Revisiting a Younger Me

In case you haven't guessed, I enjoy writing. That's part of the reason that I like blogging. There's just something priceless about putting words on the page to express my feelings and opinions about a myriad of subjects. Not all of my thoughts are intended or appropriate for public consumption though. There are times that I need to express my frustrations, deepest hopes, and greatest fears without inviting anyone else to read. That is the purpose of my personal journal.

I have kept journals -- or diaries, if you prefer -- off and on throughout my life. Journaling became a consistent part of my routine while nearing the end of my time at Pepperdine.  Lots of things were happening that put me into an uproar emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. So I needed an outlet to express those thoughts without fear of offending people or getting myself into major trouble. My journal became the place to lay it all on the line without any self-editing.

Over the past week, I decided it was time to read those early journals for the first time in many, many years. It has been an eye-opening experience as I revisited the world that my 20-year-old self faced. Those were days of lots of drama and personal turmoil. I was struggling with my own identity as it related to my faith, my relationships with others, and my future as a musician. I had forgotten that there was a long period of time after completing my senior recital that I was convinced that I would never play the piano again because I had so many negative feelings attached to the experience of studying music. As I walk through those memories again, I am so thankful for the people who nurtured me and helped me realize that my negative feelings were not about the music, but about people with whom I was forced to interact. I have also been reminded of just how important my interactions with my current students are. I have found myself spending more time in prayer as I approach the beginning of a new year that the words I speak to my students will always be couched in sincere love for their well-being and their future endeavors.

Not all of my memories were bad. I found myself laughing frequently at my younger self. I loved looking back to a time when life was carefree. I shook my head as I lived again the emotional roller coaster of dealing with roommates and friends that didn't understand that I was right and they were wrong. I am amazed that I didn't get slapped a few times; years away from the situations quickly reveal just how wrong I really was. There were times I wanted to leap back in time and tell this naive Kennith that the issues that were causing me so much distress and heartache were really not that important in light of the big picture.

Occasionally, I found myself getting into a negative head space as I read my old journals. Insecurities and unresolved hurts reared their heads again and continued to torment me all these years later. Fortunately, I quickly realized what was happening and was able to clear my head -- as soon as I wrote about it in my current journal! Overall, it has been great to look back through the pages of my journals and reflect on how things were for me then. I just have to remind myself not to stay in the past.  My goal as I continue my personal journaling is that I will be able to LEARN from the past, LIVE in the present, and LOOK FORWARD to the future.

Childhood Fears

This week, I've been thinking about my childhood quite a bit. Nothing really spurred the thoughts on, it's just been where my mind headed in the few quiet moments that I found myself enjoying. I had a great childhood and treasure many of the memories that I have with family and friends. However, there was also a lot of fear in my life as a kid. Nights were especially troublesome for me. So I began to think about the things that I most feared as a child.

I was horrified of the dark. My parents' home was very dark most nights and there were lots of creaks and squeaks throughout the sleeping hours. I was a relatively light sleeper, so every shift of the floor or critter that I heard outside my window made me think that some nasty creature was hiding under my bed or in my closet to take me away. The more I thought about my fear of the dark, I began to think that perhaps the many sermons I heard over the years that equated evil, darkness, sin, and death really grabbed my imagination. I didn't understand the metaphor that the writers' were using; instead, I found fear in the literal darkness.

I was also very afraid of being left alone. It wasn't a fear of being deserted by my parents; I knew that they loved me and would take care of me. I was always afraid that something would happen to my parents, leaving my older siblings to raise me. (At the time, that was a horrendous thought on a completely different level!) I remember frequently dreaming that I was wondering the aisles of a massive store, frantically searching for my mom. My yells were unanswered, and I became more frightened as I realized that there was NO ONE in the store with me. It was as though everyone completely disappeared from my life.

Since I'm not fond of the outdoors anyway, it should come as no surprise that I have always had an aversion -- no, I'm actually deathly afraid -- of bugs. Growing up, I would freak out if there was a cricket or ant nearby. Heaven help us if I saw a wasp or spider though! I would go into orbit! Bugs were simply gross and not something I wanted to have in my world at all.

Years have passed and I have learned to deal with many of my phobias, but that basic fear is still there. I don't like being in dark places at all. (It took several months before I was comfortable enough to walk down the halls at WBU without turning on the light because I didn't know what might be lurking around the corner unseen.) I continue to struggle with the fear of being left alone -- either through death or desertion -- by those most important to me. If you could have seen me last night, you would also know that I continue to hate crawling things! That spider was ENORMOUS and I was not going to bed until I found it, killed it, decimated it, and disposed of it. All the while, I was walking on tiptoes and screeching like a little girl!

How Time Flies

I begin most mornings spending a few minutes with the TimeHop app. I enjoy looking over my posts on various social media sites and reflecting on things for a moment. Today's reflection centered on the past two years.

This time last year, I was in the early stage of my first semester at Wayland. What was my major struggle? I was dealing with self doubt as I fought my way through an open score. Now, there are days that I WISH an open score was my greatest challenge!

It doesn't seem possible that two years ago my family was dealing with the news that Dad would have triple bypass in the days ahead and the prognosis was not promising. It's tough to think about how much that one event colored my life for months as we went through the surgery, struggled with post-op complications, and started the uncertain journey to recovery at home. Now that Dad is living a normal life again, the memories seem so distant. Still, without a doubt, I know that 2014 was a year that forever changed me and my family.

Now I wonder what the future has in store. All I know for certain is that God will be there with me and will continue to prove Himself faithful in every circumstance.

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Graduation Memories

May was the month of graduations across the country. If you are like me, your Facebook feed has been filled with pictures of happy graduates at all levels of their academic careers. My family had a special graduation this year as Kristian, my middle niece, ended her high school career and is now looking forward to continuing her studies at Mississippi State in the fall. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to attend Kristian's graduation because my back was still a mess and I wasn't able to walk very far, much less sit in the stands for the ceremony's duration. Even though I couldn't be there in person, another graduation in the family caused me to think back on my own experiences with these important milestones in life.


