Some morbidly peaceful thoughts before I clean the slate

Over the last few days I've been out and about, going to Wheaton on Thursday and the Museum of Science and Industry on the south side of Chicago on Friday. We stopped in the museum gift shop just a little bit before closing time, and I simply intended to bum around and look at stuff while my friend did the same, waiting until he was ready to leave. A book suddenly caught my eye, and when I picked it up I randomly turned to a page about a roadside haunting. And after I finished that story I read another story about a myth in a graveyard. The book is entitled Weird Illinois, a compilation of myths, legends and random oddities that either occur or have occurred in the state. Although I have been reading articles about UFOs and harmless apparitions more recently, what still catches my eye are some of the stories of the ghosts that don't "rest in peace," per se. Many of these stories and accounts are scary as can be, but for some of them I kind of felt for the ghosts, as if they needed help for something but will never receive it because we as a society of those who are still living have been taught and trained to be afraid and run away from these *ahem* creatures.

I'm doing my best not to think too much of it--it seems to have worked; I haven't had any nightmares about the accounts since I bought the book--but reading them has made me a little less fearful of death. The fact that we have ghosts helps the belief that we don't cease existing when we die. True, there is a separation between the two entities (one of the dead and one of the living) and it is rather difficult to communicate between persons from the different dimensions, but knowing that I won't just stop thinking or feeling things when I croak has helped me to peacefully move closer each day. Of course, while I've been reading this, I'm trying to figure out where God has a hand in it; I'm not sure how He does it, whatever it is, I just know that He does it.

Aside from a heck of a lot of driving, death was a pretty common theme this year. Aside from the celebrity deaths in all sectors, ranging from politics (Gerald R. Ford) to sports (Lamar Hunt, Kirby Puckett, Cory Lidle, et al.) to music (James Brown and Gyorgy Ligeti) to science (Steve Irwin), there have been a few that have affected the people around me, to where I have had to pray for them as they go through their hard times. Aside from my friend Allen and pet bird Phillip, one of my friends at Olaf lost his uncle in mid-summer and a couple others lost a parent or sibling. But one lesson I've carried from it is that these people are no longer in pain, and, as long as no one's screwed around with their graves, are presumably resting peacefully. And it makes me happy to know that they are doing alright, albeit jealous sometimes.

New Year's for me has always been a time of cleaning the slate and starting over. I never want to forget the people who have been in my life in the past, but at the same time cleaning the slate helps me move on. I'm not sure what my resolutions will be (if I make any). Sometimes they just happen, and by that I probably mean I just give the pen and paper and have God write them down. [Something like that.] Hopefully for 2007 I'll be able to start anew again.

2006 Adventures with the Jeep

One of the things I will remember from this year is that I drove a lot. I needed the car for some appointments 30 miles away from Olaf, and as a result I needed to spend the majority of my time up there (summer included) so to go to them regularly. Aside from getting used to driving on interstates and learning how to drive in both Minnesota and Illinois (the whole culture shock is still, well, shocking to me--people in Minnesota drive like people, people in Illinois drive like chickens with their heads cut off) I've had some interesting adventures on the road. Just over a week ago when I was on my way home, I popped my ears while driving down a steep hill in southeastern Minnesota (I was driving really fast; I had left late in the winter's day and wanted to minimize the amount of night driving I had to do by going fast while it was still daylight). What's amazing about it is that when I normally drive down (or up) said hill my ears never popped.

Aside from the long trips, I occasionally had the privilege of driving my friends around town and occasionally to the Twin Cities and back. And with these carpools I had a few funny incidents. One involved a return trip to Olaf from Target, when I stopped at a red light and asked Pat if that was one of my friends on the sidewalk to my left. After a couple seconds of deliberation he looked over and confirmed that it was. After remembering that the horn mysteriously had stopped working after I had taken it in the shop a month or so before, I realized the only way I was going to get Nolan (the guy standing on the corner)'s attention was to roll down my window and call out to him. Now it was dark inside my car in spite of the headlights being on and such, and I fumbled trying to find how to lower my window. The result involved locking the doors (for the umpteenth time) and rolling down all the other windows before finally hitting the right switch.

Another hilarious (or so Pat thinks, anyway) involved a trip the three of us took to Arby's for a late-night snack. While I was waiting to pick up everyone's orders I moved the car forward and backward so to make it easier for me or Nolan, who was sitting right behind the driver's seat, to pick up our respective food.

There have been other interesting events, like the time Pat and I were driving back from a White Sox-Twins game and saw red and green lightning (only to discover they were fireworks). Or the time I think a friend tried to drag-race me (I refused to take part in it). But mostly it was routine driving. I think the multiple 7-hour driving trips taught me something about patience and pacing myself, especially for the sake of the Jeep. I drove out to Wheaton to chill with Glen for a bit, and driving back this evening for some reason just mentally drained me. Something about remembering how selfish and "jackass" some of these drivers can be (all part of the culture shock; and this is supposed to be "home"!).

So driving and being one with the Jeep will be but one of several things I will remember about this year as I'm looking back. I think mostly I'm thankful it was in Chicago when the hailstorms pounded Northfield and other parts of southern Minnesota back in August. I'll be both glad and sad to not have it up at Olaf anymore. I'll be glad because I'm done with having to worry about driving for 7 mind-numbing hours, but at the same time I'll have to rely on someone else to drive me into town if I need something. Also my mom will be able to drive instead of having to rely entirely on the CTA and walking to get herself around.

Happy Birthday God

I woke up (for about the fifth time) to some child singing these lyrics on my radio alarm clock--well I heard the "Nutcracker Suite" and the news report first--but it was quite amazing to realize what the text was actually saying (I was still half-asleep when I heard this). And now I've been up for the last half-hour of Christmas morning. Presents will be exchanged relatively shortly, and probably food as well (maybe eaten instead of exchanged, though).

Last night was the first time in 15 years that I did not sing in the Christmas Midnight Mass. Through my years in the St. Luke's and St. Thomas Choirs, as well as randomly waltzing back to a couple makeshift choirs the last couple years at St. Luke's and St. Paul's, it's been quite a run, singing a vast smorgasbord of Christmas church music. So last night I joined the congregation at St. Paul's. It didn't feel all that different, although I think it was the most tired I'd been at Midnight Mass for over a decade.

Last night I played part of the role of Santa. [No, I did not go down a chimney wearing a fat red suit...] But I did indulge myself to a couple helpings of milk and cookies and stuffing a couple presents under the tree (under my real name of course). And while I was indulging in my sugary sweets I realized what I was doing and decided to give out a little Santa laugh just for the heck of it.

