Friday Fusion, Volume 1 - The Vespers, "Lawdy"

Song of the Week:  The Vespers, "Lawdy"

This Nashville-based quartet consists of two sets of siblings.  They're part of a growing collection of Folk-Americana groups that have grabbed my fancy over the past couple of years.  They're young, creative, and pursuing a great story.  

"Lawdy" is simultaneously light and dark - a fragile voice pursuing guidance, comfort, and support.  It rings true as it builds.  I can relate and I love it.  Hope you do to.  

Why I'm sharing them:

Music has been a faithful companion of mine since I was a wee lad.  Many a great visual memory is backed by a soundtrack in my mind. 

• My brother's basement room in our townhome in Cudahy, WI - with Rush, Boston, and Van Halen 1984 spinnin' on the turntable.  
• A front-row balcony seat in a tiny chapel on the campus of Washington & Lee University to see a large portion of the Marsalis family (Branford & Ellis) perform amazing Jazz. 
• A decade dominated by R.E.M. and one-off alternative bands keeping me company in the Ceramics Studio during all-night artistic binges
• Newly married in a top-down, doors-off Jeep Wrangler, with Santana out-dueling the wind.
• Celebrating my brother's 35th at a Boston concert with some 50-year-old pot smokers in front of us.  ("What's that smell?", "Do you have any brownies on ya'?")
• Multiple opportunities to soak in the Civil Wars - from a tiny Minneapolis to a sold-out show at the State Theatre
• Date nights with friends for Third Day, David Crowder, The Lone Bellow 
• And many more....

Last October we hosted a night with Steve Moakler - a Nashville-based singer/songwriter. I absolutely loved the process of promoting the show, organizing the logistics, and pullin' off a great night with old friends and new.

If you weren't there, I wish you could've been.  It was a blast and we'll be doing similar events in the future.  

So, until we host another show, consider these soon-to-be-weekly posts as an invitation to experience some new tunes and connect as a virtual community around a song or two.  Let 'em soak in.   

  

I'm Better at Comparing Than You Are.

I've been practicing for years. 

I've only been un-practicing (totally a real word) for about 8 months.  

In the past, when I compared myself to others, my innards looked a little something like:

• a kid that felt really small.
• a very sarcastic and negative person.
• someone that didn't like who they were.
• an entitled soul waiting to spout off on God about how much they'd been wronged.
• a selfish and resentful spirit wallowing in what wasn't or what might have been.

Just recently, my un-practicing (still totally a real word) has resulted in what I'll call "positive comparisons" - times where I've been able to see a faint outline of the path He has me on so that I can use comparison in healthy ways like: 

• getting motivated toward growth when I see folks that are farther down the path than me.
• seeking God's direction as I observe others that inspire me and that I respect.
• celebrating the successes of those that I hold dear.

In order to carry off this healthier form of comparison, we need to:

• try to love ourselves like He loves us (emphasis on try)
• care about others a little more than we care about ourselves
• get a buzz off of seeing others be successful (it's addicting, I promise)
• like a little bit of whimsy in our lives
• be patient
• respect our own journey

In short, the only time that I am not diminished when others succeed is when I trust that my Creator has me on a path that matters.  The longer I un-practice comparing, the more I realize that my story doesn't even have to be in the middle of a fulfilling chapter for it to work.  As long as my frame of mind is that He loves me and He knows what He's doing with me, I can celebrate someone else's success.  

I don't have a 3-step process to stop comparing in unhealthy ways.  If I did, steps 1 and 2 would be 'fail trying', and step 3 would be repeat the first two steps until you finally do it right every now and again.  Trial and error at its finest.  Nothing magical about it.  I still flub it up as often as I do it in a productive way.  

What I do have is a growing confidence in the fact that your story matters, that it can stand on its own, and that it doesn't have to be diminished by the successes of those around you. 


He didn't put you here to compare yourselves against His other kids.  He put you here to write your story with all of your heart, mind, spirit, and strength.  And He wants you to have that story.  Just like you want your kids to have their dreams come true.   


Let's do it together and root for each other every step of the way. 

If you've taken a few steps toward your story and have something to celebrate, let me know. 
First round's on me.  Cheers.   pba.