My high school graduation was a small affair. I attended West Memphis Christian School for the last three years of my high school career. I transferred from the local public school because my parents felt I was receiving an inferior education and there were questions about my physical safety in the hostile environment. When I entered WMCS, most of the sophomores had been together since kindergarten; the others were friends through the congregation that sponsored the school. I really didn't feel that I fit in anywhere. Everyone was nice enough and I made some friends there, but I always had my eyes on the next step -- college! Since I wasn't involved in too many extra curricular activities (or at least, I didn't think I was doing that much), I had plenty of time to study and maintain my grades. By the time graduation rolled around, I was the salutatorian of the class and had to give a speech as part of the ceremonies. All that I remember about that speech is that it included a quote from the Gettysburg address; the speech was drafted, edited, and polished under the supervision of my history teacher.  After graduation, there wasn't a big party -- we were a Christian school, after all -- so I met a small group of classmates at the local Shoney's for a midnight meal together.


Five years later, I had a far different experience. I marched along with some of my best friends through the grass of Pepperdine's Alumni Park overlooking the Pacific Ocean. These had been the best years of my life and I certainly wasn't ready to leave. We had faced many challenges together -- fire, flood, earthquake, and the wind that was whipping across the park at that moment -- and had managed to survive together. What few others knew at that moment was that I wasn't receiving my degree that year. I still had to overcome my struggles with German and was in a battle with the music department that I wasn't sure exactly how it would turn out. (Long story short.....I failed my senior recital hearing because of repertoire that was too difficult for me and illness. Petitions to a department chair that hated me -- and who I personally didn't like very much either -- resulted in a stalemate that had escalated to the Offices of both the Provost and President. It wasn't a pretty time for me as a student or musician, but I was ultimately able to complete the recital the next year and finish the degree as the music department faced scrutiny from university administration.)


Graduate school brought totally different experiences. I didn't participate in graduation for my master's degree. I had just completed the required recital a few weeks before and was taking the compulsory exams to enter the DMA program the week before graduation. Walking in the ceremony just seemed anti-climatic to me, so I kept my focus on the big celebration that would come with the doctorate.


My final graduation took place on Saturday, May 9, 2009. It had already been an emotional weekend because my sister had left an abusive marriage the day before; she and her two children were with us as we nursed their physical and emotional scars. Following the graduation ceremony, I had responsibilities at my church job for the annual Ladies' Tea. While there were obviously other things on my mind, I knew that I wanted to focus on the hooding ceremony and celebrate my accomplishment that I thought would never actually happen. I walked into the FedEx Forum in Memphis with my mentor and sat in the front row of graduates. Somehow, things had worked out that I would be the first student to be hooded in the ceremony. My name was called and I confidently began my stroll to the stage. As I began to climb the short staircase to the platform, the toe of my shoe somehow got caught in the hem of my robe and I went DOWN! There's no other way to say it -- I was flat on my face in front of this enormous crowd. Thankfully, I wasn't injured. As I got up and made my way to the stage to get that blasted degree -- I had suffered enough with Queer Theory, my committee, and my dissertation! I was going to get that diploma if I had to CRAWL on stage -- the President, Shirley Raines, made a comment that the first step is always the most dangerous. My face is very close to the color of the pink hood in my graduation photos. One thing is certain though. That is a graduation experience I will never forget!

Easter Memories

One of the many perks of working in a Christian university is enjoying a holiday weekend in celebration of Easter. I have lots of things I want to accomplish during this long weekend, but none is more important than pausing to reflect on Christ's sacrifice and victory -- and the life I now live because of it.

On this Good Friday morning, I find myself reflecting on a simple truth expressed by the apostle John as well as Christian songwriters Ronnie Hinson and Mike Payne.

"Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down His life for His friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you." (John 15:13-14, NASB)

He knew me, yet He loved me;
He whose glory makes the Heavens shine.
So unworthy of such mercy,
Yet when He was on the cross, I was on His mind. 

(When He Was on the Cross, 1984)

Have a blessed Easter, y'all!

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Things That Never Go Away

We all have things in our past we would like to forget. Missteps. Poor choices. Fashion blunders. If you're like me, you also have friends to make sure that your past never truly goes away.

While at Pepperdine, I was beginning to dress like a young professional. But I didn't want to fall into the boring realm of only wearing white and blue oxfords. I like wearing vivid colors. They make me happy.....and I am really a happy guy!

On a certain shopping trip -- I honestly don't remember the details -- I decided to be a little more adventurous than normal and bought a "dusty rose" shirt. I must place that term in quotation marks because my housemates quickly informed me the color was more appropriately described as "pink." My conservative Southern roots at the time could not come to grips with the idea that a man could wear pink and maintain his manhood. I tried passing it off as "peach" -- but that didn't work since it hung near another shirt in my wardrobe that could only be described as the color of the fuzzy Georgia fruit. So...the harassment began because of my pink shirt.

It has been many years since that questionable shirt has hung in my closet -- although I am certain you could find other offending items there now. The harassment never ends. Like clockwork, my college friend will frequently make mention of THE shirt in our conversations. I still attempt to educate her on the fine line that exists between "rose" and "pink." My efforts fall on deaf ears and I find myself once again reliving the misguided mistake of my youth that seems to be destined to follow me for the rest of my life.

And the taunting reminds me that I am loved...and I wouldn't have it any other way!

 

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Easter Egg Hunting

As a child, Easter was always an exciting day. It signaled the end of cold weather. It suggested that summer vacation was quickly approaching. The day's events were very predictable too. My family would attend church together before the kids would participate in the annual egg hunt. In addition to colorfully dyed eggs, there were plastic eggs filled with money to be found. The lucky golden egg would lead to a chocolate bunny prize....the perfect recipe for an Easter afternoon sugar rush!

