MIRROR MIRROR

If you rage against it in life, you will be faced with it. You can count on it. Call it fate, karma, kismet, what-goes-around-comes-around, what you sow, so shall you reap. It doesn't matter. The universe will take note and visit upon you your rant! I know. It’s happened to me. And I deserved it. Fortunately, mine is a forgiving God and I know He has forgiven this of me.

You may or may not know that I am the father of a gay man. For years, he had to listen to me rant and rave about how wrong I said it was simply to be gay. I spewed mountains of hate his way, not knowing all along the harm I was doing to my own son. Fortunately for me, I asked for and he was gracious enough to later forgive me for my hurtful words.

Where did my hatred come from? My upbringing? My friends, family, work associates? Just the day-to-day world in which we live? This, too, doesn't really matter. I was afflicted by all of it. I wasn't making a decision to hate based on any evidence or facts. I was hating for no reason. It was an uninformed decision. I was a lemming, following all the other lemmings into the sea! I hated because I’d been wrongfully told, in many areas, that being gay was wrong.

Now, you can debate this all day long, but being gay is not a choice. Think about the world today. Gays are considered different, odd. They’re vilified, shunned, attacked! Why would anyone choose that? I know from my own son that he was simply born gay. Like I was born straight. Like you were born with black hair and brown eyes. Do you hate me because I was born short, ended up bald, have a mustache? Of course not.

What is it about gay people that causes some to lash out to the point of murder? They’re not going to try to “convert” you! If you touch a gay person, you won’t become gay! You won’t melt if one comes near! Have you even tried talking to a gay person?

So you think gay people are different? Great! Did you ever meet two people who were exactly the same? Aren't we all different?

Then let me ask this simple question. What the hell are you afraid of, America?!

We act in 2015 like all of sudden there are gays in the world! OH MY GOSH! What are we going to do now?! Lock your doors! Hide the children! I’m telling you, some of the finest people you've ever known are gay and you don’t even know they’re gay! Surprise!

What I've discovered in my own life is that Mitch being gay is a non-issue. He’s still Mitch. I’m still me. I’m still his dad. I still, and always will, love him. We have an awesome relationship. It turns out that it was my problem. I was afraid, not for him, but for what people would think of me! Once I got past that, all was good. And, quite frankly, I don’t give a damn what other people think!

So, are you really basing your hate of gay people on facts? Or are you just falling in line with the rest of the lemmings marching to the sea?

I’m not even talking about gay marriage. Let’s set that aside for now. I’m simply talking about giving people a chance to get to know you. Or, at the very least, not hating them simply because they’re gay. I’m talking about putting an end to hate for the sake of hate! I’m talking about simply being a decent human being, for crying out loud!

It’s time to look in the mirror.

SURVIVING THE NIGHT

The night battle at Guadalcanal during WWII was fierce. Imagine fighting a sea battle in total darkness, not only not knowing where the enemy ships were, but also your own?!  Radar wasn't nearly as developed as today. In fact, many ships didn't even have it aboard! You almost didn't turn a searchlight on for fear that the enemy would start lobbing shells at you! But searchlights did come on and shells were lobbed in every direction. Sometimes the enemy hit you and sometimes, you're own ships hit you!

That's the way it was for my father aboard the USS Atlanta. The best weapon they had that night was their youth! As he told it, it was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time! Before I was even a far-flung thought, my father was there, fighting that battle on that ship. 

Like so many other young men of that time, the Navy was a way to get three square meals, clothes, and a place to sleep. It was a way to escape the poverty of the times. It was also a way, of course, to serve your country.

Throughout the night as the battle raged, the Atlanta absorbed more and more damage. She was barely floating at the battle's end and had to be "scuttled" or purposely sunk to avoid falling into enemy hands.

The order was given to abandon ship! So those men who were able, jumped over the side to face even greater risks which included shark-infested waters, enemy gunfire, enemy sailors in the water, oil-soaked water engulfed in flames, and more.

I remember him telling me that concussion from exploding bombs was so great in the water, it felt like your insides were going to explode! After enduring about a day or so in the water, he and his shipmates were rescued and reassigned. My father was sent to the USS Nassau, a "baby flat-top" aircraft carrier.

From his telling of his experiences as a Navy veteran, I've came to realize how fragile is life. There he was, death all around him. His life (and subsequently mine and my children's) could have been snuffed out at any time. And that scenario was played out in every war before and since. And also just in daily life. It's truly a miracle that I'm sitting here writing this now! So many factors came into play that night that ensured my life. 

