The Spring of 1982 was an exciting time. My mom and dad had just retired, moved from Fullerton, California, and purchased a home in Forest City, North Carolina. My brother Jon and I were traveling in a band together, zig-zagging across the eastern part of the US. So taking advantage of a few days off, we headed to our parent’s new home for an inaugural visit.

I remember that first time with Jon: the trees were just beginning to bud, yet it was still cold enough for a jacket. We walked down to the stream that ran across their newly purchased piece of property. Coming from California–with warmer, milder weather–the four seasons of the North Carolina offered a change that was refreshing and mysterious. The local culture was new, with heavy southern accents and neighbors that waved indiscriminately at passing cars. The phrase, “Y’all come back!” seemed to be used often, even though the offer was probably more symbolic than actual.

The friendly atmosphere was sweet. My parents took to Forest City like a fish to water–it was natural and authentic. Mom and dad amassed a living room full of friends in a very short time. Jon and I would slowly work our way into the hearts of the locals–with our mullets and rock & roll attire. Christmas vacation and short breaks would be spent at the house, but most of the time we were out on the road.

Jon left the road and lived there for a few years before heading down to Alabama to finish college. I met my bride-to-be in Mobile, Alabama, and made plans to introduce Brenda to mom, dad and their Forest City home. After we married, the kids came with us to see grandma and grandpa. Josh spent his first trip as a newborn, sleeping in a drawer that was removed from a chest in the “blue” room my folks set up for us.

The kids grew. And as they did, we made the trip to North Carolina a couple of times a year. Then one Saturday in April of 1997, we received the news that my mom had passed away. That somber trip back for the funeral made the home seem like a lonelier place, even though dad would eventually bounce back from grief. We moved there to be near him for a few years, but eventually moved to Tennessee where we now live. Dad stayed there, living alone for ten more years. His health issues eventually prompted us to sell the Forest City house so he could permanently live with us in Spring Hill.

In a few weeks the sale of the home, along with emptying it’s contents, will be in the past. The memories of thirty years, calling it our second home, will fade into memory. As we turn the key to lock the back door for the last time, I’m sure it won’t be easy–especially for dad. It will be the same time of year that Jon and I were first introduced to the house. The moving trucks will pull out of the driveway,  and we’ll get a final view of the little house in the rear-view mirror.

Time to move on–dad says–but it’s still bitter sweet.

“Everything can look like a failure in the middle,” says Harvard Law School professor and author, Rosabeth Moss Kanter. The statement caught my attention while reading a video transcript from a recent blog post about her creative process. I agree that, for this reason, it’s so easy to abandon a plan before even starting out. And as pastor/author Rick Warren Tweeted this morning: “Brilliant ideas often sound absurd at first.”

Kanter went on to explain that she requires discipline to complete tasks. Even though I am creative– and tend to spend the majority of my time devising new ideas and making plans for this project or the other–I, too, am dependent on mantras like “Just Do It!” Saying things like this to myself help generate transformation and movement.

I made a commitment almost two years ago to write at least three blogs a week. Once this journey commenced, I often suffered writer’s block. Sometimes I started writing and found the subject didn’t interest me to the finish. Whatever the case, I found it necessary to write what was on my mind and heart. Oftentimes in the process, I may have lost my audience (whoever you are) by choosing subjects that interest only me. I apologize if that happened too often in the past…I’ll try harder to string you along in this post!

You see, my goal as a writer is a selfish one, really; I am doing this for me. Writing is something I love to do, even though the process can be difficult at times. When I get stuck in the middle of something, and it looks like it might turn out to be a failure, I trudge-on until I find the end. It’s therapy for me.

Later in the video transcript Professor Kanter referred to the creative process of a legendary sculptor/artist: “…if you chip away bit by bit, you do create the great sculpture.  I think it was Michelangelo who once said, ‘How do you make this beautiful sculpture? Well you start with a block of stone, and then you chip away everything that isn’t David.'”

Each time I sit down to a blank page, I am confronted with possible failure– but I can’t let that stop me. I believe great writers do more editing than writing. If only I could edit as well as Michelangelo…

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Thank you to Rosabeth Moss Kanter. Quotes are from a video recorded on June 13, 2007,  and were published by “Big Think.”  Click here to view the Big Think post

The last few weeks have been sad ones for the music community and for those who grew up with Whitney Houston. She managed to dominate the charts for years with songs that provided a soundtrack to life through the 80s and 90s.

Her marriage to Bobby Brown seemed to change her drastically. The once fresh-faced girl with the big voice became the lady who belted out “Bobby!” in her husky, cigarette rasp of the 2000s and beyond. We painfully watched her make that transformation–during candid interviews, on the show Finding Bobby Brown, and through YouTube videos of her diminished vocal ability, captured during a European tour in 2010.

Watching her funeral on TV last week, I marveled at how many celebrities filled the New Hope Baptist Church in Newark, New Jersey. I was struck by those who came to the pulpit to sing or bring personal stories, dedicated to the silenced “Voice,” who lay in a beautiful coffin just a few feet away. I saw or heard most of the four-hour funeral either on the kitchen TV or on my Sirius XM car radio. My 85 year-old father had no idea who she was. I told him that she was this generation’s Frank Sinatra or Ella Fitzgerald. He was astonished that there could be any singer comparable to the greats from his beloved Swing Era of the 30s and 40s. I said, “Believe it or not, Dad, she was that good.”