Once I survived the torture of an afternoon family meal, I began the process of begging and pleading for someone to take my stash of Easter eggs and hide them again. The only stipulation was that the eggs had to be hidden really well so I would have to work very hard to find them.

Did I mention that I was not terribly good at finding Easter eggs? Inevitably, no one would remember how many eggs were hidden or where they had all been hidden. I always managed to miss one or two eggs. Frantic conversations would follow.....Did you find the one in the tree? What about the one next to the rock? In the drainage pipe? After we had exhausted our memory, we convinced ourselves that we had retrieved all of the eggs.....until our noses helped us locate the forgotten treasures in the next few days. What a stink!

This year, Easter won't include an egg hunt in the front yard. But it will always include fond memories of searches for hidden treasures. Thankfully, the greatest treasures of those Easter afternoons were the memories that I now hold in my heart.

My Horrible Church Camp Experience

Camping season is here. Many kids are attending camps of all types this summer. While growing up, I attended church camp outside of Mountain View, Arkansas. I enjoyed meeting up with friends from around the state each year despite the oppressive heat and the high population of critters. As I grew, the negative aspects of camp quickly outweighed the joy I might experience.

When I accepted a position in children's ministry many years later, I decided it was time to give summer camp another shot. I had long recognized the positive influence the camping ministry could have on the life of a child. I simply hoped that my perspective would be different as a member of the staff.

I agreed to direct music for a pre-teen camp in Tennessee. Little direction was provided, so I set out to work and put together the best plan I could. When I arrived at the campgrounds, I was informed that I would also be serving as a cabin leader. I hadn't prepared for this massive responsibility at all, but I wanted to be a team player and agreed to help out.

As the week progressed, I found myself constantly trying to wrangle all of these 12-year-old boys. When I went to the director for help, I was told that I had been assigned all of the campers no one else wanted to deal with. In addition to campers with special needs and medical conditions, I learned that several of the boys in my care dealt with severe anger issues. While these facts were known by camp staff, no one thought it advisable to inform the adult who was directly responsible for their care. When one of the campers had to be rushed to the ER because he had broken the hand he smashed into a concrete wall, I was suddenly accused of neglecting my responsibilities as a cabin leader. (Did anyone notice that I was also trying to direct the music for this camp? Too many hats for one head!) I was insulted and furious. In that moment, I knew that I would never participate in a summer camp again.

So, I'll encourage kids to go to camp. I'll help transport them there and supply financial assistance if needed. I'll just have to think long and hard before ever returning to camp as a staffer. That one horrible, nightmarish week was enough to make me skittish for the rest of my life!

My Love/Hate Relationship with History

I adore reading a great novel. Lately, I've found myself drawn to historical fiction. I enjoy examining how events impacted the lives of the people living through them. It's fascinating to read a story that includes enormous political and military figures in the background. That's the case with my current book, The Winds of War by Herman Wouk.  The details of European events that led to the US involvement in World War II grab my attention while enriching the fictitious saga.

What I don't understand is why I don't share the same passion for family stories.  When my family gets together, it is inevitable that conversation will ultimately turn to the early years of my parents' marriage.  I've heard these stores forever, but I've never made a connection to them. They center around people and places that had little impact on my world. I quickly become bored and zone out.

Why do I do this? I suppose it's because those stories are the stories of my older siblings and not me. Of course, I understand that these stories are part of my family heritage. It's just that these places and people may as well be fairy tale characters.  I suppose that's part of the reason I don't enjoy the re-tellings; in a way, I become alienated with each repetition.  (I know that's not the intention. I'm not upset. Everyone, calm down!)

There are certain stories that do intrigue me. During the 1960s, my family experienced the National racial divide in a personal way.  I perk up when these stories begin because I have something to connect these tales to.  I try to sort out what was happening on the national scene while these events were playing out in Marianna, Arkansas.  I suppose that this is the one time where my family's stories become part of a greater American heritage.  Because this was an uncomfortable time (and probably requires examining issues they would rather ignore), the stories are mentioned briefly before moving on to happier memories.

I'll continue to listen (as though I have any other choice) and hope that a new story eventually comes to light. Maybe...just maybe....that will be the one that makes me understand my connection in the larger American saga.

The Year in Review

Now that we are in the final week of the year, I decided to take a look over my calendar for the past 12 months to review what happened. Memories both good and bad were brought to mind. I wanted to put my reflections here to share with you…..but more importantly, to have for my own future reflection.  Here's a small glimpse into my life in 2013.

January and February were busy with lots of rehearsals for Union University's Britten festival. In celebration of the composer's 100th birthday, the music department mounted a production of Noye's Fludde as well as a weekend festival featuring master classes and faculty performances. I did a lot of playing, we all survived the stomach plague that hit the campus during the opera's run, and I had my fill of Britten.

During March and April, I remained busy at Union. In addition to accompanying two big recitals -- one of which included Schumann's Liederkreis -- I participated in my first regional NATS competition. I've played for local NATS competitions over the years, but this was my first adventure into the larger competitions. It was in Bowling Green, Kentucky…..a nice college town. It was a lot of work, but it was great to get away from the craziness of Memphis for a few days.

The craziness of Memphis? Definitely! It was in April that I began seeing a counselor due to issues related to my work situation. The counseling led to a request for a sabbatical from my position at Abundant Grace Ministries in Collierville. To my great surprise (and an expression of the church's love), I was granted the full three months with salary.  The agreement was that I would continue to be active in a local church and decide about my future involvement with AGM while I was resting.

As May rolled around, I was wrapping up my responsibilities at Union and MSCC so I could fully enjoy my sabbatical and regain my emotional health. Earlier in the semester, I had agreed to accompany the spring concert for the choir at the Hutchinson School.  Little did I know that their director and my friend, Cindy Harrison, would be moving to Houston shortly afterward. It was a pleasure to get to work with Cindy one more time.