Sometimes we lose track of what our parents sacrificed for us, just to get us here! Many times suffering in silence so we wouldn't know their pain. Yes, sometimes they were caught up in events not of their own choosing. But, when challenged, they survived........and so then, did we all!

Thankful is too small a sentiment to express. For me, all I can do is pay it forward. And hope I live up to their example!

DOCTOR? PLEASE!

I know what you’re thinking, guys. You haven’t been to the doctor in years and since that’s the case, you fear you have every disease known to man. It’s your punishment for not going to the doctor for that yearly “experience”. Or it could be that you’re thinking it’s a waste of time. They look in your eyes, nose, ears, and mouth, down your throat, listen to your heartbeat and charge you fifty bucks (or more)! You feel fine, except for the fact that you have every disease known to man because you haven’t been to the doctor in years!

We’re men. We don’t go to the doctor because……..well…………we’re men! We don’t need a doctor to tell us we’re fine. Just like we don’t need to ever ask directions.

But take a deeper look, guys. You’re afraid. Come on, admit it. It’s ok. I did. You’re afraid to find out that there really might be something amiss. You don’t want to hear it. You figure what you don’t know can’t and won’t hurt you. I know because I used that same head-in-the-sand logic for as many years as possible. I even used the fact that I was, a few years ago, overweight. I told my wife that I don’t need to hear the doctor say, “You’re overweight”! Perfectly reasonable, right? But that was just an excuse for not going.

I was even at the point that whenever my wife asked, “don’t you think it’s time for you to have a physical?”…I would freak out and even get angry! You see, if she even mentioned going to the doctor that meant I had every disease known to man! That’s how it works!

Even my education as a paramedic didn’t convince me to go. I’ve seen a lot of sick people. I know what sick looks like! I’m not sick! Right?! Right?! I had no problem telling others to go to the doctor or even taking them there in the back of an ambulance!

I don’t know about you, but my fear of doctors started when I was a youngster, about 9 or 10. The only doctor around was Dr. Miller in Hortonville, NY. He was an antique who practiced medicine (and torture, I’m sure) out of his home. He was wheelchair-bound and used a high-backed, draconian wheelchair, just to add the setting! I was terrified of him! He would do things like hold out my finger to take blood, wait for me to turn away and then say, “All done”! I’d turn around only to have him jab me! He thought it was funny! I wanted to smack him! He sent me on my lifelong path of doctor-fearing!

For the past four years (I wish it was longer) I’ve made and kept my appointment for that yearly task. I’ve had all the tests that a man over fifty needs to have. I found a great doctor who actually will sit down and listen to me without being judgmental and fear-mongering. That’s really what it took to keep me coming back. It’s ok to be afraid. I can’t guarantee you’ll be in solid health every year. But chances are, if you feel ok, you are ok. Really. But why not know for sure? Know your “numbers”, i.e.; your cholesterol, your blood pressure, your PSA (prostate) number, sugar level, etc. Believe me, knowledge really is power. By the way, on the way out, make next year’s appointment!

Part of being a man is stepping up to the plate and doing what is right. Set an example for younger men. Yes, it’s scary to have to get in there and have that yearly exam. It’s no fun to sit there wearing nothing but a napkin or getting to the point in the exam when Dr. Jellyfinger does his thing!

But it’s time for you to overcome your fear. I did. And it’s a source of great personal pride. Will there be a day when the results aren’t as expected? Maybe. I hope not. But, by having that relationship with my doctor and knowing my numbers, hopefully, whatever it may be, can be fixed.

Besides, what have you got to lose? You already have every disease known to man!

WHY PENTATONIX AND WHY NOW?

Many of us subscribe to the “window theory”. At any given moment in time, a window of opportunity is there for the grabbing. It is there for an individual or a group of individuals to jump through, if they were meant to do so. Now, mind you, they may choose not to. And then, the window closes. And maybe it closes for good! To make ourselves feel better if the latter is true, we say things like, “it just wasn’t meant to be”.

Consider, if you will, today’s “music”. Mitch’s Theatre Arlington Director and Mentor, Todd Hart once said, “doesn’t anyone make actual music anymore?” He was referring to the fact that most music today is electronically added via computers. And also that not many artists have a bunch of musicians standing around in the studio while they sing and have it all recorded together.
               
Have you also noticed that much of today’s music sounds suspiciously the same? If you listen to the so-called “Top 40”, you know what I mean. And when you turn on your radio, you expect the same.
               
