regular staff writers. What a cool career writing for a magazine would be.

Superman could’ve picked any job he wanted as a cover, but he picked journalism.

I suppose that some people still subscribe to magazines, but I’m not sure who they are. I imagine that your social media algorithm is a good representation of what your magazine rack might’ve looked like 40 years ago. One nice thing about that is information is more readily available. I’m not sure that social media can quite replicate the feeling of seeing a magazine in the mailbox.

Some Thoughts on Truth

Resisting the truth is what keeps many conflicts alive.

While I was working my way through college I noticed a phenomenon that happened with alarming frequency. Things that I had been taught in high school as fact were now being challenged and subjected to heavy source criticism.

Post-truth: relating to or denoting circumstances in which objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief.

It was the Oxford Dictionaries word of the year in 2016.

“Never have human societies known so much…but agreed so little about what they collectively know.”
Dan Kahan, psychology and law professor

It is safe to say that we live in a post-truth society. What does this mean for the Church? As Christians we are people who are very concerned with truth and how we view truth is a matter of grave importance. This is in no way an exhaustive work, but a mere peering into mirrored surface of the profound pool of truth.

Truth can be known.

Jesus said in John 8:31 “…And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”

You cannot know a lie. Neither do lies bring freedom. You can only believe a lie.

But truth is knowable. It is stable foundation that can built upon. When everything is falling apart in your life you can cling to something that you know is true.

You can know this today: There is a God who loves you.

Truth must be purchased.

While there is some truth that can be immediately transmitted into our knowledge, truth must be purchased; sought out. You have to get it for yourself, not just because some body told you.

Buy the truth, and sell it not; also wisdom, and instruction, and understanding. Proverbs 23:23

In order to be purchased, truth must be valued. You will not purchase something that you do not think is valuable. Lies can also be purchased. What people value determines the market. Truth is precious. It is rare. Lies have no value. Unfortunately, many unsuspecting-or rather undiscerning-people have been sold so many lies at immense costs.

What you value matters to God. The highest level of value is love. If you do not love truth, God will hide it from you.

II Thessalonians 2:8-12 And then shall that Wicked be revealed, whom the Lord shall consume with the spirit of his mouth, and shall destroy with the brightness of his coming: Even him, whose coming is after the working of Satan with all power and signs and lying wonders, And with all deceivableness of unrighteousness in them that perish; because they received not the love of the truth, that they might be saved. And for this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie: That they all might be damned who believed not the truth, but had pleasure in unrighteousness.

Truth Demands a Response.

Response to truth is reflected in behavior. When truth is resisted corrupt behavior is manifested.

II Timothy 3:1 This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come. For men shall be lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, without natural affection, trucebreakers, false accusers, incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good, traitors, heady, highminded, lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God; Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof: from such turn away. For of this sort are they which creep into houses, and lead captive silly women laden with sins, led away with divers lusts, Ever learning, and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth. Now as Jannes and Jambres withstood Moses, so do these also resist the truth: men of corrupt minds, reprobate concerning the faith.

Truth will always be resisted, and as time draws near to the end, it will be resisted more. People will always try to hide the truth, and it will be reflected in their fruit.

Truth is Liberating.

John 8:31 “…And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”

With truth comes a freedom that nothing else can bring. Hiding the truth breeds fear. There is nothing to fear when you can tell the truth.

If you tell the truth, you won’t have to worry about someone else telling it.

New Beginnings

I burnt off half of my yard earlier this year. Because I did not want to mow it, I allowed the brush to grow up to the point where I could not mow it. While it is not the only way to tidy up a yard, burning is perhaps the best way to begin a clean start. It is a conflicting feeling to watch the fire take over the yard. The flames will not selectively burn just the overgrown, stubborn weeds that have begun to harden into pithy stalks, it also consumes the tender grass. And then there is the waiting. And in the waiting the questions. How long will this lay waste in ashes? Will it come back?

It does come back. And better.

This is a follow up to Controlled Burn.

Fiddlesticks

It was my grandmother’s most often used expletive. She only used it in frustration. Like when you’re pouring oil out of a frying pan into a glass jar through a strainer to use later and you spill the oil everywhere; that’s a proper time to say fiddlesticks! There was always a tinge of resignation in her voice when she said it, as if it was declaration of surrender to the task that had just outmaneuvered her.