But today isn't Santa's birthday. It's just his only traveling workday of the year. It's God's birthday; or, more accurately, it's Jesus's birthday, but since He is also God as well as Son thereof, it is God's birthday as well. And (I think) it is for this reason that the whole Christmas cheer is necessary. Even though we give and treat each other with love and respect as well as anyone on this day, it's how God wants us to act all the time. But too bad in our culture we decide to limit God's birthday to one day. It should be every day. But in the meantime, happy birthday and Merry Christmas.

End-notes from the noggin

Since I've finished going to the Owatonna clinic for appointments, I've really begun to realize a bunch of differences in how easily I can perform tasks for work and school. Most of them have involved reading more easily and making sure I put myself in a position where I do it so it is easiest on my eyes. I've in general become more aware of how my internal muscles (meaning muscles that I don't necessarily strengthen by lifting weights), and how to convey what I'm experiencing as a result. For example, when I started taking voice lessons this semester my instructor told me I was singing from the throat, producing a woolly sound. So when I really started feeling for where the sound was being made vs. how it should be projected, I made the adjustment rather quickly. Another example involved the final exam in music history I took on Tuesday morning. Normally it's supposed to be a two-hour test, and it really was, but I finished it with 15 minutes to spare. Normally when I took tests in HS and the early years in college I usually took the entire testing period (unless it was for Music Theory). So I've got some side-effects in my success story from going to vision therapy appointments. [Speaking of which, I need to fill out my success story handout and mail it to them.]

So I finally made it back to Chicago. I basically squeezed my music history exam and a 7-hour driving trip in one day on 6 hours' sleep. I wouldn't recommend it to those faint of mind. [I cheated by chugging a Pepsi so I could stay awake.]

I'm glad to be back and see all of my "home" friends, but I already miss my Olaf ones.

I've got a few potential projects brewing over my time here. Chris and I will transcribe a few Ben Folds songs, I will probably orchestrate a piece or two I'd already written, and I will try my dangdest to practice at the Music Institute while it's open. I went for a bit yesterday, and I probably will return sometime today, but I have to figure out what all's going to go down.

I went bowling last night, and for the first time I had discomfort in my wrist towards the end of the evening. Usually it occurs in my elbow, but it's a sign that I need to strengthen my wrists when I lift weights next month. Going down the list I probably want to focus more on abs and ankles too so I can improve my jumping skills, specifically in frisbee where I'm dead if I'm guarding someone who can jump well.

If I'm going to maintain my body strength, I need to eat food. I'm going out to get some right now.

So weird to be back here

Excerpts from "Still Fighting It" by Ben Folds:

Everybody knows

It sucks to grow up

And everybody does

And so weird to be back here

Let me tell you what

The years still go on and

We're still fighting it

It was pain

Sunny days and rain

I knew you'd feel the same things

I'm kind of at this stage in life that this song gets at, struggling with the idea that I'm not a kid anymore. I've been getting better about coming to grips with it more recently (probably when I refer to my peers I've started using terms that refer to them as adults rather than children), but it's still weird. Since my best recollection of life now really begins with my entrance into college, I look at everything before that and see it as separated to my current life, whatever it is. I guess 400-or-so miles of geographical distance will help with that.

I recall being kind of afraid during junior and senior years in HS as to what will happen to me once I went to college. I was on the cusp of the proverbial Ianus door of life, looking back and seeing 18-19 years (although probably remembering only the last 12), and then looking ahead and seeing an indefinite number of years of complete uncertainty (this was also probably around when I started freaking out thinking I wouldn't be able to go to college because they would all reject me or something). I still see years of uncertainty ahead of me, but perhaps it is because I'm only a junior in college that I can still see the next 18 months as relative certainty. Of course, there are several things that will come up over the incoming period of time that I will have to make decisions on (concerning figuring out my work/career status, class credit completions and my ever-running battle of perfection with my social life). But in looking back (and to explain why I chose the particular line of text for my entry title) I look at myself at age 18 or so and see how weird it is to be back in that time period, living the life I lived then. Perhaps it's because my confidence and levels of trust (as well as number of good friends vs acquaintances) have risen quite a bit over the last 2 or so years vs the previous 4 or so years.

Basically, this is probably the first semester where I stopped seeing myself as an overgrown kid. I'm still not quite mature enough to be considered a "man" ("guy" will suit me just fine right now) but I suppose if I don't spill out my life story to anyone I don't know really well they would probably consider me a man. I look at my friends, and while I call some of the guys "men" I call others "dudes", and with the opposite gender I waffle between "girls" and "women" (probably mostly because of their age, etc). It's weird, trying to fit myself and everyone else with all these labels society thrusts on us. Another thing that college has helped with is the fact that I don't look at people based on their age anymore. I used to do that all the time as a kid, when kids generally base authority on each other over who was born first. But I simply don't look at some of my friends and automatically think "he's 20," or "she's 21." I just don't. And I think college really has helped shed a lot of these labels and help me focus on what's more important, namely confidence and trust. I recall I really had lost my grip on these two attributes during my tensions with Steven towards the end of the summer, but in a way I've tried to look at it as something to keep in mind if similar conflicts arise again (which I'm sure they will, in different shapes and forms).

Anyway, enough blabbing. It's just weird to try and picture what my life and I were like back then (2003-ish, give or take...). I suppose if I could suck my gut in and get a job and plan events to do then I would get another few baby steps closer to manhood (still a weird term to me, though). Also, I have to return to practice, study, and write. It's finals week up on the Olaf Hill.

I love cranberry juice

Well on Monday night my piece, Cranberry Juice, premiered in a composition concert. Even though I was frantically scheduling rehearsals so everyone could make them (I had four, including one right before the concert, and still not everyone could make them) I was pretty pleased with the outcome. I got to listen to the CD just this afternoon, and even though there were plenty of things that I could've done to ensure that it would've gone even better the group did a nice job. So kudos to Jacob, Signe, Kaitlin, Rachel, Christoph, Nolan, Jonathan, Bryan, and Greg, who had switched to keyboard percussion at the last minute. It's nice to know people who could pull it together in just a few short rehearsals.

I plan on doing this again for the Musika Nova CD in February/March/whenever the recording/release dates are.

