Month: October 2010

Selah! *

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Did you cry today?

Over the last 24 hours, the world has watched as 33 men, trapped for 69 days a couple thousand feet under the earth’s surface, were brought up one by one to be reunited with family and friends who have waited anxiously for those two long months, never having absolute confidence that they would hold each other again.  I’ve seen countless news stories, almost as many Face-book posts, and had several conversations in my business about the ordeal as the rescue continued today.

But, it wasn’t until this evening, when a friend passed on a photo of one of the rescued miners and the tee-shirt he was wearing, that I was struck by the incredible wonder that these men had not only survived, but thrived spiritually while trapped in that huge tomb, so deep under the earth.  The shirt has a quote from Psalm 95:4, which says, “In His hand are the deep places of the earth; the heights of the mountains are His also.”  After that, they’ve added, “To Him, is the Honor and the Glory.” 

This quote from one of the trapped men, earlier in the ordeal, also gave me pause.  He said, “Under the earth there is a ray of light, my path…and faith is the last thing that is lost…”

Yeah, there are tears in my eyes, too…

The media can and has talked about the incredible cooperative effort that went into this operation.  They’ve discussed at length the things that the engineers, the doctors, and the politicians have done right.  And, they’re not completely wrong to do so.  So many people have worked for weeks to make this rescue happen.  The NASA guys from the States were there, as well as a drilling team.  Many other countries lent their expertise to see the success of this particular enterprise.  But  we’ve seen these disasters before when all the effort of the skilled rescuers was ultimately in vain.  Men don’t control events.  We are not captains of our destiny.  It seems evident that these miners know who really protected them, who really sustained them through this seemingly interminable night spent underground.  I love that the testimony of their faith has been broadcast to the world in a positive way, not in the anger of “holy war”, not in the advancement of self-indulgence, but in the simple faith of men who needed to be rescued, believing that there was One who would answer when they called.

One of my favorite sayings for several years has been this, attributed to Thomas a’ Kempis, “For man proposes, but God disposes.”  We are an arrogant race (the human one, that is), taking credit for that which we have not done, believing that we are masters of our universe, but just as The Preacher in the Old Testament, we must eventually make the same judgment he did when he said, “This is the conclusion I came to:  We must fear God and obey Him, for this is the complete duty of man.”  Sooner or later, we will realize that it’s not about man and what we desire, but about God and His will.  Those thirty-three men are alive today at the pleasure of His will and I’m guessing they know it.

The old adage tells us, “There are no atheists in foxholes.”  I wonder how many there were in that collapsed mine, way down in the depths of the earth. 

 Soli Deo gloria!
(To God alone be the Glory!)

*From the Psalms, meaning something like, “Pause and let it sink in.”

Let’s Not Burn These Behind Us…

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The walls are covered with paintings of bridges.  I’m not sure why.  Call it one of my foibles, or call it an obsession if you want.  Doesn’t matter…The bridges keep arriving from distant places, England, Canada, New York, California.  The list goes on.  I don’t really know how this got started, but I have this fascination with bridges.   What’s really incredible is that my lovely wife also thinks it’s a wonderful way to decorate, so I’ve not had to hide this obsession away in a private room. 

The first bridge painting we purchased came from a great little antique shop in Tulsa and was acquired for a very small amount of cash.  A watercolor by a famous artist, it was a wonderful find for us.  Of course, the artist was famous for his comic book art, not watercolors, therefore it’s not worth any great amount of money, but we wouldn’t part with it anyway, so it’s just as well.  Many others have followed from different sources, flea markets, antique stores, eBay, and garage sales.  I’ve given away one or two, but most of them are too valuable to me to be parted with and even though there’s no room available for all of them to be hung at once, some of them sit in a corner, awaiting their turn on the wall.

What’s so special about bridges?  I see people in big cities and in the country alike, drive over them like they’re just another scrap of road.  I’ve done that myself.  One day, not too long ago, the lovely lady and I made the long trek to Cotter, Arkansas, some 135 miles away, just to dawdle a bit under the gorgeous rainbow bridge that crosses the White River there.  After a great afternoon spent wandering the trails under and around the bridge, we pointed the car toward home.  We hadn’t taken notice of any other notable bridges on our way over, but on the journey back, we noticed a small side road that obviously crossed one of the many streams and we decided to turn off the highway there.  As we doubled back beside the highway and eased along the unbeaten lane, we looked back at the road we had left and were surprised to note that we had just passed over a beautiful little stone bridge, which could only be seen from the side angle we had chanced upon.