The Positive Side Effects of a Dead Battery

Earlier this week my phone battery died as I was sitting waiting for the bus home.  <gasp>

I didn't have my iPad and I intentionally left my laptop at the office.  
I started to twitch violently.  Well... not really...

...but it did became painfully obvious just how dependent I have become on my gadgets. It took me a few seconds to shake the mild sense of panic that hit me, but I was able to establish a totally old-school strategy: pen & paper. 

As part of my Storyline journey, one of my ambitions is to get more diligent with writing. Near-daily blogs are one of the methods that I've talked about doing as a way to learn and build some creative momentum.  

So I spent some time simply jotting notes about topics that could turn into potential blog posts. 

My kick butt People of the Second Chance Notebook

After a few false starts and self-conscious moments, a couple of concepts started to flow and I began to remember what it used to feel like prior to my smart phone addiction.  

I liked how it felt and I like the work I've done over the past couple of days since.  

The real me sleeps in my phone.  It becomes alive on paper when boxes are drawn, arrows connect ideas, and doodles fill in the gaps.  

I may just start letting that battery die more often.

So here's to your real self.  I hope you have had the chance to stumble across it over the past couple of days... I can hardly wait to hear about what it wants to do.  pba.

  

Top 10 Ways to Risk Your Life on a Suburban Bus

The Suburban Bus is its own universe.  

When you step foot inside the magic hydraulic door, you have entered into a land of unwritten, but very apparent, rules and expectations.  

If you find yourself in violation, you will know it.  Passive aggressive gasps and eye rolls will be launched in your direction and you'll see the faces of normally amiable soccer moms and cubicle-dwelling fathers take on menacing expressions.

I've been spending at least an hour a day in this other-worldly place for about the past 8 years and thought it was high-time I did a public service by peeling back the bus roof so you can peek in.  

Print out this guidance and have it with you the first time you find yourself in need of public transport.  

THE TOP 10 WAYS to RISK YOUR LIFE on a SUBURBAN BUS*

Spoken in the tone of everyone on the bus.  No one in particular.  
Once you're on the bus, you're part of the collective.  There is no individual voice.  

1. Pay Cash.  Only newbies pay cash (for a maximum of 3 business days).  All others have pre-paid cards that get scanned on the way in.  Want lazer beams to come through the back of your head?  Make a line of 10+ people wait in below-zero temps while you fumble around with your crumpled dollar bills.  Jerk. 

2. Talk.  We're ants on our way to the ant farm that is downtown Minneapolis.  Unless we've been working together, or riding the bus together for more than a year, let's keep the chit-chat to a minimum.  Thanks much. 

3. Sit on My Lap.  The bus designer made the seats narrow.  I know it sucks, but try to keep your cheeks in the designated area.  If you do accidentally sit on me (who hasn't, right?), please acknowledge the mistake and scootch back over.  Even if it means you've got a cheek hangin' off into the aisle.  Your Ben & Jerry's obsession ain't my problem.     

3a. Sit Next to Someone When There Are Completely Open Rows Available.  That's just creepy.  If there are 7 urinals on the wall and one guy is peein', you don't saddle up next to 'im, do you?  Same rules apply here - only double-up when you have to.  Perv. 

4. Bring Your Luggage.  We all know you work hard.  Try leaving at least a PORTION of your office at work tonight, OK?  Three-bag Wednesday isn't a tradition where the rest of us are from and we don't have enough room for all of your crap.  

5. Take That Call from Your College Buddy.  Save your energetic reunion for the park-n-ride parking lot, k?  If we don't want you to talk to us, we don't want you to talk to them either.  I'm playing Candy Crush over here and you're messing up my mojo. 

6. Speaking of Candy Crush.  Try turning your sound off, moron.  This ain't your living room and we're all sick of the sound effects.  

7. Try a Breathe Right Strip, Sleepy Head.  It was a long night, you're tired and maybe a little hung over.  We've all got our issues.  But seriously, if you can't stay awake for a 35-minute bus ride, try a cup o' joe on the way out the door tomorrow.  Or at least let us know we can smack you if you start snoring.   

8. Cough & Sniff.  Alot.  "Our favorite thing ever is sitting in a petri dish with you and your germs", said nobody.  Take a sick day or drive next time, k?  Feel better. 