On not being the same after that

I'd like to go into further detail about my previous post. I wanted to point out that this was one of the first songs I recognized when my friend Chris went through his playlist. Two years ago Mr. Folds himself performed at St. Olaf, and thanks to my then-roommate Tyler I learned about it and went. I had no clue who the guy was at the time, and I probably would've done just as well to not go to the concert. But I went anyway. And the first thing that came to mind I was in awe of how he played the piano that night, mostly because it reminded me of how I loved to improvise sometimes. I didn't know any of his songs or had a measure of his fame, but I was already finding some similarities to our approaches to the piano.

The final song of the concert was the one where he had previously directed the audience to sing a pair of diatonic triads (going from A minor to C major). As it turned out that's how the song ended. But what stuck with me was the elation of going to a concert and singing a pair of "heavenly" chords (that was the intended effect). I was practically euphoric, not because of some piano master conducting a bunch of non-choral Oles to sing a pair of triads perfectly, but because I was amazed that I was just starting college at a school where people actually sang in tune.

Of course, once Chris played more of Ben Folds' songs and I finally downloaded iTunes, I was able to really understand several of his songs. And this particular one, "Not the same" (the song with the "heavenly" chords---the same one that fueled my elation) was based on a true story of one of his close friends who got high on acid at a party one night, climbed a tree, and became a "born-again Christian" when he came down from said tree the following morning. If you were to notice the title of my previous post, which had the full text of the song, you would understand that "this guy" was not referring to Mr. Folds, but rather the friend that was born again. Even if the means that he took to reach said status seems a little questionable to me, the elation that comes with being born again is great. I have experienced it once or twice in my life (especially in January 2005), so I can relate.

Anyway, essays, projects, and Christmas Fest concerts await me. As well as various people that I know will be in attendance on different nights.

I kinda wish I were this guy

You took a trip and climbed a tree

At Robert Sledge's party

And there you stayed 'til morning came

And you were not the same after that

You gave your life to Jesus Christ

And after all your friends went home

You came down, you looked around

And you were not the same after that

(Ahhh ahhh)

You were not the same after that

(Ahhh ahhh)

You were not the same after that

You see 'em drop like flies from the bright sunny skies

They come knocking at your door with this look in their eyes

You've got one good trick and you're hanging on you're hanging on

To it

You took the Word and made it heard

And eased the people's pain and for that

You were idolized, immortalized

And you were not the same after that

Walking tall, you'd bought it all

And you were not the same after that

Til someone died on the waterslide

And you were not the same after that

You see 'em drop like flies from the bright sunny skies

They come knocking at your door with this look in their eyes

You've got one good trick and you're hanging on you're hanging on

To it

(Ooh ooh ooh ooh)

(You were not the same)

(Ooh ooh ooh ooh)

You see 'em drop like flies from the bright sunny skies

They come knocking at your door with this look in their eyes

You've got one good trick and you're hanging on

You're hanging on

You're hanging on

You're hanging on

___________________________________________

"Not the Same" by Ben Folds

Today's question

So what am I thankful for this year?

(The following list is far from exhaustive and in no order at all, except maybe how soon it comes to mind)

I'm home for thanksgiving for the first time in my seven years of going to an out-of-state school.

I went to Andie's for a good late lunch special today (that's right; turkey, stuffing, potatoes, pie and the works).

My parents and friends (duh).

My cat.

The fact I have a blog on which I can vent about stuff. ;-)

God (of course).

I only have three weeks of classes and finals until Christmas break.

I narrowly avoided some thugs on the street late last night when I was parking my car around midnight, and then decided to park elsewhere when I realized I might have to walk right by them. [They were gone after I drove around the neighborhood some more while looking for a new spot.]

Did I mention parents and friends?

How about you (whomever happens to read this)? How was your thanksgiving?

The road of life

Today was one of these days:

A thunderstorm is brewing right ahead of me.

What does it entail?

Heavy Rain

Thunder

Lightning

Hail

I drive right into it.

Life is refreshing.

Finally, a review on Ole Orch

I was just looking back through some of my posts and noticing how I had commented on a couple concerts from a couple major ensembles at Olaf (namely Band and Choir), but somehow I missed giving Ole Orchestra a review [I'm thinking that's because I missed their concert last spring]. I'm going to try and keep it brief, as I have work to do, but last night's concert was simply stunning. Maybe part of it was the fact that I was seeing some of my friends in the ensemble for the first time in about 10 days, or maybe it was their choice of piece, but I was loving pretty much every minute of it. [OK, I was less than impressed on Michael Torke's Bright Blue Music, but it reflected more on the composition itself rather than the performance in the fact that it stayed in exactly one key for about 6-7 minutes.]

The last two bits of music--the fourth movement of Peter Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 6 in B minor (Adagio lamentoso) and the encore, whatever it was--really got me thinking, kind of like one of those time-life memories/reflections that I'm trying to make sense of. But part of it may have been related to an earlier event, one that happened during the third movement. As the program notes say, "surprisingly, the typical Tchaikovsky finale comes [in the third movement rather than the fourth]. This third movement is a sonatina, or sonata that skips development of the theme for the sake of hearing the catchy theme a few more times." So I was listening to what should have been the final movement, i.e. really uppity and exciting. But the development (no pun intended) that occurred in the seats just a mere few rows in front of me showed an elderly but still agile man running down the aisle and out the door, presumably to the bathroom. I figured he had an emergency of some sort, like he needed to use the toilet or throw up or something. So I was kind of praying that he was going to be alright. As a result, that may have played into how I listened to the somber fourth movement. I was kind of praying that he wasn't about to die.

Well, fortunately he wasn't. In fact, after the concert ended he appeared to be talking in happy spirits at the end, so I then figured it was nothing big. I found out later exactly what happened from a friend who happened to be sitting right in front of the group of elderly people. She told me that someone had fainted and the guy was running down to get help. I did notice that sometime towards the end of the third movement that a couple other people were walking an elderly woman down the aisle and out of the room, so I wondered if the several events were tied together.

Basically my only complaint of the evening is that I felt the audience was too noisy. Aside from the aforementioned incident, there were a lot of noisy crashes in the stands, as if something had fallen. And the worst part is, most of the noises seemed to come during the quiet parts of the concert.

Aside from that, it was all good. I was glad to hear such quality playing on pretty much everyone's part. Luke (bassoon) and Aria (violin) did a great job on their solos, and each section blended well with each other. But enough raving from me for now. I must get back to work.

The E-church

I went to All Saints Episcopal Church again. It was awesome. And a couple of my friends were there.

Now they (a couple parishioners) want me to join their choir.