Day after day, the cars speed past, the passengers inside never dreaming that beauty lies just beneath them.  To them it’s just a road, a means of transportation from one place to another.  But we live in just such an era, when the destination is all important, and the journey is simply an inconvenience.  For us, a chance decision, a fortuitous turn, changed the ho-hum journey into a reminder that surprises lie around every turn, and beauty will be found in the most unlikely places.

What is special about bridges?  It’s an intrinsic factor, the very reason they are built in the first place.  Bridges are the triumph of men over the elements.  In a place where no traffic could pass, the connection is made, from one side of a deep gorge to another, from one bank of a mighty river to the other.  Even in the most simple of bridges, a rock laid across a stream, the possibility exists to move goods, and livestock, and people from home to market and back again, without the dangers of raging waters or slippery passages on rocky creek beds.  The beauty of bridges lies not just in their splendid design or simple usefulness, but in their conquest of the very environment around them.

I no longer speed from one dot on the map to another, unaware of the road that lies between.  There are so many places along the way where men have struggled and conquered, where beautiful examples of craft and art make our journey possible.  It’s true, many of these elegant behemoths have been sacrificed for plain-white-wrapper, generic concrete spans, but that doesn’t detract anything from the original visionaries, who saw the need, and took action, leaving a legacy of craftsmanship, architecture, and grace in their wake.  Take a little time to admire what remains of their workmanship and dreams the next time you head for some far-off destination.

I guarantee you, all of life is better when you pay attention to what’s on the fringes and enjoy the journey.

“There’s a bridge to cross the Great Divide.
There’s a cross to bridge the Great Divide.”
(Point of Grace~The Great Divide)

Something’s rotten in the den, Mark!

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

I’m fascinated by odors.  Wow!  Is that a strange thing to admit or what?  I hope you won’t get the wrong idea and think that I go around sniffing the air all the time.  I do have some odd habits, but the Gollum act is not included in the panoply of weird symptoms you will observe in me.  It’s just that I seem to notice aromas even more now than I used to.  Perhaps it’s because odors have such an evocative effect on the brain.

I smell bacon and eggs, and I’m back in the breakfast nook at Grandma’s, waiting for an early morning meal after a Friday night spent at her house.  I catch a whiff of Pine Sol and I can still see the bathrooms at Crockett Elementary School where long ago, I spent 6 long years (in the school, not the bathrooms).  I know, that number of years just speeds by for us as adults, but honestly, don’t you remember waiting for the final bell at 3:30 every day?  The last five minutes were as interminable as any hour that came before in the day.

One of the most vivid odors I smell on a regular basis is that of burning bone.  I frequently have to cut bone pieces for guitar parts, such as bridge saddles and fingerboard nuts.  As the Dremel cutting wheel spins along the surface, the odor emanates in billows from the material, filling the atmosphere in the music store.  Along with it’s completely obnoxious stench, which is suffocating in its nature, I have to suffer with the image of sitting in the dentist’s chair while he drills in preparation for a filling.  You folks who’ve had cavities, you know what I’m talking about.  It’s all peppermint and flavored rinses until, BOOM!, that stench fills your mouth, throat, and nasal passages and you start to think that maybe a pureed diet wouldn’t be so bad after all.  My better half has requested that the bone cutting take place after business hours, when I’m working by myself.  Unfortunately, in my situation, although “misery loves company”, apparently that company doesn’t have much of an urge to consort with misery.

I’ll leave some of the other odors to your imagination, just to be sure that we don’t get a PG rating for this missive.  Suffice it to say that I don’t work in a sterile atmosphere.  Evidently, varying opinions exist regarding the satisfactory standard for cleanliness in public, so the levels of pungency also vary greatly from time to time.  Sometimes, I find it difficult to even concentrate on the task at hand, much less to remember that all of God’s creatures deserve respect, but that’s what has to be accomplished.  Odd, isn’t it, when you really consider the idea?  I’m fairly certain that we assault God’s nostrils with our stench continuously, yet He tolerates the smell and even calls us His sons and daughters and holds us close.  So, I work on, careful to show respect and honor, even as I recoil from the emissions!  If He can stand it for all time, I figure I can deal with it for a few minutes.

