I haven’t decided if this is a good thing or a bad thing, or just a thing. A passage of time thing.
- China Mission Carwash at Brusters on Saturday, November 1st, 9:00 – 1:00. This is a great time to actually meet these young men – and let them wash your cars!
- China Mission Day at Allen’s Chinese Restaurant. Tell the cashier that you are dining out to support the China Mission Trip, and they will donate part of your check total to help support the trip.
- China Mission Ice Cream. Bring your church program or bulletin (PCC or any other church!) to Brusters on Sunday, November 2 and Sunday, November 9. Buy ice cream and give the cashier your church program. In return, Brusters will donate $1 to the China Mission Fund!
There’s a new blogger on the block.
I haven’t played Sunday Set List for a few weeks now; things caught up with me, and the past few Sunday afternoons required a nap instead of a recap.
“Now listen, you rich people, weep and wail because of the misery that is coming upon you. Your wealth has rotted, and moths have eaten your clothes. Your gold and silver are corroded. Their corrosion will testify against you and eat your flesh like fire. You have hoarded wealth in the last days. Look! The wages you failed to pay the workmen who mowed your fields are crying out against you. The cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord Almighty. You have lived on earth in luxury and self-indulgence. You have fattened yourselves in the day of slaughter.” James 5.1-5
My brother is an artist, in the truest sense of the word. The best and worst of him flows out of the rawness of his continual search for truth, the pursuit of a high melodic calling that clings to his soul and refuses to let go. His faith informs everything about him with an authenticity that is as questioning and doubtful as often as it is passionate and reverent. I am prouder of him than anyone else I know. I love him fiercely, in the manner of love that an older sister carries for her little brother for a lifetime.
The acoustic guitars thump and sing, fat and gray in the company of angelic harmonies and archetypal melodies. We all know this music. It is written in the celtic, anglo-saxon souls of Caucasians. We have strayed and betrayed ourselves, attempting to leverage ourselves into the gladiatorial arenas of hip-hop and “modern” music, but we need to face it.
We are mountain people. Even the most mixed breed of us is stuck with the pipes and the drums from the highlands, pounding wild and distant in our hearts. The grouse and heather cling to our thighs as we run, as we flail to flee our past.
Emmylou, and artists like her bring those pasts back to confront our empty, unanchored eyes. We have drifted, for we have forgotten who we are, and when you can’t remember who you are, it’s even more difficult to latch on to who you’d like to be. It recedes in the distance, fleeing your reaching, outstretched hand.