Not naming any names here, but many artists today are “media-created.” In other words, some record label and marketing agency creates a “persona” that is literally targeted for a certain group of people, usually young people. Their music is not meant to cross generations or please the public in general. That is not to say that there aren’t a lot of great artists and musicians and songs out there. There truly is.

But is there one with mass-appeal? Is there one that stands out? Is there one that you would be equally pleased and comfortable taking your ten-year-old or your ninety-year-old? Is there one that really is humble and wants to truly connect with and please their fans? Is there one whose window was open at just that perfect time? Funny you should ask.

This group didn’t expect you to fall at their feet, either. They came to the game humbly, with no expectations of future success, but certainly with all the tools necessary for it. They chose as their launching pad a musical style that, when you hear of it, a cappella, you immediately think of college groups singing show tunes or four old men in funny striped jackets and skimmer hats.

But that’s what a cappella was for PTX; a launching pad. And oh yes, the Sing Off was definitely a launching pad. Now, the ratings for the show weren’t great during the show’s third season, or even the previous two. Network executives decided, in the short-term, to not have a fourth season.

But you (their fans) already knew what was there and what was coming! You saw that If Pentatonix could do what they did with an entire array of songs from the show, well….

So now, in the modern era, a cappella has now come to mean “without instruments” and not just show tunes and skimmer hats! When you’re standing in a concert venue or listening to your iPod, you hear the real deal! You hear music that you swear cannot be coming from just humans! But now you’re a believer, aren’t you? You know that Pentatonix can take any song and do what they do!
               
You feel your heart race and pound, you jump up-and-down, and you feel that percussion coming from the stage. You hear those angelic voices! Your heart is lifted! And you come away tired from singing along, with several songs in your head, all at the same time!
               
But…..why? Why now? Perhaps because at this time in history we need it. We want to believe that they’re in the game for the pureness of the music and the soul. We want to believe that there is something we can believe in that is right and humble and appreciative of our admiration. And it’s real! We don’t want to read ten years down the road that it was all just an illusion. We want to share this phenomenon with our children and our parents and grandparents.
               
Pentatonix is a light. And it just keeps getting brighter and brighter. If you look at their Facebook page, you will see fan comments from all over the U.S., Canada, South America, Europe, Iceland, the Philippines, Russia, China, and more. The world knows what’s real. And they’re coming toward it!
               
Case in point. NBC has elected to have a fourth season of the Sing Off! Why? You know why! Perhaps they were caught up in “The Light” as well. Maybe they saw what you see. That you can trust Pentatonix to be true to their roots, their music, and mostly, to their fans.
               
Could we be witnessing something truly extraordinary in music? The world seems to think so!

I HAVE A CONFESSION TO MAKE!

For my entire life, I have suffered in silence with something to which I can no longer hold inside me. Through the years, I've used every tactic and deception at my disposal to keep my "difference" from friends and family. And I must say, it has not been easy. The stresses I've endured for lo these many years has taken it's toll.

When I was young, my parents, especially my father, were reluctant to accept it and even suggested how I might change it. They explained to me that it wasn't "normal". That it was rare occurrence in families and something we didn't discuss outside the family. There was even information be passed around the scientific community that suggested that this "difference" might even be the result of some sort of "brain damage!"

At school, it was readily apparent to me that I was not the same as most kids. I could tell it on the baseball diamond, the basketball court, in class, at lunch. Sometimes, the cruel kids at school would point it out and I'd be the object of ridicule. There were even teachers who came to me and said they knew of ways that I could be "fixed".

I wanted to be like everyone else. And I even tried some of the methods they suggested, but it just didn't work. During the last 60's and the 70's, it wasn't something that I'd openly talk about, even with friends. The times just weren't right. Society in general was not ready to let it be general knowledge. We kept things like this hidden from others. I'm sure my parents wanted me to have the same advantages as every other kid and not be pigeon-holed.

But now, I believe that, in today's more (dare I say it) liberal society where just about anything goes, you; all my friends and family, will be accepting of me. Doesn't it just seem so cruel and inhumane to you that something like this would cause you to turn from me? Don't we pride ourselves today in America to accept the person, regardless of their differences? We are the nation of the great "melting-pot" with many cultures, customs, and colors! We aren't living in the 50's any longer. I ask that you look deep inside yourself for an answer.

To paraphrase a great man, "I want to live in a country where I am judged not by my idiosyncrasies, but by the content of my character!" So, the time has come for you to know. And by now, I'm sure that many of you have guessed my secret. So here it is. My name is Mike Grassi and yes, I am left-handed!