As I consider all these aromas, while there are some that I think I could do without, I’m struck by how amazing is the world we’ve been given to live in.  Some odors warn us of danger, like solvents, or natural gas, and burning food (never happens at my house!).  Others lure us into situations we should avoid.  No I’m not thinking about perfumes and scented candles (although that could be problematic, too).  I’m thinking about the delightful aroma of baking cookies, a perfectly cooked roast beef, or any number of foods that, while quite pleasant to experience, leave their manifestation for years of discomfort to come.  What an amazing assortment of signals and informative details are brought to mind by the simplest of smells wafted gently (or not so gently) to our noses everyday.  And, what a drab and dangerous world this would be without this very simple gift.

I’m still fascinated by odors…

But for tonight, I’m headed home and going to bed very soon.  I think I’ll be careful to take my shoes off in the bathroom…

“Best way to get rid of kitchen odors?  Eat out!
(Phyllis Diller)

Don’t Act Mechanically!

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

It wasn’t the best road trip we had ever taken.  We were on our way to visit my family in the Rio Grande Valley in Texas, a trek of some 850 miles from our home in Arkansas.  The fellow who had sold me the 1965 Chevrolet (an old car even then) told me it was a “cream puff” with low miles and a motor in top condition.  Now though, the suspicious tapping noise coming from under the hood belied his description.  As we slowed down in the sleepy little town about 60 miles from our destination, the severe vibration from the motor further inflamed my suspicions that this was not the babied little old lady’s vehicle I had been led to believe.

We limped the final miles at half speed and finally saw the end of our journey.  A couple days of trying to pinpoint the problem under the hood got me nowhere, so I broke down and took the car to a local garage (a serious blow to my ego and checkbook).  Their ace mechanic found and repaired the problem in less than 24 hours, with the admonition that the issue could rear its ugly head again without any advance warning.  Since “forewarned is forearmed”, I took the opportunity before heading home to read up on the problem and its various remedies.

Sure enough, we had only been on the road home for about an hour and a half when we experienced the same problem.  It was a Saturday afternoon and we assumed we were sunk.  But as we rolled unsteadily north, we spied a garage with its overhead doors open and turned in.  Oh, there were mechanics here, but they were finished for the week and were simply socializing with each other.  As we explained our problem, they leapt to the inevitable conclusion that we would be spending the weekend in the local motel.  The repair couldn’t be done on the spot, but the motor would have to be disassembled and the part sent to Kingsville, another 30 miles up the road.  But a little knowledge is a great confidence builder, so I asked for a pry bar and a piece of rope, if they could also provide the valve spring I needed from their junk yard out back.  Thirty minutes later, after a fair amount of exertion on my part and none at all on theirs, the problem was repaired and we were back on the road home. 

I have to admit that even today, I want to gloat and remember the looks on their faces as the repair was effected.  As we left, I asked for a couple of extra springs and the rope, which they gave to me, telling me that “anyone who could do that repair with a rope could have it for nothing!”.   I showed these pros!  Nanny, nanny, boo, boo!  But, that attitude assumes that my victory was over the mechanics standing around that day and it would be the wrong conclusion to draw from the experience.

My conquest that day was not over any man, even the irritating gentlemen standing around making snide remarks.  It certainly didn’t hurt that they were silenced by the feat, but the enemy was ignorance, not people.  If I had paid my money to the first mechanic earlier in the week and trusted to dumb luck, my family would have been stranded in a strange town with nowhere to go (and very little money).  Preparation paved the way for success, even in a field for which I have no affinity.  I do not aspire to be a mechanic and that’s a good thing, since I hate being dirty.  But, if I had not studied the problem, I would have had no idea of the cure and would have taken for granted that the best minds around (that shop anyway) knew the proper procedure for rectifying the issue.

Now, lest you get the wrong idea, let me disabuse you of the fallacious notion that I systematically prepare for life’s problems.  I find myself constantly at a disadvantage through my penchant for rushing in with no study or rehearsal.  In the week in question, I just acted enough out of character to achieve a resounding success and even though the life lesson is inescapable, I still fall flat on my face frequently. 