Facebook was riddled with comments the night of her death. One particularly caught my attention. It was an excerpt taken from the song “How Will I Know,” featuring just her vocal track and some background vocals from the song–no accompaniment whatsoever. Drenched in a bit of reverb was an astonishing voice, unaided by auto-tuning, hitting the full range of notes with incredible accuracy, along with a rich, beautiful tone that seemed to come straight from the throne room of heaven. What force and authority. She is unmatched today.

It was refreshing to hear the tributes from the pulpit. They were complimentary of her as a friend, mother and artist,  but also carried a warning for the lifestyle that led to her untimely death at 48. It wasn’t a preaching service, per se, but it was definitely a praise service. God was lifted up there. I am certain that all of those celebrities in the church heard the Gospel; there was no way out of it. Bishop T.D. Jakes,  Rev. Marvin Winans, and even Tyler Perry pointed to God’s love and grace in an eloquent way.

We have lost a wonderful singer, the family a daughter and mother. But even through trouble, her testimony–and ironically the last thing she sang the Thursday night before her death–was “Jesus loves me, this I know…” Having confessed Jesus as Lord, I believe that she is now singing with the angels. Grace leads the believer home–through the redemptive blood of Jesus–and not by ones own good works or strength. According to Romans 8:38-39:

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be
able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our
Lord.”  

I was stopped in my tracks Sunday morning after I dragged my guitar, amp and pedals through the side door at church. My 5:30 AM alarm seemed rude that morning, stealing precious sleep that my body craved. Reluctantly, I made my way to the stage and to my spot by 7:00, where I would spend the next four and a half hours, until the morning’s worship sets were completed.

Coming through door, and a few steps behind me was the acoustic guitar player, Steve. Just after him came Jon. Jon is a bass player from England. Listening to him greet everyone in his British accent is always refreshing and pleasant. As we found our places and unpacked the gear, he asked me how my week had been. I gave the lame answer that my week went fairly well, that it was filled with trying to make a living.

Jon’s reply floored me. “Isn’t life funny,” he said, looking at me straight in the eye, “when you have security you look for adventure, and when you have adventure, you look for security?” I thought about it for a split second, and the truth of his seemingly nonchalant statement said a whole lot about about my lack of faith specifically, and the fickle nature of humanity in general. I asked myself, “Will I ever be happy with where I am in life? When will I ever be content?” I don’t know why, but I seem to come back to this lessen more often than I’d like to admit. God has a way of schooling me when I least expect it.

I thought about the Apostle Paul and one of the greatest statements about contentment I’ve ever seen. In Philippians 4:10-13, he writes:

“I rejoiced greatly in the Lord that at last you renewed your concern for me. Indeed, you were concerned, but you had no opportunity to show it. I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength (NIV).”

Then I remembered one of my favorite quotes from J. Kenfield Morley:

“I believe the recipe for happiness is just enough money to pay the
monthly bills you acquire, a little surplus to give you confidence, a
little too much work each day, enthusiasm for your work, a substantial
share of good health, a couple of real friends and a wife and children
to share life’s beauty with you.”

Thank you Jon for reminding me that no matter where God leads in life, He has me firmly in His grip. One day life may be full of challenges and the craving for security. The next, we may have more money than we need (wake me up, I’m dreaming!), yet we are still yearning for adventure. God will take care of us, as we trust Him.

God, this week I want to enjoy the journey, filled with contentment and thankfulness for this day. Tomorrow has plenty worry of it’s own, so I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Isn’t it amazing that a sentence spoken from a fellow musician in a matter of seconds can change my my day, and even the way I look at life? Maybe security and adventure can co-exist while allowing God to meet the deepest desires of my heart.

It’s no secret that I love the Beach Boys. My home was filled with their songs that my older brother played on our living room stereo.

Reunited Beach Boys-L to R: Johnston, Marks, Wilson, Love & Jardine

My first introduction was the album All Summer Long. When my dad would take us to Carona Del Mar beach on early Saturday mornings during the summer, I would pretend that I was one of the Beach Boys as I ran back and forth, dodging the incoming waves. The All Summer Long album cover had a collage of photos showing the group fooling around on the beach, in what I now see as staged promo poses. It was a wholesome image that I, along with their many fans, hoped would last forever. It was just an illusion, and the innocence would end as Brian’s drug use escalated and his mental health quickly failed. 

Back in the mid-sixties, I dreamed of one day singing along-side Brian Wilson–his falsetto ruled in my book! I still purchase Brian’s new music when it comes out because I don’t want to miss anything. I was so happy to see Brian recover from his dark days of mental illness (he still battles it to a degree, but is active as a writer, recording artist and live performer). When I heard the Beach Boys were reuniting after long legal battles and inter-personal struggles, my dream of seeing them like they were when I was a kid might really come true. It’s sad that Wilson brothers Carl and Dennis are no longer alive to join them.

Original members Mike Love, Brian Wilson and Al Jardine, joined with Bruce Johnston and David Marks (the other original guitarist who left before all of the fame), are hitting the road for a limited number of concerts beginning in April and ending in July. They will also release a newly-recorded CD.

My memory of a whacked-out Brian Wilson, surfing in his bath robe on a 1976 episode of Saturday Night Live with Jim Belushi and Dan Aykroyd, wounded the dream of any resurrected innocence from my childhood. Now, with all the lawsuits settled and relationships healed, maybe I’ll get a chance to see them before it’s too late. I’ve already checked-off seeing Paul McCartney at Madison Square Garden in NYC from my bucket list.