The Basement Tapes: Open Our Eyes

It's been awhile again since I've posted; in the meantime I've created another couple of videos of old songs as well as released another book.  More about the book in the next post; this one's about a song.

Another one of my old basement tapes, this is one of the very earliest recordings I still have of my songs.  It was done around 1981; all of the guitar work was performed by the admirable Mark Wilson, and all of the vocal work was done by the adequate me.  It sounded a lot better in my headphones in 1981 than it sounds to me now, but I hope you'll be able to hear what I was aiming for.

Theologically, I was still in a very works-oriented phase in my life, but, sad to say, the lyrics still kind of ring true.

There is about a half-second dropout in the tape a few seconds into the song; I don't know why, but the problem is on my end, not yours.

The Basement Tapes: Her Eyes Dance

This song is also one of my own favorites.  Though I did not know it at the time, it was written for my bride-to-be, Susan, who requested that it be played as she walked down the wedding aisle to me.  The first time my mom heard this song, she cried.  I don't know that you can ask much more than that out of a bit of music.

Her Eyes Dance

Click above to view on YouTube, or click below if you're not ready to leave this page.

At 54

This morning I had a significant thought.

It escapes me now.

The Vision of Faith

This week at the Bible study I have just started attending, the pastor brought up the famous verse Romans 8:28 ("And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose").  This has long been one of my favorite verses of scripture, and while many pages could be written about the Reformed perspective of the second half of that verse (more later, Lord willing), there is treasure to be wrung out of the simplest understanding of the first half as well.

The reason I am posting now is that there actually seemed to be some doubt among the participants about the credibility of the scripture on that point; that God wasn't necessarily able to work all things together for our good.  This frankly surprised me a bit, though perhaps it shouldn't have.  Maybe there are lots of folks out there that are unsteady regarding the sovereign power of our omnipotent God, the all-encompassing purposes of our loving heavenly Father.  If you count yourselves among the vaguely skeptical here, maybe this little illustration will be of some value to you.

All of us have had situations in our lives where we have suffered most severely.  You know the roster here: death of a loved one, divorce, disease, etc.  We thought about our affliction that no possible good could come from it.  But ten years past the suffering, we all have looked back from our advanced perspective and confessed that the situation actually did provide some benefit for us.  We say things like, "Now I see that God was in it all the time; I never would have learned a particular lesson were it not for that time of hardship; I grew to depend upon the Lord so much during that time of trial."  And you can be sure that if we in our limited perception can discern some good result from our suffering, then God is His perfect wisdom has done much more for us than that which we can see.  He has actually worked all things together for our good, though we perceive it only fractionally.

The vision of faith is this: We take that perfect hindsight--that God has worked through our suffering for our good--we take that understanding, turn it around 180 degrees, and apply it to the future.  We say, "God has not only worked all things together for our good in the past, but He will continue to do so in the future."  And we step boldly into the unknown, trusting in God's care.  This is an act of worship: trusting God to do what He has said He would do.  "For we walk by faith, not by sight" (2 Corinthians 5:7).

Words that Hurt, Words that Heal

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My stepdaughter Dana and her family joined us for dinner last night. Dana is a smart girl, bright and sensitive, with a tolerably good sense of humor. And I've always taken an inordinate amount of pleasure in trying to get her to laugh, or at least smile, or failing that, grimace.

That's where I get into trouble. My own sense of humor tends toward a celebration of the absurd. As the great observer of humanity C. S. Lewis noted in The Screwtape Letters, a joke exists only with the sudden perception of some incongruity. True for me! The more ironic I find something, the better. (Maybe that's why I dislike so much of what passes for "comedy" these days. Instead of trying to exploit incongruities and reveal something truly funny, which is hard work, today's writers appeal to the lowest elements of our society: foul language, which is no longer shocking enough to be incongruous, and jokes about sex.)

Not everyone, of course, shares my sense of the absurd. I can't begin to tell you how many times people have been shocked or offended at what they perceive as a lack of sensitivity, propriety, or compassion on my part … when all I was really trying to do was make them smile.

Wait--that's not quite true. While I would have been perfectly happy to have made them smile, what I was really after was the approval, the admiration, of the person behind the smile. "That Bob--he's always so funny!" "Yes, isn't he, though? What a great wit!" "He must be really smart!"

While I'm pretty sure people don't really say things like that out loud any more, I'd really like them to think that about me. So my marvelous sense of humor is exposed at last for what it is in truth: another pathetic attempt to stroke my own ego, another vain genuflection at the altar of self-worship.

That's where my introspection inevitably leads. And while I humbly thank God for the revelation--which, though it smarts, brings healing--this article is really about outrospection: how do my actions affect others?

Which brings me back to Dana.

More, perhaps, than any other person (at least in the last ten years), I have seen in Dana's eyes the sting of pain when some misguided attempt at humor has gone awry. Again! Time after time, I have tried to exalt my own cleverness in some meager attempt to win her approval, only to leave her briefly hurt and confused. She entrusts me with a bit of her heart, and then I betray her by wounding her with my words.

I did it again last night. She had almost gotten out the door without incident, but didn't quite make it. It doesn't matter what I said. It was an attempt to be witty, and it misfired. And just for a moment, I saw the familiar old pain in her eyes, before she realized that it was just another one of those moments.

Is that better, I wonder? Is it preferable to be misunderstood as a failed comedian, or correctly perceived as a fool?

The awkwardness between us doesn't last. I usually apologize, she always forgives; there is love and grace between us. But why do I have to go there in the first place?

More than ever this year, I am trying to put into effect the admonition of the Apostle Paul: "Let no corrupt word proceed out of your mouth, but what is good for necessary edification, that it may impart grace to the hearers" (Ephesians 4:29 KNJV).

My God, how short I fall! But what is a nobler goal for me--that people should think me clever, or that my words impart grace? God, help me to choose the better portion.

And Dana, sweetheart--I'm sorry. Please forgive me yet again. And pray for your mother. She has to live with me all the time.