With a few weeks of vacation before beginning summer classes, I headed to Eureka Springs for a long weekend alone. I had no plans. I let no one know where I was going. I packed clothes, a journal, and my Bible. (As a confession, I also made a LONG drive to find a bookstore to pick up a copy of Dan Brown's book that was released that weekend.) I strolled through the old part of town for a few hours and checked out some local eateries. Mostly, I shut myself in my room where I read, meditated, prayed, and cried. It was a horrible weekend at the time; now I realize that it was the beginning of some much-needed healing.

My family had planned a summer vacation to Disney World. Plans changed (which always frustrates me…..but I'm trying to get better about that!) and we ended up spending a fun week in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. Nine of the Freemans hit the town and we had a blast! My siblings both had rooms at one end of the Parkway while my parents and I had made reservations in the middle. It had been the first time in a very long time that we were all able to get together away from home and just enjoy each other without a lot of stress. It was long overdue!  (One of my next responsibilities is to give Mom and Dad some options to choose from for our next Freeman family adventure. Hope to have that taken care of by the end of the year!)

June was devoted to my sabbatical and my teenage nieces. During the summer months (when I was home), I was cared for spiritually by the wonderful people at West Memphis First Assembly of God. What a beautiful congregation! They asked very few questions, made no demands of me, but assured me that they were interceding for me as I made decisions about my future. Since I needed an outlet, the girls and I made weekly "date outings" together. We went to the movies as well as making trips to the zoo, miniature golfing, and bowling. So much fun!

July was one of the most eventful months of the year. After receiving a revised job description from the church, I submitted my resignation. It felt so fitting to receive an email from the pastor on July 4 that my resignation had been received and accepted. Independence Day has now taken on a brand new meaning for me.  There have been many reasons for my resignation floating around….I've heard that I suffered a nervous breakdown…..others told me I got mad because I wasn't making enough money. Neither of those are true. I resigned because I had been deeply hurt during fourteen years of ministry in various ways by people and situations.  It did not appear that things would ever be resolved. The hurt I was experiencing was being pressed down in order to be the "bigger person" while the work load constantly increased. When I finally came to feel that I had grown as far as I could in the position, I knew it was time to leave…..I wasn't enjoying my work, I hated attending church, and I didn't feel as though I was being effective or that my work was appreciated by the congregation.  (Note:  I don't say that any of those things were actually TRUE….they were simply what "I felt." I had to finally make decisions based on my well being. This resignation had been coming for nearly 3 years.)

During July, my mother's brother became very ill and began losing his battle with cancer. After several trips to visit Uncle Sam in a Jonesboro hospital, we attended the first of the summer's funerals for members of my family.  While we were sad, my parents and I had planned to visit family in Conroe, Texas that week as well. We left for a much needed time of rest the morning after the funeral.  Once we returned from Conroe, I received a call from Union asking if I would be willing to teach a class in the fall. This was nothing short of an answered prayer.

A new semester of classes began in August. Sadly, I had to dash out of my MSCC classroom on the first day of the semester in order to join my parents in central Arkansas for the funeral of my Aunt Catherine, my dad's sister-in-law. It was such a sad occasion, but there was a certain peace in knowing that this Godly woman had finally received her Heavenly reward.  By the end of the month, I began my new adventure in teaching class piano in Jackson, Tennessee. I had always grimaced at the thought of teaching the course, but it quickly became a class I enjoyed and that I think I teach well. I was learning on the fly since there was little direction for me……but that also made it a fun adventure for me and my students.

Since we had faced so much tragedy during the fall, Mom decided that September would be the perfect time to host a family reunion in Crawfordsville for her siblings. Although only one of her brothers was able to join us on that day, we still had a wonderful day of celebration as nearly 25 members of our family from around the state joined for hamburgers, hot dogs, and lots of memories. I'm hoping that we will plan another reunion for the fall.

The fall saw a lot of visits to the doctor with sinus infections as well as other maladies. By the end of September, my body had taken as much as it could handle. I began to experience pain in my left shoulder and upper chest. On a Thursday evening, my parents took me to the ER because I thought I was having a heart attack. Thankfully, all of my blood work and EKGs came back clear; it was later determined that a heavy year of piano playing and carrying music bags on my shoulder combined with stress had resulted in an injury to my neck muscles that was pulling into the chest cavity. I still struggle with the injury, but it is getting better with each passing week of rest.

The rest of the year was marked by performances and travel.  October and November had me very busy playing for 20 students at Union in addition to preparing for opera workshop and a student recital. I had the good fortune to travel to Malibu two times to see friends while preparing and presenting a private recital in the area.  For Thanksgiving, the geriatric patients and I went back to Conroe for another week with Jerry and Gail's gang. By the time December rolled around, I was ready for a break. Despite all of the icy roads that threatened to cancel finals, we managed to get all of the exams done and submit grades. For the first time in many years, I attended Bellevue's Singing Christmas Tree and participated in the Christmas Concert at Hope Baptist.

With all of the ups and downs of 2013, I still can look back and say that I have been tremendously blessed this year.  I look forward to what is ahead in 2014.

Christmas Memories

As Christmas draws closer, I find myself reflecting on past holiday seasons. Memories are shaped by emotions….some good, others bad. Regardless of the emotional memory, each experience reminds me of the beautiful truth of Christmas.

Christmas is first and foremost a time of joy. As a child, each Christmas found my family spending time with our extended family. For many years, this included a trip to the Houston area to be with my mom's sister. The trailer was packed with bodies, but it was filled with laughter. I have such fond memories of the aroma of sweet concoctions that filled the bar -- red velvet cake, fudge, peanut brittle -- and the trips to the bowling alley. Santa visited and brought gifts. (I nearly ripped my dad's arm out of socket one year as he threatened to "shoot" the departing Santa because Dad didn't receive any gifts!) On one of these Christmas trips, I was unbeatable at the new game I received, Battleship. For a large part of the trip, no one could figure out how I was winning the game every time so decisively…..until they figured out that I was a cheater, checking out the location of their ships in the mirrors on the ceiling! (How I miss the decor of the 1980s.) The laughter that filled the air then continues to warm my heart now.