9. Just TRY to Protect the Seat Next to You.  We all know it's comfier without someone sitting hip-to-hip.  Leaving your crap on the spot next to you so we can't sit down is not an appropriate solution.  It's legal to violate rule 3a if you're selfish enough to try to "protect" the space around you on a public bus.  Get over yourself. 

10. Get off the Bus in the Wrong Order.  It's simple.  Folks that had to stand all the way home get off first.  People in the front handicapped spots get off second.  The rest of the bus gets off, in order, row-by-row from front-to-back (think Wedding or Funeral).  If you sat your arse in the last row, that's your fault.  Be patient or risk having Gramma Betty slash your tires tomorrow morning. 

*Note: a City Bus has its own set of rules.  I don't pretend to understand them.  I'm a suburbanite through-and-through. 

Once you silently acknowledge the rules by following them for at least 6 months without a violation, you'll earn the right to talk about your kids' soccer games with folks that look familiar (but only right at the beginning and the end of the ride - see rule 2).  

Feel free to pass these tips along to your friends and family. (and enjoy your commute)

pba. 

Stop Trying to Quit Stuff

Don't know if you've heard, but rumor has it we're livin' in a "broken world". 

Normally when I hear that term, it's referring to something that sounds pretty messed up: physical violence, human trafficking, addiction, Obamacare, etc.  

Our brokenness shows itself in simple ways: we do stuff we don't want to do.  We aren't who we want to be.  So then we work at being who we're told we should be.  And most of us tend to force it.     

I, for one, am a recovering performance-based Christian: one of those guys that talked about faith, but really lived in the land of good-deed-tally-sheets, all while doing my best to hide my own brokenness.  Someone who was inherently judgy and absent of real love.  Someone that was just livin' scared.   

A hyprocrite that spewed religious talk on people while living in shame and fear all the while.  Setting out to "save" those around me in order to lift myself up, not to share a Savior with them (because I didn't really know Him well enough to share Him).  What a crappy story to spend our time writing.    

Note:  don't get me wrong, I sincerely believe we all need saving.  I'm just not the guy that can save myself (or you), so I'm going to stop pretending I know jack or that I've ever been better than anyone else.  Instead, I'm going to tell you I love you and see if you'd be willing to walk the path with me for awhile (for our mutual benefit).  

Hopefully we can both keep our eyes peeled for where we're being led.  (Two eyes are better than one... unless you're a cyclops... or something like that... feel free to Tweet that if you'd like.)

The guy that made me start thinking about loving everybody and taking it seriously, also talks about quitting stuff.  He believes we have the power to quit stuff at any time, so he randomly selected Thursday as a day to quit stuff.   He quits something he doesn't want to do anymore every Thursday.  I love the concept, but when I focus on quitting stuff, I tend to not quit stuff.  I tend to do more of it.  Someone in Romans talks about doing stuff they don't want to do.  I'm that guy.  

Well, lately I've had some stuff I don't want to be doing cease to be stuff that I'm doing - which has been really cool - but it hasn't been because I've willed my way toward quitting something.  

The success I've experienced has been based on pursuing new stories that include stuff that I want to do and be about, not the stuff that I don't want to do.  The shift in perspective doesn't feel major, but it has been transformational for me over the past year+.  

I spent years trying to quit stuff.  It just made me think about the stuff I wanted to quit... and feel weak and small for not being able to quit it.  It wasn't workin' for me <insert nod to Dr. Phil here>. 

If you're good at quitting stuff, pick something this Thursday and quit it.  If you're like me, don't try to quit anything, use Thursday to start something new - use it to take the first step in the direction you feel you're being led - take the step even if you're not sure.  If you focus on that next step, the other crap you've been shaming yourself about might just start to fade away.  I'll give you Wednesday to process.  

p.s.  The new you is gonna be friggin' awesome!    

Lambeau Love

I was born in South Milwaukee, Wisconsin.  In order to get my birth certificate notarized, my parents first had to commit to the love of bowling, beer, and the Green Bay Packers.  

I carried the tradition forward, so my wife and 2 kiddos are all fans.  We watch the games in our living room - in jerseys.  We scare the dog as we jump around and yell at the TV.  We have a set of Packer player Russian Nesting Dolls.  We polka (not really).

That said, I‘m the only one of us that had ever seen a game at Lambeau… until an unusually large number of tickets were available after the Packers beat the Bears in the final game of the season to earn a home playoff game. 