The life lesson?  First of all, preparation and learning make success possible, even probable.  Way back in the 16th century, Francis Bacon said, “For also, knowledge itself is power.”  Secondly, and just as importantly, arrogance directed at those who don’t share your experience sets you up for a fall.  Those mechanics weren’t ignorant, they just had tunnel vision and couldn’t see other solutions than what they had been taught.  If they were following Mr. Bacon’s advice, they also needed to know that the Apostle Paul had these words for men in similar situations, “Therefore let him who thinks he stands take heed that he does not fall.” (I Corinthians 10:12 NASV)

We live in an incredible era, when knowledge is literally at our fingertips.  When problems assail us, the answer is seconds away.  This doesn’t mean that we’ll never need a professional, it just means that we can face the pro with the added leverage of a little knowledge of our situation.  Take advantage of the opportunities  which are afforded to expand your brain.  There’s always more to discover!   We can never stop learning, never stop seeking knowledge.  Oh, and never, never assume that someone else won’t come along and show us up for the ignoramuses we really are.

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself, any direction you choose.”  (from Oh The Places You’ll Go by Dr Seuss)

Ifs, Ands, & Buts

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

If weekends meant a reprieve for me in any way, I would have been asking, “Is it Friday yet?”, right about four o’clock this afternoon.  Bad day?  That’s like asking if GEICO makes funny commercials.  For disastrous days, this was ranking right up there with the best of them.  Promises I’d made couldn’t be kept because of ineptitude by suppliers, and every order placed by customers had a problem to be chased down and sorted out (okay, not every one, but enough to seem that way).  Even before that, at 4 minutes before opening time, one guy actually had the audacity to blow his horn outside the front door!  Not sure, but it might have been the fellow returning a non-functioning product.  We got that sorted out, only to have him return a few moments later, with the replacement not working!  As the day wore on, a rep from the inept supplier actually had the nerve to lie to me about a shipping date when I was staring right at the shipping record on my computer.  I had opened the doors at 12:00, and by 4:00, I felt it was time to close.  I was done!

But…!  I like that word:  But!  Although it’s a small word, it turns around what came before and gives it a different direction.  It has been a favorite word for me since childhood.  When I was a kid, I used it to argue with everyone in sight.  My big brother said I sounded like a motorboat going, “But,but,but,but,but,but…”   Mom’s phrase was, “You’d argue with a fence post.”  I spent most of a lifetime using the word to give the declarations of others a negative twist, to prove that I was superior.  I wish it were not so, but it is true, nonetheless.  I remain cognizant of my bent to arguing and I strive with the urge constantly, sometimes to emerge victorious and just as often to be humbled by my failure.  The fight goes on…

Tonight though, I put the word to different use.  The day had been horrible, but…!  I love the conversion from the negative to the positive that “but” gives to the sentence, the repentance that marks the turning from darkness to light.  This very dark day had a “but” in the middle of it.  A good friend walked in the front door of my business with the means for me to keep my promise!  I don’t want to be maudlin, but I can think of nothing more encouraging than having friends who rise to the occasion when I cannot.  And, make no mistake, I could not rise.  I had no “outs”, as they say in the game of Poker, but this friend had the very card I needed up his sleeve.  I think he was embarrassed by my gratitude, but I had been drowning and he threw the much needed rope to save me.

The “but” in the middle of the afternoon revived me, and still the day made one more attempt at bringing me back to my knees.  A last minute call from a customer far away ensured a labor intensive job which had to be completed this evening.  Fortunately for me, Thursday evening is always Macaroni and Cheese night at our house, so even the threat of this drudgery wasn’t as crushing at it might have been.  Nevertheless, the discouragement of the day hung on through the meal of comfort food.  After supper, we were off to a benefit concert for some young missionary friends, an appointment that my day had made much less attractive as it wore on.

But…!  (Did I tell you I really like that word?)  What a refreshing time!  We spent the evening visiting with old friends, many of whom we hadn’t seen for a long time.  It was energizing to visit while enjoying the great Bluegrass music (and some good coffee too).  But this time spent among friends, reminiscing, catching up on current happenings, and just enjoying each other, simply reinforced the lesson I learned earlier today;  Self-reliance is desirable.  Skill is to be sought after.  Even fortitude in the face of adversity is laudable.  But this I say without fear of any “but” to follow:  Friends are a gift!  And, I stand firmly with James in the Bible when he states that every good and perfect gift comes from Above.  May we all be blessed throughout our lives with many such gifts!  And may all our bad days be interrupted by the “but” of one of those gifts arriving to redeem the time for us.