Christmas is also a time of knowing that you are special to people near and far. Each year, Christmas cards and gifts poured into our home from people around the country that my family knew and loved. The cards gradually made their way to the large doorway separating the living room from the dining room. I loved watching the cards coming in the mail and seeing the card collection grow. It felt as though we were literally surrounded by the love of friends.

Sometimes gifts would also arrive in the mail. I have received wonderful gifts throughout my life, but a few of them stick out in my memory more than others. My brother joined the US Air Force when I was 5 years old. I knew who he was and what he looked like, but I really didn't KNOW him. While stationed in Germany one year (I was probably in 5th grade), he sent a Christmas package that included a gift for me. Mom put the package under the tree and I could hardly wait! I knew O'Neal was my brother, but the gift signified to my young mind that even though he wasn't nearby…..he was thinking of ME!

When Christmas Eve rolled around, I think Mom and Dad had heard enough and finally decided to let me open one gift. There was no question which one I was going for either. As I opened the package from my brother in a land far away, I found the neatest watch I had ever seen! It was a black digital watch made of plastic. What intrigued me most were the buttons just below the face; when I began to punch the buttons, I entered the game mode of the watch! The gift probably wasn't that expensive….and it didn't matter. What mattered most to me was that my brother loved me enough to think about what his little brother would enjoy. That watch rarely left my arm and connected me to O'Neal every time I wore it.

Sadly, Christmas can sometimes bring feelings of insignificance as well. At some point in my childhood, the trips to Texas ceased and we began to spend Christmas with my Dad's mother, better known as Big Mother. Dad's mom was a wonderful Christian woman throughout her life; she was not perfect though. As a grandchild visiting her house, we were always welcomed. However, it was always clear that I was not one of the favorite grandchildren. As I watched her explosions of joy over the appearance of the "golden children" on Christmas Day, I began to question why I didn't elicit the same response. I became jealous of my older siblings who had experienced a glowing relationship with my maternal grandmother; Ma-maw passed away just before my fifth birthday. Trips to Big Mother's filled Christmas Days throughout much of my elementary and middle school years. I hated the journey and only wanted to go back home. I didn't know at the time that what I was dealing with were feelings of inferiority and insignificance. Since I didn't matter to her, why should I be here? It was a horrible feeling.

As you celebrate the birth of the Christ child this Christmas, I hope that you experience the joy that His advent brought to the world and that you realize that God sent His son into the world because He was thinking about you! No matter how difficult your circumstances right now, no matter how far away the Father may seem from you, no matter how alone and insignificant you may feel, God is thinking of you with a heart full of love and offers you gifts of hope, peace, joy, and love this holiday season in the perfect package of His Son, Jesus Christ.

Merry Christmas!
Kennith

Why I Joined a Fraternity

In the spring of 1994, I was a senior at Pepperdine University. As the semester began, I found myself pledging a local fraternity, Lambda Omega Sigma (now aligned with the national organization Psi Upsilon). I was asked by many why I was joining a fraternity at that point in my career. I was accused of attempting to buy friends, looking for a constant party, and lacking self-confidence. Now that I'm nearly 20 years removed from that decision, I still find that my choice to pledge a fraternity was one of the best decisions I made during my undergraduate career.

Joining a fraternity made me part of something much bigger than myself. Those outside a Greek organizations mock the use of the term "brothers" to describe the membership. In my experience, the fraternity positioned me to form relationships with like-minded men who were facing similar challenges. Many of these relationships grew into lifelong friendships upon which I depend to this day. When I find myself in trouble or depression, my fraternity brothers are among the first that I turn to for support -- often before turning to my biological family.

I was fortunate to observe from the beginning that my fraternity experience did not have to end with my graduation. I witnessed men who maintained an appropriate level of involvement in the group as alumni, continuing to develop friendships with younger members. These alumni became mentors for those who followed them; what I would later learn is that the alumni are also challenged and encouraged by the very ones they are attempting to influence.

Opportunities abounded in the fraternity setting. As a member of Lambdas, I was part of a team building homes in some of the poorest regions of Mexico. I was involved in repair work at an Indian reservation in Arizona and fed the homeless on the streets of Los Angeles. My leadership and organization skills were developed as well. I was given the task of directing 50 peers in an annual song and dance competition and was a member of the team that evaluated national organizations when a transition was mandated. While I had leadership opportunities outside of the fraternity, the frequency and support was greater because I was a member of Lambdas. I learned more about myself than I thought possible.

Lastly, I learned a great deal about communication within the fraternity. When a group of guys are spending lots of time together, it is certain that conflict will arise. Through these disagreements, I learned how to speak my mind clearly while respecting the differing views of those I cared for. I didn't always communicate things perfectly; I still don't. I have learned to be more considerate of the feelings of others and to think about how I would like to be addressed in conflict. The reason that these skills were developed so clearly in the fraternity was that I had the added comfort of knowing that these men were my friends; even if they became angry with me, I had confidence that we could talk through things and come to a mutually acceptable outcome.

These are certainly not all of the benefits I gained from my years as an active member of Lambda Omega Sigma, but these are some that have had the greatest impact on my personal development. Because of the profound impact the fraternity has had on me over the years, I continue to be actively involved in the organization as an alumnus. Next Friday, I'll look at the reasons that I continue my involvement with this group of men.

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Halloween Memories

Growing up, Halloween wasn't regarded as an evil holiday in my family. While we knew its history and the darkness associated with it, my parents wisely allowed me to participate while supervising my activities closely. I got to experience the fun of dressing up in costumes and visiting neighbors in our small community. I got to have the all-American childhood.