Inevitably there would be someone standing by who saw the humor in the situation, and they would laugh. Gram would laugh too. No sense in staying upset all day over something silly.

Mom’s favorite wooden cuss-word was “Cat Hair!”

Apparently, people have been using fiddlesticks in this way since the 18th century. Whenever she said it I would imagine someone knocking over a bucket of violin bows. Have you ever priced a violin bow? Or I would visualize a couple of bows crossed above Gram’s head like some musical coat of arms. Or perhaps a barrage of fiddlesticks raining down on her. It is funny what you think as a child.

I had always assumed that a fiddlestick was the bow of the violin, and that is the original definition. But fiddlesticks is also what you call a pair of sticks that a second person plays on the strings of a violin to add percussion to a fiddle tune. It is quite common in Cajun fiddle tunes. But I didn’t grow up listening to Cajun folk music, much less seeing people play it. I was reminded of this word-and Gram- today because I saw someone playing the fiddlesticks in this video.

Hard Questions

“Will the Lord cast off for ever? and will he be favourable no more? Is his mercy clean gone for ever? doth his promise fail for evermore? Hath God forgotten to be gracious? hath he in anger shut up his tender mercies? Selah.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭77‬:‭7‬-‭9‬ ‭

David has some of the most pointed and direct questions in the Bible.

“How long, Lord? wilt thou hide thyself for ever? shall thy wrath burn like fire? Remember how short my time is: wherefore hast thou made all men in vain? What man is he that liveth, and shall not see death? shall he deliver his soul from the hand of the grave? Selah. Lord, where are thy former lovingkindnesses, which thou swarest unto David in thy truth?”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭89‬:‭46‬-‭49‬ ‭

I’m glad those questions are in the Bible. It is comforting to see such relatable humanity in a character like David. It is human to question things. It is how God created us. David isn’t the only one with questions in the Bible.

Job had some hard questions. Legitimate questions. Questions about pain, justice, equity, and integrity. The Disciples of Jesus had questions. Questions about roles in the Kingdom, when Jesus was returning, and why they failed to cast out demons. Nicodemus had questions. Questions about who Jesus really was. Paul had questions. Questions about why God wouldn’t take away the thorn in his flesh. And Zane has questions. And maybe you have questions.

“God can handle your questions.

-Joel Booker

Sometimes I look at the calendar and I see holidays that I don’t understand. Or holidays that I understand and don’t observe. I’m not sure if it is on your calendar, but October is Pastor Appreciation month. I learned about this as an adult. I don’t recall observing this when I was a kid. I probably missed a lot as a kid though. I observe Pastor Appreciation but I don’t limit it to the month of October.

A pastor, we read in the English dictionary, is a minister in charge of a Christian church or congregation. I like Webster’s definition better, a spiritual overseer. The Bible likens pastors to shepherds and the people of God as sheep. In my childlike mind I understood that my pastor was the man who preached to me. He was The Preacher. There are many today that feel like preaching is irrelevant, and to use a Bible word foolish, but God still thinks that preaching is pretty important.

For after that in the wisdom of God the world by wisdom know not God, it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save them that believe. I Corinthians 1:21

“At some point, whether you want to admit it now or not, you are going to need a preacher, if only to put you in the ground.”

-Perry Wells

The words of the Preacher, the son of David, King in Jerusalem. Ecclesiastes 1:1

Solomon was a preacher. A wise preacher. Solomon gives us three of the five books of the Bible that are considered wisdom literature: Song of Solomon, Proverbs, and Ecclesiastes. In these books he gives us sound doctrine in how to conduct our relationships with our spouse, our fellow man, and pleasure. Solomon, to quote my father, was “Something else.”

Anyone can give you an answer, not everyone can give you wisdom.

And when the queen of Sheba heard of the fame of Solomon concerning the name of the Lord, she came to prove him with hard questions…And Solomon told her all her questions: there was not any thing hid from the king, which he told her not. I Kings 10:1-3

The Queen of Sheba came to test Solomon with questions. Hard questions. Let’s just see how brilliant this guy is. I’ve asked some questions like that before too. Sometimes you have to ask a few of those test questions just to make sure you’re not smarter that the person you are asking. Maybe the Queen also began that way. I can see her sashaying up to Solomon with a list of riddles and sharp hypothetical questions that she already knew the answer to, trying to catch him in a trap, and one after one Solomon answers her questions without any loss of composure. Maybe her attitude then shifted from snarky to the sincere and she began to ask questions about things that she really didn’t have a handle on but was too embarrassed to ask. After all, when you’re the Queen, you’re supposed to have all the answers.