“Old friends, Lord, when all my work is done,
Grant my wish and give just one old friend, at least one…
Old friend.”
(from the song “Old Friends” ~ Roger Miller)

A friend is always loyal, and a brother is born to help in time of need.
(Proverbs 17:17 ~ New Living Translation)

Mama says, Stupid is as stupid does…

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The gorgeous, once-new guitar was neither when I saw it again.  My perfunctory look at the soft case gave the “Cliff’s Notes” version of the full story that would be told when the torn, useless zipper was pulled apart.  The cloth was pock-marked with holes that had white tracks leading to and from them, indicating that moving rocks had played a part in the plot.  As the case was opened, a glance at the owner’s forlorn visage steeled me for the entire horror story.  The pieces tumbled out en masse, leaving only the battered remains of the neck and top in the case.  I have to admit, I had expected a damaged instrument, but I was not prepared for the shattered, splintered mound of debris that gave scant evidence of the once beautiful instrument which had left my shop only weeks before.

Almost tearfully, the story was narrated.  Ready to load the guitar in the trunk and leaning it carefully against the back bumper, the owner moved to the front of the car to hit the trunk release.  An unexpected interruption came and the errand to pop the trunk was forgotten.  Backing out and hearing a strange sound for a few feet brought the horrified recollection of thought, but too late.  A careless moment, a phone call at the wrong time, these had contributed to the early demise of a guitar that normally would have an expected useful life of 20 or more years, but that was gone in the blink of an eye.  And, as sad as the experience is, I guarantee you, this guitar owner will one day find a way to laugh about the disaster.  Will they ever quit regretting it?  Probably not, but they’ll get over it.  It was a sad moment, but the guitar could be replaced and music would flow again, as well as some jokes and good-natured kidding to go along with it.

Probably not so, for the owner of another guitar I was handed a number of years ago.  The man had decided to sell the instrument and was seeking a fair offer.   I looked at the beautiful antique Gibson electric guitar and thought, “What a beauty!”  In top condition, worth about $3000 in today’s dollars, I was excited that I would have a chance to purchase it and make a profit upon resale.  But, as I turned the guitar over, my heart sank.  The back of the guitar told a completely different story than the front.  It was mutilated, with a large, square hole in the middle of the wood surface.  What (or who) could have done such a horrible thing to this superb work of art?

It’s not my vice, so I have no personal experience, but apparently, too much liquor makes you do stupid things.  The sad story was recounted to me by a now, very sober man.  The owner was a guitarist in a local band which played every weekend in a bar.  As happened frequently in those days, there was very little actual pay for musicians, so the bar owner compensated the band with free beers while they played.  Of course, as a result, the quality of the music suffered progressively, but the bar patrons didn’t take any notice, since most of them had also deteriorated in like manner.  On the night of the incident, the guitarist noticed an intermittent problem with the signal from the guitar to the amp and eventually it failed completely.  Access to the pickups was difficult and he didn’t have much time to effect repairs, so he did the only thing his inebriated brain could conceive. He reached into his pocket, took out the greatest tool ever invented and…opened his jackknife and cut a small hole.  Not enough room for his hand, so he cut it bigger.  Still not enough…well you get the picture.  As the story unfolded, I stood with my mouth agape, listening in disbelief that, even in that mental state, anyone could be so witless.

I purchased the guitar, but for a price that was a fraction of what it should have brought.  I’m sorry to say that, like the appraisers on the Antiques Roadshow, I made a point of telling him what it would have brought prior to his senseless mutilation of a fine, fine instrument.  My guess is there will never be a day when this gentleman laughs about his loss.  For some reason, stupidity doesn’t seem to become funny over time, it just seems more stupid.

We all get absent-minded once in awhile, sometimes with disastrous results, but that’s not the same thing as senselessness.  Give me the former any day.

“Life is tough.  It’s tougher when you’re stupid.”
John Wayne

Is It Really You?

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

The old grey donkey, Eeyore stood by himself in a thistly corner of the Forest, his front feet well apart, his head on one side, and thought about things. Sometimes he thought sadly to himself, “Why?” and sometimes he thought, “Wherefore?” and sometimes he thought, “Inasmuch as which?” and sometimes he didn’t quite know what he was thinking about.
From “Winnie the Pooh” by A.A. Milne

Do you listen to people?  I mean, really listen.  Today I heard a friend for the first time.  I’ve known him for a number of years.  Been an acquaintance, said hello on the street, even chatted for several minutes.  But I didn’t listen to him.  I was too busy looking at what he did and where he’d been.  Today I actually feel like I know a little of who he is.