Aaaggh.

I'm already in two choirs: Chapel Choir (Vespers was awesome tonight, by the way) and German Jazz Choir. I dunno if I have time for three.

But apparently I've found a new home (even if it's temporary).

I live for this

I have a composition due tomorrow, and I'm up kind of late this evening working on it. I'm almost "almost done," but I'm not complaining. This is what I live for (in terms of work). This is one of those rare moments when I realize why I became a comp major in the first place.

Pray for me this week (several big projects due, as well as a few midterms), but also pray for your fellow persons who may need it. I myself know several people that could use some prayer during this time, so I will attend to it (after I finish my piece of course).

Selah

Once again I skipped church this morning, but I went to Selah this evening, and I can easily say it's the most spiritually uplifting experience I've had in a while. But this is no new event for me. I've been going for quite a while (since late freshman year), but for the most part FCA dwarfed it.

This year I've been less than impressed at FCA. Many of the people I got to know and enjoy their company are MIA at FCA (sorry for the excess acronyms). It feels like a lackadaisical attempt to bring people together to worship God, when instead the focus seems to be on the people themselves.

So I can say the honeymoon period with FCA is long gone. But to be honest, when it comes to spiritual organizations it should never leave. Perhaps I've seen FCA in a more political light than spiritual, or maybe there are so many people I don't know that I don't know where to begin, or maybe I'm just too damn busy on Tuesday nights.

Then there's TNBS (Thursday Night Bible Study). I never went with any regularity, and when I did I'm sure I've fallen asleep during part of it. But the Sunday night event still sticks with me. Selah is entirely made up of singing. And I guess I like it best now because I spend the whole hour combining my love of God with my love of music. But probably on another note, this event is when I see most of the people I know.

Even though I know I have a long way to go spiritually, I have come a far way from January 2005, when I first re-entered the Christian faith. I recall I was so dependent on finding any form of Christianity that I was willing to take whatever side effects the group may have come with. As I've begun to mature and understand said faith, I've begun to weigh specific aspects of how one practices Christianity and pick out which ones suit me better than others. And to compare Selah with TNBS (and FCA to a lesser extent), I much prefer experiencing and feeling the Holy Spirit rather than studying it.

Something about voice lessons

This evening I had my first voice studio class, and per Dr. Smith's policy/tradition/whatever you wanna call it, all the first-timers to the studio had to sing. And I was one of them. It was kind of a fun experience, getting up and trying out my solo, post-changed voice in front of a crowd of about 25. But not just in the studio class; in the lessons I got to experience voice as an instrument instead of "something I simply sing with." I'm taking Instrumentation as a class this semester, so I have been learning about the different instruments and how they can and cannot function, especially the woodwinds and brass. With those instruments, one must push more air through the tubing system to get a higher sound, per se. Well, I discovered that's the same thing with voice, and in the process I found I had a higher range than previously believed. It's a cool feeling, although I wish I still had my lower notes that I've had pretty much the last 6-7 years (it's been that long already?).

Anyway my range is about the same (2 octaves) but I found some notes different from what I thought I had. I remember in high school Mr. Querio would audition us at the beginning of each school year so to figure out which section we would sing in. Oftentimes I'd look over at the evaluation sheet, particularly his range markings, and noticed that I went from a low bass F to roughly a B-flat in the mid-baritone/tenor range. Of course my voice was still developing, since the vocal cords themselves were still expanding/contracting/going whichever way. It's kind of like looking at a clarinet and pushing/pulling on the neck to adjust the pitch. So anyway, my range now (at least solid notes) goes from a G (whole-step above the F) to a high tenor F. And I'm thinking, wow, I didn't know I had that note before. So I just might be a baritone now.

But it's not really (only) about finding my range, but discovering all sorts of neat ways to make singing easier. As many of you (my posting fans/brethren/whatever you want to be called) might know, I'm a choir lifer, so I've been more or less "trained" to sing more for the group, sacrificing my solo voice so to make the section sound better. But at the same time (and I've made these discoveries over only the recent years) I'd find it kind of hard to get a good solid breath to support the phrase, and oftentimes if I hit the higher part of my range, I'd either stress it out or (more often) sing falsetto, which must be like playing harmonics on a wind instrument. Oh, and I've yawned quite often in choir rehearsals, partly due to my general fatigue, but partly due to the fact that we're pretty much always sitting down and I can't quite get the adequate breath that I need.

I guess the coolest thing about taking voice lessons is I can express more (both facially and musically) while singing rather than playing piano, and I can actually communicate with the audience by singing directly to them as opposed to for them.

And I guess the second coolest thing about just starting voice lessons is, I've got a bunch of friends actually in my studio who didn't know I was actually singing tonight, rather than accompanying someone who was singing tonight.

I guess I've done it. I'm finally taking voice lessons at St. Olaf. I'm the stereotypical Ole right there.

:-D

Prayer of the Day/Time

Lord,

I thank You for bringing me back to St. Olaf for the fall, for making new friends as well as keeping in touch with old friends. I thank You for feeding me socially, nutritionally, spiritually, and musically. I also thank You for giving me a chance to listen to music in my spare time (other than what I might encounter in the music building) and for a new screenname. I ask for Your forgiveness for any and all sins that I may have committed, or any other deviations from Your Plan that I may have brought upon myself. I pray that as future events unfold (of all varieties) I will follow what You have prepared for me to get through them. I pray that I will jump on any and as many opportunities that You present toward me, and that I will do whatever I can to help another person achieve what You desired for him/her to achieve.

I pray that You will remain ever-present in all my friends' lives (as well as those who aren't), comfort them while they are down, and enrich them while they are up. I pray that You will enable them to share Your love, undefiled, with others that have been left in the dark. Once again, I thank You for Your blessings that You have enriched me with, and I pray that You will continue to guide me both as I walk and sleep. In Your Name I pray, Amen.

A year later (and a couple days)

While I was in Houston I learned that several of the people that had migrated from New Orleans a year ago stayed in Houston rather than go back. I don't know what Houston's population is now, but it's probably a good 100,000 more than it "should" be. [And by "should" I'm referring to the fact that the displacement of people is more permanent than what was supposed to occur.]

Only half of New Orleans' population has returned to the city a year after Hurricane Katrina hit. And as we hit the 1-year marking of the hurricane's landfall (I think the actual anniversary was back on Tuesday) several site engines (namely ESPN, CNN, and the Weather Channel) have had inspirational stories about people having been displaced and their respective stories, regardless of whether they returned or not.