I still have a lot of questions that I don’t feel comfortable asking just anyone. I believe that Pastors are a gift from God for the perfecting of the saints. I have come to appreciate my pastor so much more than simply his irreplaceable role as the The Preacher. At this season in my life my pastor has been someone who I can ask hard questions. Which leads me to this question: If you can’t ask your pastor hard questions is he really your pastor?

How To Write About Grief

I have been working on this draft for almost a year. The fact is, I don’t want to write about grief. I would rather write something that will make you laugh. Laughter, as the scripture says, does good like a medicine. But I feel compelled to write about grief. And reluctance to write about it won’t make it go away anymore than ignoring makes actual grief go away. It is natural to want to avoid anything to do with grief. This is a truth: We cannot avoid the events in life that will bring us grief. Dealing with grief is part of living.

Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. Matthew 5:4

Do you remember when you were a little kid and lost your parents at the grocery store because you were not paying attention? Losing your parents as an adult feels the same way except you are little embarrassed about calling out for them. That crying out is grief. I understand that everyone grieves differently. What has helped me has been writing my feelings. Maybe that can help you grieve too.

Stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.

When an event happens that triggers grief it is natural to feel these emotions, but that doesn’t change the fact that we can often feel embarrassed because we are experiencing them. After all, aren’t we adults who have everything together? Being shocked is an uncomfortable feeling. Especially for us who enjoy stability, quiet, and don’t like change. Denial can make us begin to question things we know are true. Being angry can also be humiliating because we feel like we have lost our self composure. It is where we say things like This is not fair! This is wrong! and we are further frustrated because we know what we are saying is true, but there is nothing we can do about it. Bargaining when you are unstable will usually get you a bad deal. You’ll end to doing something rash or in haste. Depression is a life sucking monster that strangles us to inaction. I’m not a licensed counselor, but I believe that one of the reasons that people end up going to counseling for grief is because they never complete the process but get hung up in one of the stages. Whenever that happens, no matter the stage, bitterness can develop.

Follow peace with all men, and holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord: Looking diligently lest any man fail of the grace of God; lest any root of bitterness springing up trouble you, and thereby many be defiled; Lest there be any fornicator, or profane person, as Esau, who for one morsel of meat sold his birthright. Hebrews 12:14-16

Bitterness is not merely an emotion, it is a parasitic root that gets in your spirit. The things that grow out of this root can’t be dealt with on the surface. Dealing with the surface is like cutting a stubborn hedge down to the ground only to realize that you simply pruned it and now it is destined to grow back even more unruly. Bitterness is a deeply inward issue that not only troubles you, but defiles many around you.

In the case of my Dad I believe I began the grief process as soon as he received the cancer diagnosis. I was shocked and tried to deny it: Cancer was something we heard about other people getting. I was scared to death of cancer as a child. I didn’t know exactly what it was and that made it even scarier. Shock and fear are not the same. I was not afraid when I heard the news, I was paralyzed with shock. I think I walked around numb for a few days.

I don’t remember being angry, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t. And probably a big part of that is I believe in the power of prayer. I should say that although this article is about how writing about your feelings can help you through grief, it is my ardent conviction that prayer works far better. Prayer is where I did all my bargaining.

I do remember the depression stage. I didn’t want to do anything. I knew there was nothing I could do, yet I felt guilty for not doing anything and not being able to do anything. Whenever I experience depression, I eat. I think I gained 20 or 30 pounds following my Dad’s death.

I reached the acceptance stage one night before he died and while he was still coherent. That’s when I sat down and wrote this article in acceptance of his imminent death. Portrait of a Southern Gentleman, or Things I Learned From My Dad. It is a great comfort to know that he was able to read it. And he was able to brag on me a little bit, which is a source of laughter for me. I can tell you now that when I wrote that article I poured all of my emotions into those words. I cried the whole time. There was something special that happened when I was able to share those words with everyone. To know that someone else was able to experience my grief somehow made the burden lighter.

I will never forget the feeling of release when my Dad finally passed. It was as if I had been walking around carrying a couple of cross ties and somehow they just floated away.