This wasn’t going to be one of my “preachy” notes, but I have been a bit more contemplative tonight.  When life’s truths hit me, it takes a little of the jocularity out of my mood.  As my friend Eeyore said, “We can’t all and some of us don’t, you know…Gaiety. Song-and-dance. Here we go round the mulberry bush.”  So, this evening, I’ve been thinking…

What I’ve been thinking about is: Who do people think that I am?  Easy-schmeasy!  You’re that guy who writes a bad joke every day on his Facebook page…That guy who runs the music store…That guy who leads music at my church…That guy who plays the Horn at the Candlelight Service…That guy…  But, I didn’t ask you what I do.  I asked you who I am.  Do you know me?  The real me?

We spend our lives seeing the filters, the framework, but never looking past them to the person.  Honestly, there are only a very few people who I know, really know.  And maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be, but I want more.  As my friend and I talked today, I caught a partial glimpse of what made him tick, part of what makes the whole person he is, not just the filters.  I didn’t just see a professor, or a musician, or a radio personality.  Oh, he’s done all of those things and they’ve helped to shape the person, but when we really listen and genuinely communicate, we can see, dimly at least, into the substance of what makes the man or woman.  And as I thought about what a great gift it is to learn about someone, I started wondering about how I present the real me to you.

I like to think that I’m upfront about who I am, that my friends know what drives me, but I know that’s an illusion.  The belief that you know who I am comes because I’m constantly aware of it.  Mostly, I know my faults and secret sins and it’s hard to believe that everyone I come in contact with doesn’t see them written on my face.  I want to be honest, but I protect myself from hurt and exposure by keeping who I really am to myself.  I’m pretty sure that isn’t the way God planned it, but we’ve messed up the relationship thing about as much as everything else He had in mind for us way back there.

I’m not suggesting that we need to “let it all hang out”.  What I would propose is that we start by realizing that our postman isn’t just the postman.  Your hairdresser isn’t only the hairdresser.  The President isn’t really what the publicity and press make him out to be.  Those titles and descriptions are just some of the filters.  The visible person is actually just the container for a real person, with dreams, remorse, joy, and sadness.  There’s more to every one of those stories than what you think you know.  Let’s just spend a little more time finding out who people are and not just what they do.

“For the Lord sees not as man sees: Man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”  (I Samuel 16:7b)

It’s All Geek to Me…

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Technology is an enigma to me.  Or, as Winston Churchill once said: “A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma…”  Of course, he was talking about Russia, not tiny particles of an element found in sand (among other things).  I’m talking about silicon, of course…the stuff that makes our computers and gadgets do that voodoo that they do.  Who knew?  The dirt from which we were formed would be the same material from which our most irritating and yet, beneficial tools would be developed.  I know, I’m stretching a bit to make that connection, but “dust to dust”, you know…

Walking into the business this morning, my sister showed me the “black screen of death” on our shipping room computer.  Thinking like an IT tech, my first words were, “Did you reboot?”  And, speaking like a user who’s been around this particular block before, she answered, “First thing I did.”  So, that popular IT ploy didn’t help any.  As it turns out, the monitor was DOA and a simple substitution took care of the immediate problem.  And if this were an isolated incident, I’d overlook it and you wouldn’t have a reason to be bored to death by my writing tonight.

But life is now an endless parade of these types of issues.  A glitch in a program here, a restart there, and before you know it, we’re all amateur IT techs.  I’m tired of “trying it again to see if that fixed it.”  I’d like to just use it and have it work.  And this is not just computers I’m talking about.

Two days ago, after a few hours of processing credit and debit cards for customers, our unit stopped communicating with the host.  The result? Cash only please!  Try that with a few university students and see where it gets you.  No cards equals no sales.  Again, frantic reboots, first the terminal, next the router, then the modem.  No result?  You call the service center to hear, “Sorry, the server is down all over the country.”  What? No one can sell their products?  No wonder we’re in a recession!

And don’t get me started on my new Swiss Army phone, so dubbed by my sweet wife.  Like its analog namesake, it does everything, including letting you make the occasional phone call, so the title fits.  Apple’s latest gift to its adoring masses, this particular jewel worked for two weeks, then told me that “SIM card failure”  had occurred.   By the way, a restart did fix this one, but my snobby Mac friends all tell me this is why I should want Apple’s products, since you “never have to reboot”.  Ah, well,  all technology is an enigma to me.

