High Five

It is so important to celebrate when our worship teams win in worship. Some weeks we seem to just get by, but others are clearly exceptional. Many times we can go back through a preceding year and point to a weekend where everything changed for the better in our performances, production quality, and maybe we made strides in our planning abilities. Sometimes we can track growth in our congregation beginning with a weekend that was filled with wonderful times of worship–success begets success. All are wins and it’s important to celebrate them.

Happens Every Week

My pastor always says the problem with church is that it happens every week. Just as soon as a great weekend blows us all away, there is another weekend in a few days that gets us back to square one. So, celebrations need to happen right after the win. Praise needs to come primarily from whoever is the driving force in the production process. It’s very important to make time in the agenda for people in the production team to tell of his or her favorite moments. It’s also a good opportunity to talk about mistakes or overlooked things in the performance in order to make corrections.

Currency For Volunteers

It’s one thing to high-five each other in the production meeting, but make sure to share the love with the rest of the volunteers at the next rehearsal. Maybe serve some Starbucks after rehearsal with a cake or some kind of desert to tell them thank you for doing a great job. It is important to thank volunteers regularly. I try to thank each member on my team, as well as the tech team, each week for their hard work. Sometimes it’s appropriate to send out a thank you card every now and then. An end of the year banquet, inviting the spouses, is a good way to celebrate a great year. Take the opportunity at the banquet to replay some funny videos or show some photos from the previous year. It’s also a great chance to share vision and encouragement for the next season. I always keep in mind that the currency for volunteers is appreciation. So, celebrate those wins!

This past week was epic. Looking like one of those 70s disaster movies, our TVs were filled with images that seemed as if the world is reaching the end of days. Dead fish, tsunamis, earthquakes, possible nuclear meltdowns–all happening while nations are at war, or are on the edge of war and, God forbid, the NFL doesn’t have a season this year!

Times like these wake us from our sleep. It’s almost as if we have taken a nap, then are suddenly jolted out of our cozy snooze to realize a burglar has broken into our home. As Americans, we are so accustomed to having our high-octane lives running like clockwork. When something does change our comfy existence, the first thing many of us ask is, “Why?”

I remember when I first moved to Mobile, Alabama in the summer of 1985. It was amazing how Brenda’s family was ready to pull together at a moments notice when the threat of a hurricane surfaced. Since her parents lived (and still do) on the water’s edge of Mobile Bay on the Gulf Coast, they all, as a family, had to board up the windows and lock-down anything that might become a deadly projectile in heavy winds. They did this quickly, then took cover to avoid the devastating, ruthless torrents of wind and rain. Sometimes, as with 2005’s Hurricane Katrina, no matter what they did in preparation, it was to no avail; the tidal surge was so great, causing such flood damage, they had to rebuild their home.

The lessons I learned from observing Brenda and her family are two fold: First, it’s always good to be ready to react in a moments notice, and second, we don’t have to know “why” today. This doesn’t mean that we must live in fear 24-hours a day. Rather, it’s wise to think through an escape route in advance, just in case the need arises. Brenda shared that bit of “why” wisdom with me this weekend in light of all the turmoil in the world. She learned some stark lessons growing up through losing her home during 1979’s Hurricane Fredric and rushing with her family to a hotel, only to have it’s roof blown off while they were inside, essentially cheating death. Many times we get bogged down trying to figure out the reason the situation happened when the best thing to do is get through the imminent crisis.

It is wise to realize that the world is a volatile place. No matter what we do–by building walls, filling bank accounts, controlling each aspect of our lives to thwart injury, loss, or famine–things are going to happen. With faith in God, He will be our protection, source and healing in times of trouble. My hope is that in eternity, He will reveal why things happen like they do in this crazy world.

Those of us who have braved the highways and byways of America and beyond can relate to this selection from a writing by my friend, Wes Turner. He is a true “Road Dog” as his travels started in 1963 as a 16 year-old.

Life in a band is a very tough row to hoe. It’s eat, sleep and breathe travel, only to arrive at the one-hour or so paradise that is the reason for our trouble: the show. Many of us, as Wes testifies, did more than one show per day. There’s nothing like getting back into wet show clothes before each performance. The costumes usually remained moist until that blessed day when they were emptied, washed and folded, to find their home back in the suitcase. This was our only private space, other than a briefcase that sat permanently on our lap. I lived the life described below for 6 years. I hope you enjoy Wes’ memories from the road…

Well, first let’s establish just what is the road? I believe it’s something different to every touring musician. To the Rolling Stones or Shania Twain or any major touring artist…it is a “grueling” schedule of shows and press junkets. Say…25 shows in two months. It takes you away from home and loved ones, unless you choose to take them along. On tour, they intersperse plane and limo trips with shows at fantastic venues and brief stays at the best hotels in the world.

To a bar band playing grungy clubs, it might mean sleeping in the van, selling self-produced CD’s out of a suitcase, and crawling to the next city, stinking of beer, while surrounded by fast food wrappers.

To a touring production company of a Broadway musical, it means moving mountains of props and people from place to place every few weeks.

To me it means being in groups that did shows two or three times a day for 9-11 months at a time. That’s two or three set-ups and tear downs, not by roadies, but by group members. That means two or three costume changes and traveling between shows in clothes that you had sweat in, grabbing naps in the van or bus to keep your energy up, while trying to get a meal in there somewhere, and at the same time doing public relations with school, fair, church, or hotel staff when all you really wanted to do was eat or lie down somewhere. Sure, I know it was a run on sentence but that’s how you feel 24/7. Always trying to catch up to yourself.