IF YOU BELIEVE IN SANTA, DON'T READ THIS!

     As parents, we rarely know or see what's coming next. When faced with questions from our kids, we must simply react and do what we can to both a) not look or sound foolish and b) answer truthfully or to the best of our abilities. And we pray there will be somewhere to hide if we don't!

     In addition to all that, we want our kids to have their imagination, believe in something just because they believe in it, as long as it isn't dangerous. We want them to wait to pass over that imaginary line from child-like innocence to the harshness of real life! That invisible line is something that every parent thinks about, but tries not to acknowledge. We bury it deep, take it one-day-a-time. We do this as much, I think, for ourselves as we do for them. When they do pass beyond it, part of us is lost, too.

     But the "barrier crossing" can be sweet. It can be something you share. It can be a timeless memory of childhood, if it happens the way it did for me and my daughter, Jessa. It can be something that, when the time comes for her kids, she can tell them and maybe it will lessen the blow a bit.

     I remember one day in 1997, just a couple of weeks before Christmas. She was just twelve years old. She wanted to go out and look in some of the stores for Christmas presents. Mitch was just 5 years old at the time. We decided we'd go to one of our favorite places; the craft mall. Now, the craft mall wasn't really a "mall" in the usual sense. It was fairly large store with several aisles, filled with mostly homemade items that were on consignment. There was everything there from Texas chili kits to velvet Elvis portraits. They had homemade puppets and Santas, dishes, clothing of all kinds. You name it, it was here.

     As we strolled up and down each aisle, careful not to miss anything, we came upon something that caught her eye. She had a quizzical look on her face and kept staring at it. I don't remember exactly what it was, but she kept looking at it, then at me, back to the item, back to me. I just never made the connection with what was about to happen.

     Sweetly, she said, "Daddy, I have a question for you and I want you to tell me the truth." As always, I assured her that I would give her an honest answer. She continued with, "Daddy, I just saw something here that you and mom got me for Christmas last year." And finally, "Is there really a Santa Claus or is that just you and mom giving us all that stuff?"
     Now, that is a question that I never wanted to have to answer. I always wanted it to just be her own sort of realization or something. I didn't want to actually have to address it. I wanted to formulate the best answer possible without breaking my little girl's heart. As I struggled to find the right words, I also had to keep Mitch at bay and out of earshot, and still keep my eye on him. He's always been a sharp guy and even at that age, he understood more than I wish he had.

     I started by saying, "Well.....". Don't ever start an explanation of this kind with "well!" It immediately turns on the tears. Their's and your's! "Jessa, you have to admit that at Christmastime, something special happens. We feel differently. It's something that you don't experience at any other time during the year." "I know you feel that, too, right?" Then what is that? "That's the Spirit of Santa Claus!" "So you see, he is real for us." "Now, do mom and dad give you the gifts?" "Yes, we do." But we can't supply that magical feeling you get at Christmastime." "I like to think that it's Santa who does that." "So you don't have to stop believing in him." "And it's up to you to keep that spirit alive for Mitch, too." "That's what makes this time of year special."
     At first, her tears, and mine, were flowing. It was difficult for me to keep my composure. She wanted so desperately to believe he was a real person. She really didn't want to know, but right there in front of me, at time of no one's choosing, she passed that "barrier".

     Even after all these years, knowing the "truth", she holds on to her belief. Christmas has always been special for her and for us. And it still is. She helped create a lifetime of memories for her brother and will now will get the chance to do so with her two kids. And it gives us, as grandparents, a second chance to see the joy in their faces.

     With so much to worry about, think about, fear, can we just believe that he's real? Just for that one day? Can we all cross back over that barrier once a year when we didn't know what we do know now? Maybe that's the gift of Christmas.  And that day maybe she and I crossed some kind of barrier together.

Merry Christmas.

CHURCH IN THE HEART OF TEXAS

               

                In the heart of central Texas (both literally and figuratively) you’ll find Moody, Texas. This quiet town of some fourteen hundred people lies at the intersection of State Highway 317 and Farm Road 107. And according to the Texas State Historical Society website, “Moody was established in 1881, when the Gulf, Colorado and Santa Fe Railway built the section of track between Temple and Fort Worth; the community was named in honor of William Lewis Moody, a director of the railroad company.”

                While the number of citizens has grown slowly over the years, the number of businesses has been in decline. The shops along its main business district are few and far between now, giving it a somewhat ghost town-like appearance. The Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railroad still speeds through town, but mostly on its way to somewhere else. And you better pay close attention to the speed limits through town. The local police have their eyes out for you!