I did think it apropos to see, the other Sunday morning as I sat on the stage at church, that the unit into which all the microphones, instruments, and monitors are plugged is named “Mystery Electronics”.  No kidding!  That is the brand name of the product.  How great is that?  “We don’t understand it either, so you might as well get a good laugh out of it…”  I am a bit curious as to who the marketing genius is that came up with the name, but it’s refreshing to see a little honesty in the field.

The flip side of the conundrum is that the physical talents necessary for music have also changed over time.  I remember when the small-sized instrument tuners were introduced into the music business.  My father-in-law, then my boss,  thought it ludicrous.  “Why would you trust your eyes to tune something you’re listening to?”,  he asked prospective customers (great selling technique, eh?).  Despite his best efforts, the digital tuner is standard equipment in any guitarist’s array of tools today.  But, remembering the wide-eyed amazement with which the first tuners were greeted way back then, I still have to laugh as I constantly see that same look on the faces of young people while they watch me tune newly-strung guitars using only a tuning fork and my ears.  Once the machine was the marvel.  Now the human being who can work without it is.

I talked with a couple of old guitar players today (old, meaning they have played for a number of years) about different famous guitarists.  I’ve run the gamut of likes and dislikes in my lifetime, but for now, my favorites are those who work “without a net”, so to speak.  They are the acoustic guitarists who, for whatever reason, eschew gimmickry and machines.  There they sit, just the guitar and the musician, working their magic with their raw talent, amazing the listener at the beautiful music that can be made by a human being who has perfected the craft.

I work with the technology I need to keep my business going.  I even enjoy the challenge of new gadgets from time to time.  But I will always love best the time spent with people, not through email or texting, but just by standing eye to eye and communicating, as well as the joy that comes through great music.  More gadgets beget even more gadgets, and the list grows ever longer, but our emotional core demands communication and reflection.  Deep speaks to deep, or if you will, “birds of a feather…”  We really don’t fit well with machines over the long haul.

Take some time to communicate face to face with people today.  If you can’t do that, at least pull up “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” by  Tommy Emmanuel on YouTube and spend four and a half minutes enjoying one of the simple gifts of life.

“Music has charms to soothe the savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak…”
(William Congreve  in 1697)

Baby Steps and Split Lips

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Smack!  The baseball hit the six-year old boy right in the mouth and it took all the fortitude his young dad could muster to keep from running onto the field.  The lad was at his first ever tee-ball practice and he was used to people lobbing softer balls toward him.  This one had been thrown by another kid whose aim was a bit errant, so the sphere skimmed the hard dirt surface in front of him, bouncing up to batter a target it wasn’t intended for.  But the dad stood where he was behind the fence and let the boy’s coach run out to check him.  A little blood and a little more wounded pride, but he tearfully assured the coach that he would stay where he was and keep on with the practice.

On the way home later, the conversation went something like, “That ball hit you pretty hard out there.”  “Yeah, and look at it now!” (Said with a split, puffy lip stuck out.)  “You know, you can quit if you want to…”  “Quit?  I’m going to play baseball!”  And play baseball, he did.  It was about 9 years later that he finally put away the cleats and glove, after many different teams and All-Star games.  He turned into a really good baseball player, but more than that, he became a young man who knew what it was to tough it out and go for his goals.

It’s been a few years since that young man showed the doggedness it took to stick through the pain and effort, but the early lessons keep bearing fruit 20 years later.  Those lessons aren’t lost on the dad either, now a little older and a very small amount wiser.  Of course, one of the things he’s learned is that these lessons are neither rare, nor remarkable.  But sometimes, the reminder still helps to keep life in perspective.

This week, his youngest granddaughter took her first steps on her own.  She turns one in another week or so, and her frame of reference is widening at an amazing rate (not that this is unusual, either).  As we all do, she started out aware of only the most basic needs, food, sleep, a mother’s touch.  As she’s grown, her scope has expanded also.  Still very much self-absorbed, she realizes that she wants other things; brightly colored toys, different food than she usually has (even hot coffee), certain people (Grandma’s the best!).  She even wants more mobility, but she herself is perfectly willing to leave the transportation to anyone who will carry her.  She started crawling only out of the most dire need (Mama has 4 kids and was thoughtless enough to leave her on the floor!).  And now, even though crawling is good enough, these adults around her keep standing her up and having her walk on the bottom of her feet.