The road, in the context I’m using it, is not just the pavement that connects all towns and states in America like a concrete spider web. The road is the exhilarating, and at times heartbreaking, bus-and-truck side of show biz. It is staying in cheap motels, situated at the edge of Everytown, USA: the ones near the railroad tracks, just off the outer belt. Lodgings known for rooms with paper-thin walls that can’t quite be darkened because of glowing, over-the-top neon signage flooding the parking lot and creeping in through broken window blinds. Their mediocrity is measured by overworked heating/air conditioning systems, not coming close to getting the job done, and rough, postage-stamp-size towels.

The road is Mom and Pop ice cream joints named Frosty Point or Whippy Dip, with small orange and black CLOSED FOR THE SEASON signs taped to their front window in winter. It’s sitting in a fatty-food- blue-plate-special New Jersey diner or a central Iowa Union 76 truck stop restaurant booth, looking out at the bus, bathed in garish, yellow florescent light, drawing swarms of mosquitoes and moths. It is truck stops full of foul speaking, heavily muscled, tattooed, chain-from-the-belt-to-their-wallet, leather-clad people. And those are the waitresses! My road meant diesel fumes on everything I owned.

Oh, what we will do for the opportunity to play and sing for anyone who will stop and listen. It’s all worth it! If you have any stories from the road you’d like to share, send them to me and I’ll try to use them in blog, soon. Blessings, Road Dogs!

Write me at: jamie@jamieharvill.com

I was fortunate to have seen the Crocker Bank TV commercial in southern California back in 1970 that led to the Carpenter’s break-out single, We’ve Only Just Begun. In the commercial the bank was on a mission to attract young people and staged a wedding with a shortened version of the song playing in the background. It wasn’t originally intended for the Carpenters but was so powerful that writers Paul Williams and Roger Nichols built a complete song from it. With Richard Carpenter’s beautiful arrangement, the song became a smash hit.

The new book, Little Girl Blue: The Life of Karen Carpenter by Randy L. Schmidt, captures a much deeper, complex person than what most people think of Karen: a goody-two-shoes kind of character. Along with her brother Richard, Karen’s image was maintained by a strict, hovering mother who made certain that family secrets stayed just that. Mother Agnes, and all but silent father, Harold, maintained a comfortable home for the family on the East Coast, and in 1963, made a move from New Haven, Connecticut to Downey, California, just to foster Richards growing musical talents. Little did the family know, the younger sister who tagged along was to be the center of attention a few years later with the smoky, sultry voice that has endured into classic status.

It seems the troubles that led to her untimely death were a combination of deep insecurity and the claustrophobic home life that smothered her until the end. Her good pal Frenda Franklin once asked her, “You don’t know, do you?” Karen was clueless. “You don’t know how talented you are because, if you did, you wouldn’t be intimidated by others.”

Her super-stardom, marriage and eventual solo project never quite filled the deficits deep in her heart, and by April of 1982, evidence of severe anorexia was striking even after therapy. She eventually gained 30 pounds (this is disputed) and on December 17, 1982, Karen made her final public appearance in Sherman Oaks, California.

On February 4, 1983, just weeks away from her 33rd birthday, Karen succumbed to heart failure. Her funeral was on February 8th and she was laid to rest in Forest Lawn Memorial Park in Cypress, California.

The sadness of her death comes to mind each time I hear her beautiful voice flowing from the greatest hits records I have of the duo. One of my favorite CDs is Carpenter’s Christmas, which is a staple for me and my family during the Holidays.

There are so many stories from families like the Jacksons and the Wilsons, of Beach Boys fame, that prove the sunny, southern California dream isn’t an antidote for troubled hearts. I grew up in the midst of it and know that to be true. Sometimes the romantic images of the beach and the orange groves, Hollywood and music are only what we want them to be. I find that when people move to places where they think their lives will be improved, they only carry their troubles to a new climate.

In any case, Karen Carpenter is a classic. I wonder where she would be today if only her heart found rest while alive.

I came of age while on the road with the First National Band (FNB). (See the blog written about Gary Henley a few months back). American Entertainment Productions (AEP) of Columbus, Ohio, developed this group for the purpose of entertaining Jr. and Sr. high school students during convocations. We mostly traveled around the U.S. but did a few USO tours which, during my tenure (1980-1982), took us to Alaska, Italy, Spain, Greece and Turkey.

FNB was only fit for the young. When the grueling schedule was handed out each month, we were like naive soldiers waiting to be deployed on Omaha Beach, not knowing the fate that awaited us! I was appointed “Manager” and therefore had the dubious responsibility of keeping a van and four other guys rolling down the road toward the next gig. We stayed in some pretty shady places as our hotel budget leaned toward, or south of, the Motel 6 variety.

I can’t imagine that the music was incredible, although my memories are dreamily scattered with grandiose images of rock-star moments. We had days where we never saw a motel room as we were scheduled to be in a far-away town to play the next day. Needless to say, I learned to sleep sitting up.

My professional music and ministry career was enhanced by the experiences in AEP and FNB. I learned the skill of entertaining a crowd. I also learned the responsibility of handling a schedule, managing four different band-mates and the finances, while trying to be the best guitar player, singer and performer I could be.

When I look at the faces of those early-twenty-something guys in the photo above, I see innocence. The subsequent stories of each individual in the picture vary; some are tragic. I am thankful that during my time on the road, I had the strong arm of my Lord holding on to me. There were times when I could have walked away from Him, but God was faithful. The young Jamie in the photo had no idea of the blessings that would be waiting right around the bend and for years to come. I am blessed to have been a part of all of it!