At the heart of a child's Halloween fun is the costume. Growing up in the 70s, plastic masks were the way to go.  Every year, we would make a trip to Wal-Mart and choose an appropriate costume based on my interest. There are pictures of me wearing a mask of Tweety Bird one year; other costumes blur from memory. However, there was one costume that I still don't understand and will never forget.

I was about ten and was already struggling with my weight. I was at an awkward size, so the costumes I most enjoyed were too small; the costumes that fit were devils and werewolves, all of which I chose to avoid. That's when I saw it….the costume that I simply had to have. It featured a green balloon-like head piece and a matching cape. There was a silly face on the balloon, but what was most cool about the costume was the green make-up that the kit included. I wasn't going to be a little kid this year wearing one of those silly masks. No sirree! I was moving into the artistry of make-up. The possibilities were endless for the amazing costumes I would wear in the future.

On Halloween night, Mom helped me cake the slimy green stuff on my face. I thought I looked so cool!  As we headed out to trick-or-treat, my feelings about the costume changed very quickly. The weather was rather warm that year; under the plastic cape, I began to sweat. The moisture did not mix with my green face at all. Some of it began to run while other portions of it were clinging to my face in clumps. As the night wore on, I began to notice that the clumps were turning itchy as well. I didn't really care though…..I had my bucket full of Halloween treats and was looking forward to checking it all out at home.

When I got home, the intensity of the itching hit. As we tried to remove the make-up with soap and water (per the instructions), it became obvious that something had gone wrong. The green was not coming off. As we began to peel away the costume, a new horror was revealed. My face was covered in a bumpy, red rash. It was time for a new make-up job….compliments of the pink calamine lotion that now dotted my face. I got to wear my "new" costume for a few days. Needless to say, I have never worn make-up again without first checking to make sure it was hypo-allergenic!

Who says kids don't learn valuable lessons on Halloween? I certainly did.  Have fun Thursday night with your children, be safe, and take the time to create memories that will last a lifetime.

Reviewing the Situation

It finally happened. While doing some cleaning of my bookshelves and files, I sat and started looking through pieces of my past. Rather than simply throwing unneeded things away, I found myself leafing through the pages and allowing my mind to be flooded with memories.

I found the score of the musical Oliver! and remembered the fun that I had with that cast. The young boy who played Oliver was a jewel. I learned so much during those summer musicals about the art of directing and performing. I was a teenager while playing piano for all of those rehearsals and didn't fully understand the education I was getting in those fun summer evenings. Now I know that the shows I did with the community theater -- Oliver!, Gypsy, Camelot -- included some of the best musical instruction I would ever receive. I'm truly indebted to you, Donna!

Of course, I ran across TONS of paperwork from graduate school and relived the fun, stress, and strain that finally resulted in graduation. I remembered hours in the library studying for comprehensives and frantic rehearsals in cramped practice rooms as each semester came to an end. I even found exams from the first class that I ever taught as an adjunct.

I can't decide if I'm a pack rat or just incredibly sentimental. As I remembered the past, I had to fight the urge to hold on to things that really needed to find their way to the trash. It was only when I realized that the "stuff" didn't contain the memories that I was finally able to let go.

What can I say? I need therapy.....and the cleaning of the physical and emotional trash is proving to be a wonderful process for me.

Oh, the Places You'll Go!

Currently I am reading Winter of the World by Ken Follett. One of the characters, Lloyd Williams, finds himself leaving the comfort of his Wales existence to join the volunteer army in Spain to fight against Fascism. Follett introduces his relocation with this beautiful paragraph:

It was amazing, Lloyd Williams thought, how quickly you could come to love a place. He had been in Spain for only ten months, but already his passion for the country was almost as strong as his attachment to Wales. He loved to see a rare flower blooming in the scorched landscape; he enjoyed sleeping in the afternoon; he liked the way there was wine to drink even when there was nothing to eat. He had experienced flavors he had never tasted before: olives, paprika, chorizo, and the fiery spirit they called orujo. (Follett, Winter of the World, 244)

I immediately identified with Lloyd's ability to passionately adore a new location despite only being there for a short time. So I began to reminisce about the places I have visited that hold the greatest piece of my heart.

At the top of my list has to be the greater Los Angeles area, specifically Malibu. I lived in the area off and on for 8 years while attending school and beginning to figure things out after graduation. Why does this place hold such attraction for me? Of course there is a connection with friends and beautiful memories. I also adore the weather! The fresh breeze coming off the ocean did wonders for my allergies as well. (Reducing the amount of sneezing that occurs in a single day is a priceless treasure when you can find it!) Los Angeles was also a place of exploration for me. I became aware of music, shopping, film, and theater in a way that had previously eluded me. LA will always be associated with growth, freedom, and excitement in my mind.

My two week visit to southern Germany forever changed my view of the world. This was my first trip across the ocean and I was amazed to learn the value of a relaxed approach to life. My visit was centered in the quaint Bavarian town of Marktoberdorf. Even though days were filled with music lessons and rehearsals, there was plenty of time to explore the town's treasures and interact with the German people. My weekends saw trips to Salzburg and Munich. Even though I saw a lot of wonderful things in each of these cities, I was still enthralled by the calm approach to life found in Europe. I fell in love with the geography and architecture. I desperately want to return to this part of the world and explore more countries while learning more about the people, their cultures, and myself.

I could go on down the list. NYC and Honolulu hold fond memories (some of which are associated with the cities while others are linked to a dear friend). Texas is becoming more interesting to me as I spend more time there with the freedom to hop in my car and go exploring. Then there are the cities of San Diego, San Francisco, and Portland....my only complaint is that I never seemed to have enough time in any of these places!