                But this is Texas, where God, family, and country matter most. Being there for your neighbor just because it’s the right thing to do is a way of life. Most in this town have little, but they’ll be glad to share it with you. If there’s a need, it gets filled. Simple as that!

                On one corner, across from the bank in a converted furniture storefront is The Well. The Well is more than just a small town church. There is no pretense here. No twenty by forty foot television monitors, no huge choir. In fact, there is no choir. There’s no multi-media production to “grab” the audience. There’s a single power point presentation being run on a single, simple laptop computer at the back of the room that displays worship points and the words to the song being sung by the congregation. The pews and most of the furniture are donated, borrowed, or even constructed. The church children’s area and daycare are located in the former administrative area of the floor, which, by the way, are just feet from the rest of the congregation. On some Sunday’s people will bring a dish to pass, which forms a buffet right at the front door! Everyone is welcome to partake, whether you brought something or not and whether you've previously attended or not. And most Sundays average about seventy to eighty people.

                So how could this small church, in a back corner of a small, nearly-deserted Texas town, be somewhere you’d want to be found on a Sunday morning? It’s very simple. Because you’re going to hear from God. Matthew 18:20 should be the vision statement for The Well: “For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.”

                Coming from a large-church background of Catholic-then-Baptist services, I was used to what someone like me would call “a real church”. For me, church had to have all the trappings. There must be loud music. There must be men and women in robes. There must be a huge choir or even a rock band! It must be totally structured. There must be a pastor, executive pastor, choir director, etc. Without all those pieces, how could it be “a real church”, or so I thought.

                When my daughter Jessa began dating the Worship Pastor, Jared McClure (now her husband), she asked if we’d like to attend a service there. Immediately, my “church radar” was up. When she described the place to me, I must admit, I wasn’t all that eager to rush down there! I’m embarrassed to say that I was a bit of church snob! How would it be possible for me to feel the presence of God in an old former furniture store, let alone worship with people I’d never laid eyes on! Why don’t they go to a “real” church? There must be some around there, my old church-snobby self would say.

                There have been places we’ve all visited before where you just know that God is there and moving in the lives of his people. Spiritually, you know you’re going to benefit. You feel safe, comforted, welcomed. The Well is one of those places. The hugs and handshakes I experienced were genuine. I was instantly accepted. The people of Moody knew I was simply there to experience what they do each and every Sunday, The Word. Suddenly, it didn’t matter to me that there was no choir. I didn’t even think about the fact that no one was wearing a robe. I didn’t miss the huge TV monitors giving me an update about “what’s happening this week at The Well”.

                In this basic church, God knew that I needed to be fed. He knew I’d become skeptical of church in general. And fed I was! Pastor (and co-founder) Jason (Dino) Dean preached a simple, upbeat message the just made me feel better in my soul. No fluff, no yelling, no fire, no brimstone. I could’ve sat there all day and listened again and again. When he looked over in my direction, I felt the message that day was just meant for my ears. It was as if God was reassuring me through this pastor.

                The people of Moody needed that reassurance, too. While the town seems to struggle in this current economy, this small church is a place to go to belong, to share, to grow in God’s word. There may not have been a lot of money floating around, but that was fine. These pastors, these leaders, are there for their people. And Dean is a pastor available to his flock.

                The Well stands in stark contrast to the current wave of mega-churches. Where someone at these huge churches may be just another head in the crowd, everyone at The Well is considered, looked after, loved. Where state-of-the-art technology and marketing are used in the mega-church, simplicity is used in Moody. Where the larger churches seem to be looking to fill seats, The Well is looking to fill hearts and souls.

                And people seem to be getting the idea around Moody. The number of families that have joined The Well is growing. The former furniture store is looking less like a store and more like a………well…….church!
                In today’s world, do we have to be entertained at church? Are we so shallow nowadays that we need an incentive to come to church? Do we need the promise of a “sermon series” as an inducement to “I wonder what happens next?” Do churches seem to exclude people because you didn’t “grow up” in that church? How does your church welcome newcomers? Is it terrified to let people into the “clique”?

                I needed reassurance that there are churches out there who simply want people to get together, hear God’s word, and not have to worry about what I was wearing! I just simply needed to hear God’s voice and maybe sing a song or two. Be accepted. So, deep in central Texas at the crossroads to not-very-much, I found that at The Well and you can, too! Come any Sunday you happen to be in town. There’s always a place there for you. And it just might be a bring-a-dish-to-pass Sunday!