One of the "new" friends I made over the summer (we were both in Music History but I didn't know her then) went to a university in New Orleans for her freshman year but transferred to Olaf after news got out that the other school was going to be closed for some time. I think her family still in lives in southern LA (probably in an area that didn't get hit) but I got to hear another story about how the hurricane impacted someone's life. I mean, I've read stories about various people (athletes namely) who either have been displaced or donated to the cause, but primary sources are more convincing for me (probably because I don't learn about them on the internet).

New Orleans is still a dump. There's no water in the streets (probably haven't been since last September) but there are still a lot of broken buildings and damaged plant life, and the mayor is trying to recruit the ex-townspeople to return, albeit rather unsuccessfully. I'd compare New Orleans' trainwreck to St. Luke's, but then again, New Orleans didn't deserve to lose their people.

So many words, so little time

So basically since I last posted (whenever that was), a lot of things have happened in the world: the Cubs and Sox have fallen, the USA basketball team is doing well, and Facebook added a gadget where one could post his/her blog onto the site. [Don't worry, I'm not so stupid to think that's a good idea.]

And over the last couple days, Northfield got hit with hail, New York City a tornado, and the bustling little hamlets known as Chicago and Houston got pelted with some nasty rainstorms as well; but all the while I somehow picked the perfect time to go to someplace completely new: Carlsbad, New Mexico.

The city (or town? I have no idea how big it is) itself didn't impress me very much. It's a lot like a Texas town, with sideways traffic lights, dilapidated sidewalks, and brand-name stores that I never heard of before. The Caverns, on the other hand, were pretty damn amazing. Well, amazing in the sense that we got to go on a candelight tour of one of the deepest caves off the beaten path, and probably damn near fell off it, given how risky the ground was.

But amazing as the caves themselves were (and they were pretty freaking amazing), there was nothing like watching the bats fly out at sunset. They're not great fliers, but the manner in which they fly just takes my breath away, in that we consider how misunderstood these creatures are (they're assumed to be dark, evil bug-like animals that can't see in the light) and how un-gracefully they fly. But then we realize that, like birds, they fly in teams, and that they really rely on each other for pretty much everything: food, warmth, even shelter. Birds are much more independent animals, and since it's human nature to admire birds much more than bats we tend to emulate them more, relying on ourselves than each other.

But it was good to get away. I had never been this far out west (my previous far-west record was Denton, TX), and I got to experience the joys of driving in an 80-mph zone, as shown below.

I actually was having a little too much fun with the high-speed zone; I went 85 much of the time. I was tempted to go faster, like 90 or 95 even, but I couldn't know for sure if there would be absolutely no cops patrolling the zone (why would they, there's NOTHING there!).

Driving aside, it was fun flashing pictures in the dark caves--I had about 100 of them before the camera's battery went dead about 2/3 through the walking tour--but I got some pretty neat pics, like the one with the lion's tail impression and the yellow staircase.

I even got a pretty awesome pic of me whistling in the Big Room; it's a really big cave complex, probably several miles wide in each direction. [I actually didn't whistle, since it probably would have sent an eerie echo throughout the space; but still a fun pic nonetheless.]

Right before I left St. Olaf for the end of the summer, I was hanging out with a couple friends when we found a bat flying in the hallway. It was pretty freaky, because I'd never seen a bat up close. But fortunately we grabbed a few sheets, nabbed it, and released it back into the wild. After all, bats are mammals too, and we can't even say that about birds.

And I saw a new Church

I went to the Episcopal church in town for the first time today. It was great to sing hymns that I knew, as well as recite text I knew. And the sermon wasn't bad. Since today was the Feast Sunday of the Virgin Mary (the official saint's day is Tuesday) we got a sermon about what it must've been like to be Mary when she received God's plan for her and lived her life according to it, and how God could call us to bring the best of our gifts to His people. I also didn't realize how much I missed the church's flowery texts.

Countdown is 2 days. But I still have to pack, get gas (gag), and drive for 8 hours. [Since I'm broke I'm driving through Milwaukee and then down Route 41 as soon as I hit Illinois.]

World Trade Center

"You never know what you have until you lose it."

I saw the movie World Trade Center this evening at the local movie theater. It takes the stories of a couple Port Authority police officers who were called to duty at the site of the twin towers on the day of the airplane attacks back in 2001, and highlights their struggles while trapped underneath the rubble. After the movie I had a discussion with a friend as to where we were on that day when it happened and how it affected each of us. As we were talking, it got me thinking back to how close I was to the *ahem* action even though I was in a completely different time zone when it happened.

I don't recall much from the day itself, but I remember during my 8 AM Algebra 2 class sophomore year in HS, Mr. Doar, the head of the school, entered the classroom and whispered in my math teacher's ear. She then told us "the US is under attack. The World Trade Center has been destroyed." If you've seen the movies Independence Day and/or Deep Impact, you'd get a pretty accurate description of what I thought had happened. I imagined the twin towers as either knocked over or perhaps still [barely] standing but with a bunch of weird holes in it. Or, perhaps half the buildings had been sliced off and tossed in another part of the neighborhood. It didn't help that the school cancelled classes for awhile (I think it was an hour or so) and we spent time listening to the radio. So I had no idea what was going on, because I had no visual; it was all reporters talking, so I was left to try to imagine what was going on.

It wasn't till around noon or so when I finally saw for the first time what had happened. And believe you me, I was devastated. Knowing that only a couple years before I had gone up to the outside observation deck with my dad and taken some pictures, I had a hard time grasping that a place that I once stood (several times, even) was no longer there. Thusly, I had a very hard time accepting that such an incident had happened. Technically I'd only seen it on TV at the time, so there was still a good chance that it was all a hoax, and I could return to NYC and it would be like it was before. I recall I had several recurring dreams about it, more for trying to understand for myself why it happened.

The first time I returned to NY post-9/11 was in 2004, when I returned to St. Thomas for Dr. (and Dr.) Hancock's retirement party and final service. On the bus going from the Newark Airport to the Port Authority, I couldn't help but stare in wonderment at the NYC skyline, since it was the first time I'd seen it live since the collapse. So of course, given my refusal to believe that the towers were destroyed, I was excited to see a pair of "twin towers" in about the same spot that I'd expect them to be. Unfortunately, it was kind of a misty day, so it probably helped in creating such illusion. As the bus got closer to the Lincoln Tunnel (we were on the road in NJ at the time) I noticed that the "twin towers" had drifted off to the right, and were currently in front of a bridge. It was then that I realized that I was looking at a pair of smokestacks.