From the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher that I. Psalm 61:2

“You need someone to walk with you through the valley of the shadow of death. And when your heart is overwhelmed you will need someone to lead you to the rock, because you can’t find the way yourself.”

I did the same thing when my Mom died but she didn’t get a chance to read it, and knowing this I think allowed me to achieve a greater degree of acceptance.

Since then, I have made writing a part of my grief process. Which seems like an odd thing to say. I never thought about death as a child, but it is a steady growing part of my life now that I look more and more like Alfred and less and less like Bruce Wayne. Writing has helped me grieve the loss kids that were in my youth group-Oh Brandon!, family-Funeral Processions , Dan Theo Wells 1935-2021 , and dear friends- J.L. Parker. Not to mention countless things I have written in my journal.

So how do you write about grief? I think it is important to establish that putting your feelings and thoughts into written words while you are grieving is one of the most honest and genuine expressions of yourself. There should be no pressure to write to impress someone. This is you and your feelings. Putting those thoughts onto paper is a conscious going out of yourself. You have captured and placed in the visible an idea that has been floating around in the invisible. You have conquered that thought, and it can never escape. No one is grading you on content, grammar, or proper punctuation. And you do not have to share it with anyone. No one may ever see it. But it may help to allow a friend to help bear your burden. I know it does for me.

I still miss my parents every day. And I probably always will. I feel strong emotions every once in a while, but never denial, anger, or bargaining, only acceptance, peace, and most often sadness. If it gets bad I’ll go back and read what I wrote when it was still fresh and that helps.

I wish I could’ve talked to my Dad this week, because I am in a new process of grieving. But I already feel better having written this.

Clapping: Your First Lesson in Rhythm

I have a little nephew and all he knows how to do is fill up diapers and clap.

O clap your hands, all ye people; shout unto God with the voice of triumph. Psalm 47:1

Did you grow up around live music? If so you probably clapped along, and probably never had to be taught how to clap. Its one of the first things you ever did. I have a little nephew and all he knows how to do is fill up diapers and clap. Its just in us naturally and most of us never even think about it.

Every once in a while I get to lead worship and I like to sing old songs. You know; country songs. Duple meter hillbilly gospel music. You can call me nostalgic and you’ll probably be right, but I also once had a kid rap at Youth Camp. You can’t please all of the people all of the time. Anyway, whenever I lead one of the these old upbeat gospel songs out of the hymnal there is usually one or two people that clap opposite of everyone else. And it makes it hard on me. Here I am, not really a singer but giving it all I got trying not to blow an artery while singing in the rafters, hoping to remember to give signs to the poor praise singers who are not hillbillies, and somebody is clapping off beat.

“Bluegrass is based upon a complex rhythm scheme called the boom-chuck boom-chuck. We kindly ask that you do not clap on the boom, only on the chuck.” -David Crowder

I feel like this man Crowder is speaking from the frustration of leading a song with a group of audience members who do not agree on where the clap feels right. And that is what I am here to talk about: How do you feel time?

Sincerely, I do not expect every audience member to be a musician and I wouldn’t discourage anyone from clapping in praise, whether they are in time with the music or not. This subject is interesting to me because time/feel is one of the things that makes music unique.

The “Boom-Chuck” rhythm that Mr. Crowder is referencing is the down beat (boom) and the back beat (chuck). In a bluegrass band the boom would be the stand up bass, and the chuck the mandolin. This eventually manifested itself in the drum kit with the kick drum playing the boom and the snare drum playing the chuck. So when Chuck Berry sang “Its got a back beat you can’t lose it” in Rock and Roll Music he was talking about the snare providing the back beat.

I was shown as a child, by a host of witnesses now passed on, to clap on the back beat. I didn’t grow up with a drum kit in church, which is where I did all my clapping to music. The clapping congregation were the timekeepers in my little church. I am sure I would’ve gotten in trouble from Mom for purposefully clapping on the down beat at church. And honestly, I have to bite the inside of my lip and furrow my brows like I am doing long division just to be able to clap “wrong”. Not because I can’t bring myself to do it, but because it is unnatural to me. But that is the musical tradition and environment that I was raised in.