We jumped on the opportunity to cross an item off of our family’s bucket list.  We bought tickets, spent 48 hours game planning our outfits in preparation for sub-zero temps, and road-tripped from Minnesota to the game just in time for the gates to open. 

The Andersons go to Lambeau

 

As residents of a neighboring state, we’re not used to being embraced for our loyalty to the Pack.  We often feel like a bit of a green-and-gold island in a sea of Viking purple. 

At Lambeau, it doesn’t matter if you’re short or tall, fat or skinny, attractive or not.  If you’re a Packer fan, you’re in.  I mean really in.  Strangers talk to you like you’re a long-lost friend.  You celebrate big plays with High 5s and hugs.  You console each other after bad calls or blown plays.  And, regardless of the game’s outcome, it’s hard to walk away without feeling like you’re part of the club – exactly as you are. 

 There is power in an accepting community. 

 I want to be a part of that kind of community every day.  One where we recognize we’re truly all on the same journey, where we’re rooting for (and helping) each other to succeed, and where we console and support each other when times are tough.    

Storyline has taught me how to help form a community that, for all practical purposes, fits that description.  When we recognize that our stories matter, that epic tales are marked by selfless desire and risk, and that pursuing stuff that matters is always worth the conflict that will come, we lay the foundation for some Lambeau-esque love. 

If you haven’t checked out Donald Miller yet, I encourage you to do so.  Your story needs telling and I, for one, am rooting for you.  You don’t even have to like the Packers.

(Miller is a Seahawks fan and we love him anyway)

 

Lessons from a Little ShihTzu

Our 11-year-old Collie/Rottweiler mix, Jamba, passed away a little over 3 years ago. 

Jamba

We were very deliberate as we processed the loss of our pupper:  a family meeting to talk about it, consistently taking time to remember the fun that we had together, and a generous quantity of hugs whenever one of us started to shed a tear. 

We made the logical choice to not replace her.   Kids’ activities were ramping up and we felt like she hadn’t been getting enough attention and exercise because of it, so waiting was the wise thing to do.   

 

 

The decision was made, but each of us seemingly took turns pining for another pup until my wife finally couldn’t squelch the need anymore.   

She declared earlier this year (months in advance), that a very little puppy is the only thing she wanted for Christmas this year.  Period.  End of story. 

I was adamantly opposed, and I had all of the right excuses:

• We agreed to not replace Jamba (no take-backs)
• Too big for the budget (Dave Ramsey said so, kinda)
• Puppies poop & pee (everywhere)
• We don’t have time to take care of a puppy (we still have kids!)
• If we’re getting a dog, I want a dog.  Not a glorified rodent.  

She dug in her heels, I dug in mine.  She said a bunch of stuff about memories for the kids, missing the opportunity to care for a little one, and the kind of impact a pup could have on the fam ("bla, bla, bla").
 

 

I stuck to my guns until, in the midst of a 4-hour stand-off on the topic, I found myself breaking down and angrily stating thru a flood of tears, “I can’t ever experience what I experienced with Jamba again.” 

When I realized the real reason I was fighting, the argument stopped.  


Thru a variety of circumstances, the last year has taught me that experiencing joy is worth the risk of being hurt (and that anything short of real love, doesn’t heal or enable growth). 


Izzy

We got Izzy the next morning.  She’s tiny. 

We dropped a grand to get her and all of her stuff, she smells like a dog, she has peed and pooped in the house, and we haven’t slept thru the night all week. 

My wife is glowing, my kids have giggled in ways I haven’t heard them giggle for quite some time, and I may or may not enjoy playing with her spazzy little self. 

 

Izzy doesn’t take away the memory of being the sole witness to Jamba’s last breath, but she’s helping us write a new chapter in our story and she has reinforced the importance of loving wholeheartedly – regardless of the inherent risks and inconveniences. 

 

Every time her moppy little self gallops by, I think of my wife’s steely determination to love and pour herself into another being and I am, in turn, inspired to pour myself into others as well. 

 

If you’re stuck, struggling, and hurting because Love has seemingly kicked your butt, I encourage you to acknowledge the potential for joy and  to willingly step back into it – knowing that you’ll get hurt again but that it’s worth it anyway.   pba.