The following day, I went to Ground Zero to look for myself, and I was shocked to find that it still was true. By that point it looked more like a construction site (the rubble had long since been cleared out), but I spent a good long time (probably an hour or so) trying to accept that everything I knew about the place was gone, different. I was pretty much consumed by this sad awe. I didn't show any emotion, but perhaps it showed in that it was hard for me to pry myself away from this place.

When I returned to NY earlier this year we had some free time at the beginning of the trip. We pretty much ventured the extremes of Manhattan Island, and it did include a stopover at Ground Zero. A couple people from our group had to excuse themselves from seeing it; it probably would've been extremely emotional for them. It was definitely easier to go this time; by this time I had accepted this ungodly hole as reality. By this time I had let go of the evil that stemmed from the attack. It helped that I had been reading more news about the construction of the next tall structure that would stand in the place of the twin towers.

Since that day there have been numerous attacks and bomb attemps across several parts of the world. Last summer there were three separate explosions in London's Underground, plus another one on a city bus. And not too long ago, British authorities foiled another possible terrorist attack, having detected several liquid bombs at a security checkpoint. Of course, now all liquids and gels are being temporarily banned from airports. [I'm not happy about that at all, especially since I'm flying in 10 days.]

But that's life. Like several other situations that I've witnessed and/or dealt with, this one will pass. To some people, it's been only five years since the September 11th attacks. To others (myself included), it's been five years. I was talking with a friend from home a couple springs ago about a whole slew of life situations (including several bad ones). When the conversation steered toward the 9/11 attacks, he made a great point about how it's understandable to mourn for the first year or so after the attacks, but after a while, there are other things in life that demand more attention. So while it's important to "never forget," it's equally if not more important to let go and move on with life. Just like continued mourning won't bring back a dead friend or loved one, it sure as heck won't bring back a couple of destroyed buildings or undo a few stupid political, militaric, social, or economic decisions.

I recall a fellow HS'er remark on September 11th that we need to move on. [Yes that's true, but it's the wrong time to say it.] It wasn't time to move on yet for most of us. It was still fresh in most everyone's mind; it's damn near impossible just to forget about something that just happened. But over the last few years, as the incident and its memories grow more and more distant, it's been time to move on. I can think of several incidents in my life since then where I could apply the same logic (at least to me anyway): the Bartman Ball game, the fall of St. Luke's, and the deaths of Michael Lefkow and Allen Strehlow (there are others as well). I do know that for some more closely affected by each event that it is still hard to let any or all of these events go, but there comes a time when we must move on.

Therein lies a rare true beauty of human nature: resiliency. It's what keeps John McLoughlin and Will Jimeno (the two trapped surviving officers in the movie) going. It's a gift we so rarely thank God for, but we should try to do it more often.

Despite the rumors

I was late again for church (although only by a couple minutes this time), and for the second week in a row I felt a strong yearning for a different kind of service. I will have to admit, not only was I late but I also sat in the pews on the opposite side of the sanctuary from where several friends (but not necessarily good friends) were. So I felt a little out of place.

The sermon, once again, was pretty good. The pastor picked up from where he left off last week in talking about what happened after the feeding of the five thousand. After the miracle the people started following Jesus and asked him for more food. But instead of offering another miracle, he offers himself to them, asking them to put their complete trust in him for something greater than simply "another five thousand loaves of bread." It's one trait of God (technically Jesus, but they're both one and the same) that actually makes sense to me, even though I can't really get a handle on it.

Anyway I was hanging out with a couple friends last night and I caught one of them saying he was going to skip church for the first time in a while. I asked him where he normally went to church, and he said the Episcopal church in town. I recalled he told me he was Episcopalian. I have never been to that church yet, but over the last couple years I've been meaning to go there (on and off, though). But a revelation that came to me today while I was at the Baptist church was that I had missed what the Episcopal church had to offer. On the one hand, pretty much any sermon that I go to at Emmaus will be a good one, but I realized I miss singing hymns that I know. That was another thing; I didn't know any of this morning's hymns. I don't remember what the focus of the Episcopal church's ministry is, but I think I gotta get back to it soon.

So despite the rumors that I might be Baptist or some other "out-there" Protestant denomination, I'm still Episcopalian. And despite my repeated statements that I [almost] call Minnesota home, Chicago's still home until I physically leave.

All About You

When the music fades and all is stripped away

And I simply come

Longing just to bring something that's of worth

That will bless Your heart

I'll bring You more than a song

For a song in itself

Is not what You have required

You search much deeper within

Through the way things appear

You're looking into my heart

I'm coming back to the heart of worship

And it's all about You

All about You, Jesus

I'm sorry, Lord, for the things I've made it

When it's all about You

All about You, Jesus

King of endless worth, no one could express

How much You deserve

Though I'm weak and poor, all I have is Yours

Every single breath

Matt Redman, "Heart of Worship" ["http://www.stlyrics.com/songs/m/mattredman20504/theheartofworship929505.html"]

________________________________________________

Church was great this morning. I was reminded of what I had been missing for the last couple weeks, since I didn't go last Sunday (apparently they don't have churches in SW Minnesota), and Bible Study has not been in session recently. This morning we had some excellent worship, with some heart-rendering hymns (like the one I just posted), and some majorly important biblical lessons (but hey, aren't they all?). Plus we were treated to some awesome piano-playing by a gospel musician.

This weekend I hosted a wrestling prospie, and another guy that I thought was a prospie but happened to be a student here at St. Olaf. Oops.

I will be doing some intense praying this week. I learned of something rather life- changing over the last few days, and I'm not sure how to deal with it. At some point, when it is comfortable, I will let the rest of the world know.

I've been writing more music. I'd been debating whether I really wanted to be a composer anymore, but I know that if I can keep my life going then things will be fine.

I would like to move at the same speed as life (i.e. God), but it will take quite a bit of work.

Maximal Maxims

That when sometimes he had not thought of God for a good while, he did not disquiet himself for it; but, after having acknowledged his wretchedness to God, he returned to Him with so much the greater trust in Him as he had found himself wretched through forgetting Him.

--Brother Lawrence. The Practice of the Presence of God with Spiritual Maxims. pp. 22-23.

That he had placed his sins betwixt him and God, as it were, to tell Him that he did not deserve His favors, but that God still continued to bestow them in abundance.

--Lawrence, p. 18.