When I got to Gateway College of Evangelism and joined the choir I was surprised to learn that even some of those blonde-headed, blue-eyed, midwestern yankees with funny German last names were just learning for the very first time in choir practice that you clapped with the snare drum in Gospel music. I thought man these people are backwards. Looking back though, Polka and Bluegrass musical traditions feel time very differently and emphasize different beats. And you might get odd looks for clapping on the back beat at Polka or Klezmer concerts. (I may be wrong about that, I have never been to either, but a lot of Polka is in 2/4 and puts strong emphasis on the downbeat. Klezmer music often has more elaborate clapping schemes compared to the simple backbeat.)

My Uncle Melvin believes that all this rhythm stuff we are talking about is made up, especially the part where you can count. I thought he was joking but after I talked to him about it I think he is being genuine. Maybe he represents a large swath of people who have no idea what I am writing about. I kind of doubt it though. I believe that many of you, especially if you grew up in a church that encouraged clapping, or around live music in general, will have a natural desire to move or clap when you feel a song. It is how you feel that song that is fascinating to me.

I made this video to demonstrate this topic. I said something in it that I want to set straight.

“There’s nothing worse than trying to lead worship with a group of people that are not in agreement on where to clap.”

That is not true. No one clapping is far worse. Clapping is an act of praise. Fortunately we are not being graded by The Almighty on how good our rhythm is. It doesn’t even have to be rhythmic. He’s happy with noise.

Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all the earth: make a loud noise, and rejoice, and sing praise. Psalm 98:4

The Secret Society of Bald Men

I have noticed over the last few years that my hair is thinning. That is a less painful way of saying that I am going bald.

“We need to get haircuts this week Wes.”

“Yeah. Those couple of strands of hair in the front look weird on you.”

“Oh yeah? What do you think I should do?”

“Well it may take some getting used to, but maybe The Bro. Sutton.”

Let me tell you about Bro. Sutton’s hair: He’s bald. Not just any bald, but shiny bald on top, with hair still around the sides. You know the haircut. This is how my own flesh and blood sees my hairline. He’s not the only one though.

That’s me. Before I make excuses about the lighting, let’s be honest that my hairline is almost level with my ear.

Leviticus 13: 40 And the man whose hair is fallen off his head, he is bald; yet is he clean. 41 And he that hath his hair fallen off from the part of his head toward his face, he is forehead bald: yet is he clean.

I’m glad that God decided to include this scripture in the Bible.

There is a brotherhood of bald men with secret handshakes, passwords, and I don’t know what all. You have probably noticed the familiarity bald men share with each other. Even total strangers give a nod to each other as if to say we’re in this together. The problem is they have begun to mistake me as a member.

I have noticed over the last few years that my hair is thinning. That is a less painful way of saying that I am going bald. I didn’t notice that y’all noticed though. But you did and probably a long time before I did. But people are kind and they didn’t say anything. Or maybe they thought that I noticed too. Let me tell you, it sneaks up on you. I haven’t been to the barber shop in almost a decade, so maybe my barber would’ve mentioned it.

It has progressed to the point that I have been approached about joining The Secret Society of Bald Men. Last week I met with two sitting members of the Society. They were men that have taken a higher order within the dark organization. I could tell because they were not only bald, but their heads were completely shaved. I can remember the younger one before he joined. That means the last time I saw him he still had hair. Kind of. His hair used to look like a rooster tail glued to a volleyball. Now he looks like Stone Cold Steve Austin.

“You should do it.” They older one said, trying to pressure me into shaving my head.

“You’ve got a nice shaped head. It will look good.” The younger one chimed in.

“I’ll do it for you. Lets do it tonight!” The older one followed up with a wild grin.

“Y’all almost convinced me. Let me wait for a more convenient season.” I told them.

Hair is the only thing a bald man sees when he walks into a room.

-Zach Wells

Integrity: that’s really why I am thinking about joining the Secret Society of Bald Men. The men that I met had an epiphany at some point-probably after they saw a picture of themselves-said “I’m tired of living a lie! I’m just going to be bald.”

I keep trying to convince my wife that buzzing my hair will look good. I’m not talking about shaving it down to skinhead level, but just so close that I don’t have to comb it. Or try to comb it over. She hasn’t been persuaded yet.

All the men that I have known that shaved their heads did it without their wives permission or consent. Which is something else that appeals to me. I enjoy giving Sarah a good surprise every once in a while.

Nobody looks at a man with a combover and thinks I’d like to try that. But when I see a man that has taken the plunge and shaved his head I see a man that has come to terms with his baldness and won. And that is inspiring.