What places have you visited that grabbed your heart and imagination? Which are you most anxious to return to? Where have you dreamed of going that you haven't yet visited? I'd love to hear from you in the comment section below. Who knows....maybe we'll begin to make travel plans....

Lasting Impact

My family and I went to visit my mother's brother, Sam, and his family recently. While we sat in the kitchen together sharing stories and catching up, I was flooded with memories of life events involving my Uncle Sam. I remember the joy of seeing him and Aunt Marion walking up the porch around Christmas time because I always knew Uncle Sam was going to bring a great gift that was purchased with love. Trips to Texas and Michigan to visit family were never dull; whether Sam was cracking a joke with his sly smile or telling my Mom to put my head down because there was another KFC on the horizon, every journey was a happy memory. (Hmmm......I think I hear the Colonel calling my name now!)

While thinking about the impact my uncle has had on my life, I realized that he impacted my life in a lasting way. Although I don't remember receiving the gift, I have very special memories of the toy piano that was given to me by my Uncle Sam. No one knew then that such a simple gift would profoundly shape my future.

As a child, my parents raised me in a small church in eastern Arkansas. According to those who were there, as a child of 2 or 3 I would sit on my knees during the singing of hymns and pretend to play the piano on the back of the wooden pew. This air-piano continued until I was about 6; that's when I started taking piano lessons. In those earliest years, it wasn't uncommon to find me sitting next to the pianist, watching her fingers fly across the keys in amazement.

Since it was clear that I loved the piano, my uncle decided a toy piano would be the perfect gift. (My dad continues to harass Sam about buying that noisy thing for me......and blaming him that the noise has never stopped since that first piano!) I remember its reddish-brown color sitting against the wall in the center room of our home. I imitated what I saw on Sunday morning in my home throughout the week. I'm sure they weren't beautiful sounds, but I was having a blast.

A gift to a toddler led to a battered upright piano and the beginning of piano lessons. My 6-year-old self began a journey with the piano that is now in its 35th year. The journey started then, but the love affair began a few years earlier with a tiny toy piano nestled in the corner of my parents' bedroom. That gift will always be connected with the giver and I will always be linked to my uncle because of it. My career, my passion, and my ministry began because of my uncle's musical gift. I can only hope that one day I'll learn that I have had the same lasting impact on someone like Uncle Sam has had on me.

One Historic Road Trip!

On my drive home this afternoon, I saw a van filled with college students pulled off the interstate to take pictures in front of the "Welcome to Tennessee" sign. There's no doubt about it....they were on a road trip. As much as I love to fly, some of my favorite travel memories come from road trips.  Some of the trips were extremely fast paced and possibly stupid, but all were fun.

Since I was attending school in southern California, many of my road trips were along Interstate 40. Driving along the historic Route 66 was a joy -- most of the time.  I loved seeing the desert in New Mexico, the mountains (and inevitably snow) around Flagstaff, and the rolling fields through Oklahoma and Texas. Normally I allowed 3 or 4 days to make the trip. There were a few times where I was stupid though.

In their great "wisdom", my parents sent me to California in a Ford Escort Hatchback that had been retired as the family car. They were certain everything was okay since they had replaced the engine in the car. For a Christmas present, my family flew my roommate Andy to Arkansas and we drove back to Malibu. The desert was not kind to the Escort, but we finally made it in one piece.  A couple of years later, Andy and I had loaded the red beast down with luggage and equipment to drive out to Pasadena for a performance before heading to Arkansas for a break. While we approached the 101-405 interchange late on a Friday afternoon (non-Californians should read that as INSANE TRAFFIC), smoke began to billow from the car. That's actually a bit of an understatement.....the thing blew up! We managed to get to the side of the road, got a tow to a garage, called a cab and loaded the essential equipment. We made it to the performance minutes before I needed to be on stage and then headed back to Malibu to call my parents; I wouldn't be coming home anytime soon.

Over the next few weeks, my parents purchased a new car for me and instructed me to try to get the garage to take the Escort for scraps. They refused! That tells you what a nightmare this car truly was! In the end, they took pity on me and allowed me to pay the cost of the tow to the junk yard to get it out of everyone's hair. My car was in Arkansas and orientation was starting in a week. I was a student leader of orientation and could not be late!

My parents and I decide that I can rent a car to get to Arkansas. They'll take the rental to Memphis on Monday by which time I'll be back in Malibu if everything goes according to plan. Somehow, I convinced my roommate along with another of our fraternity brothers (Andy Hughes) to make this whirlwind trip. Since none of us were 25 yet, we couldn't rent a car.....but another friend, Heidi, came to the rescue!  So on Friday afternoon, the three amigos left Malibu and drove non-stop to Crawfordsville, Arkansas.  We arrived around 1am CST; we woke my parents, got the nickel tour of the car, grabbed a quick bite to eat and loaded the Mitsubishi for our return trip. An hour later, we were back on the road. Despite a flat tire in the Dallas area (really!?!), we pulled into Pepperdine on Monday morning at 8am. We dashed to our rooms, showered, and started welcoming a new class of students to the campus.

You would think I would have learned my lesson, wouldn't you? I didn't. Later that fall, a friend and I would drive home for Thanksgiving and got back to Malibu on Monday morning. There were trips up and down California, a few dangerous jaunts into Mexico (another example of my youthful stupidity), and more trips to Vegas than I care to remember. (Most of these trips involved various fraternity brothers as well....I'm beginning to notice a trend!)

I still love to travel by car. My traveling partners have changed a bit.....now I drag my parents around with me.....but we still have a lot of laughter in the car and make memories that will last a lifetime.  It's time to pull out the road map and figure out where I need to head on my next adventure. I'm open to suggestions!

Remember When....

I love thinking about exciting experiences I have had throughout my life. It's fun to recall the good times I've had. So many of them are associated with friends and family and often resulted in some outlandish story that I never thought I would find myself in.