That we should establish ourselves in a sense of God's presence by continually conversing with Him. That it was a shameful thing to quit His conversation to think of trifles and fooleries.

That we should feed and nourish our soul with high notions of God, which would yield us great joy in being devoted to Him.

That we ought to quicken--i.e., to enliven--our faith. That it was lamentable we had so little; and that instead of taking faith for the rule of their conduct, men amused themselves with trivial devotions, which changed daily. That the way of faith was the spirit of the church, and that it was sufficient to bring us to a high degree of perfection.

That we ought to give ourselves up to God, with regard both to things temporal and spiritual, and seek our satisfaction only in the fulfilling of His will, whether He lead us by suffering or by consolation, for all would be equal to a soul truly resigned.

--Lawrence, p. 16.

Recognize and return.

Lather, rinse, and repeat.

Better than 1,000 World Series

Over the last few days, I recalled a post (even though there have been several, I'm sure) where I call God a Cubs fan and tried to explain His influence over the franchise. I still think He is somewhat involved (like He is with everything else in the universe anyway), but I don't think I either gave the right reasons, or any reasons at all. It didn't hit me until Chris, Pat and I went to a Cubs-Twins game two weekends ago. I recall my roommate Steven giving me crap about not being a Twins fan (good-natured of course) even though he isn't one himself. When we got back from the game, there was a message waiting for me on the whiteboard: Twins 3, Cubs 0. Told ya! I erased it and wrote: Cubs season attendance: 3 million; Twins season attendance: 1 million. Then it hit me like a parable, almost. The way I put the revelation together with my knowledge of the team to date went like this:

There is a baseball team that has been around for a long time. They play in one of the oldest stadiums, with a grandstand, bleachers, and bathrooms so out-of-date and in need of massive rebuilding. Even the concrete from underneath the upper deck is in grave danger of crumbling and collapsing. And the team itself is even worse. Its players either underachieve, misdevelop, or injure themselves. They always hire third-class minor league and major league coaches, and fire them as quickly. The front office is like a servant owner that never pays his servants' wages or ensures their well-being. The end result is a team that never wins anything, often finishes last behind all the other teams, and occasionally offers promise of excellency, only to eventually show the cracks in its assembly and revert back to mediocrity. Even those followers of such a hapless will sometimes show their frustration and throw trash onto the playing field as a symbol of such frustration.

But possibly the biggest thing of all, is that the tickets to a ballgame at such a park is among the highest costs of any ballgame on earth. And given human nature's impatience over such abomination, why waste time and money to watch them lose over and over again? There is a miracle among the century-old dung that resides at the false idolatry shrine. But it is a misconstrued miracle. People go to the games solely on two things: 1.) to get a beer, and 2.) to hope that their beloved team will win a World Series.

I come here to you today to tell you differently. The miracle behind the Chicago Cubs does not lie in the World Series that they will win someday. It in fact has nothing to do with winning or losing, period. The point of the Chicago Cubs' existence is to show that even in the darkest of times, people will still show up to the games for three times the price of a ticket to a Twins game, regardless of the quality of the Cubs team that's playing on the field. Some might argue that this "homage" is idolatry, and that there are bigger matters than baseball. I argue that it is only idolatry if one actually worships any part of or all of the whole Cubs experience. And baseball is but one of many such temptations: movies, American Idol, the whole pop culture in general, and those things are in more danger of being idolized than the Cubs.

That's why I wrote the season attendance numbers on the board in response to the trash-talk-writing. It was to illustrate that no matter what the Cubs do, there will always be enough people who A.) care about the team, and B.) pay enough money to show up to enough games to ensure that the team will continue and not be contracted, like the Twins almost were four years ago. That's the miracle I'm talking about, and one that unfortunately more people don't quite grasp.

And pour contempt on all my pride

As I was listening to a prayer request from a friend a couple days ago, he raised a rather unique perspective as to his--and other people's--struggles. He had asked me to pray that he would get his rear in gear and study for a test that was coming up pretty quickly, and continued on to rationalize why it was so hard just to study, just to "do it." As he was explaining, it had dawned on me that personal, selfish pride was another obstacle that I had to either remove or jump over in order to get closer to a consistent spiritual relationship with God, as well as a more consistent friendship/relationship/whichever term sounds better--with several people that I surround myself every day.

I'm now seriously pondering looking for work in a new direction. With just over 1/3 of the summer complete, if I were to ever be able to succeed in a job search I realized I would need to consider working during the fall (I know, too much homework about to come up in 2 months, and *gag*). Looking at my summer spendings, I've been trying to minimalize it as much as possible, only paying for vision therapy appointments, gas, food (both at the Caf and from other places), and housing. But even though I know I need to work, for some reason I've been struggling [over the past several years] to get over the hump of just "doing it," or getting to work.

This is where that stupid pride comes in. Aside from my occasional nervousness of calling people, applying for jobs that I'm not sure what I'm doing at places that I don't know, there's always this tugging feeling that I should only hold out for the best possible opportunity. Not only in paycheck, but in the type of work (ideally it would be music or sport-related), and convenience.

So this all rushed through my head in the approximately five-minute sequence while he was recounting how this pride was keeping him from staying on top of studying for his class. I told him I would pray for him, and when he asked me for my prayer request, I more or less told him about the whole not-getting-a-job bit.

And it's kind of funny, that I've been giving tours all week (except for this afternoon, when I had an appointment in Owatonna), that as the week has progressed, I've become more of a willing public servant, in body, mind and spirit, than I was at the beginning of the week.

So I will go to Bible study in the lounge tonight. And my friend is leading the discussion. I honestly don't know what we may discuss, but I know it will get me thinking some more. And maybe it will lead me to be more active, continually progressing on the path God wants me to go.

Wake-up call

This morning's sermon took a passage from the book of Job where God chastises Job for doubting his power in the wake of losing everyone and everything in his life: his property, his children, and even his wife and friends in that they forced him to question the Lord's plan. So instead of explaining His reasoning, or giving any words of encouragement, God scolds Job, asking him where his faith is.

Even though the story goes on, and God and Job reconcile (in the human-Divine sort of way), I couldn't help but feel anger in the sense that I pitied Job. I mean, I understood that God was in charge of everything, but I figured if everything bad were to happen to me, I'd want to know, or at least have a metaphorical chicken bone thrown at me as a means of having something to enjoy in such a bitter time. So during the prayer at the end of the sermon, I closed my eyes, and suddenly I was driving on a road in which everything around my car was on fire. As soon as I discerned the meaning of this vision, I thought Oh crap!, and started to realize that God would reprimand me in the same way that he did Job if I were going to continue down that particular road of anger and demanding an explanation. I opened my eyes and started praying that I would accept that these type of things could happen and I would not question His power. As of right now, I'm still working/praying on that.