And still today, she doesn’t really want to walk.  She has to be put upright on her feet and have someone in front of her for whom she is motivated enough to put out the effort.  She even fusses about it.  But parents and grandparents understand that this is the next achievement in the natural progression.  Yes, she’s going to fall down a time or two.  She may even split her lip open, but this is how life moves along.  We try new things even when we are frightened of the effort and the possibilities.  And, the result is a complete person, one who has taken their fair share of licks and won their fair share of victories.

For today, she knows she’s done something really good.  Everyone praises her and Grandpa sweeps her up in his arms, telling her how smart she is.  It’s a picture that’s been seen millions of times before and will be repeated that many more times, but for right now, all she knows is that she’s done something stupendous, and the smile on her face is living proof.

Sometimes we forget that our lives are supposed to be spent learning and the pop-quizzes should come along fairly regularly.  It is possible to become a drop-out.  We just decide we’ve gotten the degree we want in the school of hard knocks and we’re done.  Sit tight, do the same things every day, and no one will ever hit us in the mouth with anything.  We figure we’ve learned everything that we need for our profession and just mark time.  But we were never intended to be done, never intended to quit learning, never intended to sit on the sidelines watching.  For many of us today, it’s confusing to see friends who refuse to learn about new technologies, refuse to contemplate and discuss current events, and refuse to take an active part in any unfamiliar activity.    We live in an exciting time, when information is at our fingertips, facts are verified with the push of a few buttons, and new experiences await us at every turn.  We were meant to live ’til we die! 

You’d better be careful, little girl!  One step leads to another all through your life!  And watch out for those wild pitches…



The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet, 
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then?  I cannot say.
(From “The Hobbit” ~ J.R.R. Tolkien)


“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the Faith.” 
(The Apostle Paul in 2 Timothy 4:7)

Later, Dudes!

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I’m writing tonight in an effort to avoid real work.  I find that I enjoy the enterprise of writing late at night much more than I enjoy the discipline of accomplishing tasks which are required for my real job.  That’s funny, I’m not sure many of my friends would call what I do a “real job”.  I’ve found over the years that most people believe that I get to sit and play guitar all the day long.  Would that this reflected reality!  I’d be a much better guitarist than I believe myself to be (which is to say, I’m not a guitarist at all) and would probably be a much more relaxed and carefree person than I am.  More impoverished certainly, but easier to get along with.

I can finally reveal to the world that I am a procrastinator.  I intended to do this years ago, but I don’t like to rush into things.  I really have been meaning to make this admission, but I was thinking that maybe if I didn’t, the condition would go away on its own and I wouldn’t have to be embarrassed like this.  We always do that, you know.  We assume that if we leave something for later, it won’t need to be done.  Someone else will do it, the Rapture will happen and it won’t matter anyway, or maybe it’s all a dream and we’ll wake up to find it never needed to be done in the first place.

I’ve got a shop full of jobs that have been put off.  Some of the jobs, I just detest doing, so they sit and languish.  Others are jobs I started, only to find that they entailed a procedure I couldn’t handle.  Rather than admit that, they still wait for me to learn that particular skill.  Many of those “always-with-me” purchases I discussed before could be made usable with a few moments of diligence and some TLC, but that’s next week’s worry.  The outside of our house needs repair, but it’s still pretty nice inside, so why worry about a little caulk anyway?  I’ll get to that the next time I have a few free moments during a cool morning, when I’m not drinking coffee, or reading the newspaper, or playing with the dog.

I should probably tell you now; I’m not looking for any help in changing.  Please don’t send me suggestions of self-help books, or instructions on how to write to-do lists.  I find myself in the majority for a change and I mean to keep it that way.  Thomas Jefferson was a fine man and I’m sure that he meant well with his maxim writing, but “Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today” is not my idea of practical wisdom.  I’ve been around the block a time or two.  I realize that when I finish one job, there’s only another one to take its place.  I think I like Mark Twain’s saying a little better, “Never put off until tomorrow what you can put off until the day after tomorrow.”  I can understand that and would write it on a poster, but I’m pretty sure I’d not have the time to put it up anyway.

The really positive thing about those of us who put things off is that we are usually great at socializing.  We’ll drop any job we hate for a chance to visit with you.  “Sure, that can wait, what’s up with you?”  I just say this to make sure you know, you’re welcome at my place anytime.  Just drop by and we’ll sit and talk.  What’s that you say?  No I don’t need to be doing anything else…nothing at all…

“If something’s hard to do, then it’s not worth doing.” ~ Homer Simpson