My best friend from home came up to Olaf for the weekend. Although the primary goal was to go to the Cubs/Twins game (in which the Metrodome practically was sold out for one of the few times of the season), the dynamic of the group between my one friend and all the Oles that he met was rather interesting. Between my Ole friends forcing me to do cartwheels while taking pics of them, and said friends (Twins fans as they are) making fun of me for being a Cubs fan, there was a lot of laughter, food, driving, and the process of making memories (courtesy of my roommate's digital camera). But I think for me mostly was learning quite a bit more about my friend, as well as everyone who got to meet him. I hadn't had this much sustained interaction (as far as joking around, making fun of people, etc) in a while, so while I showed some tension (mostly through uttering random 4-letter words while playing video games), I managed to keep my head up and still have some fun.

So I brought my friend to church this morning. Unlike most of my real good friends, he hadn't really gone to church most of his life, and he said he's looking to get more involved with the whole Christianity thing. Several other friends have been more active recently than in the past, so it's a good thing to see.

I also played a game of Ultimate Frisbee this afternoon. It went really well. I hadn't played it in a long time, and it felt good to show off my more polished discus throws, if not my blazing speed and other physical aspects of the game. I know God Himself had a hand in my effort, as I usually haven't been so effective in game situations. Now I just have to know that He is in charge around here, and not to try to understand the rationale behind the sometime bizarre actions He takes.

Thanks. :-)

God is in the details

Alright, another reflection on the weekend...

Even though I had a pretty awesome time hanging out with several of my friends at the group functions that were held, probably the most important conversation I had was outside the group. The last night I had a conversation with an ex-choirboy, who, the last time I saw him (which was a couple years ago) I thought he was a total ass. Somehow I still recalled the time from tour when a bunch of us were playing ping-pong, and even though I had called next game, he decided he wanted it anyway (he's about 5 years younger than I), we had a little tussle, and he won the argument.

So even at this late date I wasn't exactly looking forward to much more than saying Hi and basically acknowledging his presence. But we actually had an online conversation that showed how much this guy has grown on me. Zack explained how he recently found his own path to God (outside the institution), and how he's devoting his life to the preparation of the apocalypse. Instead of another parish, his quest for salvation lies in this ["http://www.raptureready.com/"] website. (If the link doesn't come through, it's www.raptureready.com)

You can read their premise via the link. I don't know enough about their philosophy to try and sum it up myself, and quite frankly there are parts of it that I don't agree with, but that's beside the point. I got to learn a completely new angle on Zack that I never knew was there before. [Granted, he wasn't really all that spiritual by comparison the last time I saw him, whenever that was.] And I'm thinking that through all the mixed emotions about the whole weekend (recap: funeral, reception, choir banquet), this was an act of God to help me mend some of the past that I clearly would not have been able to do so myself. We even talked about Allen and his spirituality (which I regret I never did while he was still here) as well as our own, and through a combination of the aforementioned conversations I knew God wanted me to have friends rather than more awkwardness.

I head home tonight

My plane leaves the Minneapolis airport just after 7:30; it will arrive Chicago O'Hare just after 9:00. I will be seeing my parents, several friends for the first time in about two weeks, and several for the first time in much longer than that.

Given the circumstances (re-read my post from this past Monday), I'm a bit anxious to get back. However, I can't help but feel how this weekend will have "reunion" written all over it. But in a way, every time I go home and visit said friends, for some reason it always seems like a reunion, especially the more people that come. If, say, I am hanging out with one or two people at a time (like I've done a few times over the previous break), I can feel like I'm spending time in the present rather than the past.

I must confess I haven't been very active all week. I still haven't heard from my two job applications, and I haven't made any new calls this week. Part of it is due to mourning, and part of it is due to said anxiety. I can't wait to see all these people again (well, the Lukers of my generation anyway), but because of the surrounding events it will be a little out-of-place. I've spent the last few days writing an a capella vocal piece to the words of Revelation 21 to help ease myself, but given that I'm about 75% done, and I've used about 3 different versions of the same text to write the music, I know I will have to go back and re-write it.

I'm actually not as sad/downtrodden/depressed/maxxed out as I sound right now. But I anticipate that I will be refreshed upon my return to Olaf on Monday, and I will continue my job search in earnest. Pray for me.

Letting the river flow

I still remember when you whacked me upside the head at poker night and dared me to punch you.

I still remember when you made me drive you home after youth group many times.

I still remember when we were playing Ultimate Frisbee during youth group and we single-handedly led our team to a come-from-behind victory.

I still remember seeing you without hair, having to use a cane and miss processions at the beginnings and ends of church services because of chemotherapy treatments.

*****

There are so many memories; I don't even know where to begin. But I've begun already, and just let it flow. I was pretty sad when Kirby Puckett passed, but somehow I was able to put words together rather effortlessly compared with the present.

Now, well, it's much harder. Saying goodbye to a good friend of mine is never easy to do. It's also the first time for me. All the previous deaths that I have had to deal with were mostly my grandparents, and other older relatives (and one bird).

So this is the first time that someone from my generation (that I knew) has passed. And I was hoping this day would arrive as late as possible. But God's plan didn't call for that. So now I'm here, a little too stunned and in shock to try say anything. It hasn't really hit me yet; I'm sure it will, come Saturday.

*****

Honestly, I had wished I'd punched you in the shoulder. But now I'm glad I didn't.

I'd drive you from anywhere to your house again. Even at 4 in the morning.

I'd pick you on my team for Ultimate Frisbee any day (maybe not first, but I'd make sure you were on my side).

And I still have photos of you with hair (from the choir tour), now that I put them on Facebook.

Be at peace Allen. You are with God now. And I'm letting the river flow for you.

*****

Let the poor man say "I am rich in Him"

Let the lost man say "I am found in Him"

Oh let the river flow

Let the blind man say "I can see again"

Let the dead man say "I am born again"

Oh let the river flow, oh let the river flow

Let the river flow, let the river flow

Holy Spirit come, move in power

Let the river flow, let the river flow

Holy Spirit come, move in power

Let the river flow, let the river flow

Let the river flow

--Darrell Evans, Let the River Flow ["http://www.lyricstime.com/darrell-evans-let-the-river-flow-lyrics.html"]