What I am horrible about is remembering WHEN things occurred. I was reminded of this fact earlier this week when I was having a conversation with a friend via text message. She and I have made two trips to New York City together. The first trip was with a couple of other friends who were attending a wedding in the area; the second was a crazy trip with just the two of us. We were trying to recall when we went. I was at a total loss!

I could tell you things that happened on each trip. The first trip's highlights included seeing Bernadette Peters in the revival of Gypsy (which places the trip in either 2003 or 2004) and the "nickel tour" of NYC while the guys were at the wedding. This was the trip I first saw Lady Liberty, the NYC Library, and Ground Zero.  The second trip was a welcome introduction to some places not necessarily on the beaten path. I experienced Hogs and Heifers in the Meat Packing District, did some shopping in Soho, and ate my way around the city. (The profiteroles at Balthazar Restaurant and the Symphony of Dessert from Fred's Madison Avenue inside Barney's are still wonderful memories.) Even though I didn't get to see a performance, walking along the fountain of Lincoln Center was a moment I'll never forget. I'm still waiting on a return trip to see a live performance in this important venue....all in due time, I'm sure.

All of this reminiscing has me itching to travel again! I know I just got home from vacation, but I'm ready for a slightly more cultural outing. When I have the time to travel, all of the major performance venues seem to be on break as well. I'm definitely looking forward to visiting Chicago at the end of the summer, but there may be a trip before that. I hear Santa Fe is beautiful at the moment....and the city's music festival is coming up in July and August. Hmmmm..........

Teacher's Pet

I have been very fortunate over the years to have done relatively well in school. I tended to be a self-motivated learner and most subjects came easily to me (though I have always struggled in science and foreign languages). Since I made good grades and was normally a compliant student, I was often labeled as the teacher's pet; I'll admit that the title was normally true. As I'm preparing for a new semester of teaching, I have been thinking about the many teachers who have influenced me over the years. Some of them were influential in my choice to pursue a career in higher education because they were excellent teachers. Others shaped my views about the importance of mutual respect between teacher and student as well as giving me lessons in what NOT to do in my classroom. If I had to narrow  it down to just one person, I would have to say that the most influential teacher in my life was Ms. Pierce.

Ms. Pierce was my second grade teacher in the less-than-stellar Crawfordsville Elementary School. Despite the low quality of education that surrounded her, I remember Ms. Pierce's class as a place where her students were always expected to perform at their highest level at all times. It was in Ms. Pierce's class that I was introduced to many of the things that have shaped me throughout my life. One of my fondest memories is visiting the library and being encouraged to read anything that caught my interest.....even if I thought it was something too hard for me. Ms. Pierce became the first teacher to truly encourage me to read as though my life depended on it; she even told me that I could make solo trips to the library (with the hall pass, of course) if I finished reading my book before it was time for the class to visit. It was as a second grader that I was introduced to the magical world that awaited in books and I think I've had my nose in a good book ever since!

The months following Christmas were especially exciting for me. It was 1980 and the Olympic Games were being held in Lake Placid, New York. Ms. Pierce used this current event to teach geography, math, and reading. I remember learning about athletes from Germany, the USSR, and Canada. When the Games finally arrived, part of our homework assignments was to watch some of the television broadcast. I still remember our excitement as my classmates and I followed Eric Haydn's 5 gold medal speed skating victories. We learned about ice hockey and watched with amazement as the Miracle on Ice unfolded before our young eyes. Now that I am older, I realize the depth of Ms. Pierce's commitment to her students as she worked to make sure that there was room in the curriculum for this significant current event. It was in that second grade class in a small Arkansas town that I began to dream about seeing the world and believed it could be a reality for me.

Ms. Pierce was also influential in tearing down barriers of racism and sexism. In a largely African-American school, this gifted teacher was quick to explore differences between black and white students while helping us to realize that we had more in common than we realized. In a city that was racially divided, it was in that classroom that I truly began to make friends of all races who would be part of my educational journey for many years to come. Ms. Pierce was also adamant that her students understand that there was no job assigned solely to a man or a woman. In her class, we all learned to sew a pin cushion for our mother as we followed the recipe's directions to make no-bake cookies. Later, she led us in creating a simple box with wood, hammer and nails. (I still haven't perfected the art of driving a nail straight, but I definitely learned a lot about taking nails OUT of wood with the claw!)

I don't know where Ms. Pierce is these days. Over the years, my family and I lost touch with some of my most influential teachers. What would I say to her today? I'd simply have to say "thank you".....for developing the thirst for knowledge, the love for books, and the positive view of the classroom that has opened so many avenues of possibility to me over the years. Your influence continues today as I strive to pass on this same love of learning to another generation.

Remembering

This post has been on my mind all day, but since it's been a very full day, I'm just now getting to sit down and write. Eleven years ago today, the world paused as we watched in horror the terrorists events in New York, Washington, DC, and Pennsylvania unfold before our eyes. Today, I have had a lot of time to reflect on that fateful day and how my life was effected.

That beautiful Tuesday morning of 2001 was the final semester of my master's work in piano performance. The day was scheduled to begin at 10:00 with a voice lesson in Dr. Pamela Gaston's studio and would continue until I had my piano lesson late that afternoon. I had gotten myself together, dressed, and had warmed up when I decided to sit down on the sofa to watch a bit of news before leaving for the school. I sat in absolute horror as I listened to Matt Lauer attempt to sort through the confusion of what was happening in the earliest stages of the tragedy.

I knew that this would be a historical event, so I immediately called my mom and told her to make sure that she was watching the news. The rest of the morning is a blur and I somehow pulled myself together and managed to get into my car to head to school. As I drove, I remember seeing several crop dusters beginning to work in this agricultural region and I nearly lost my mind with every sound. I think that's when I finally knew that things were not alright -- and I wasn't either.

As I drove, my cell phone began to ring off the hook. My sister-in-law and sister were trying to reach me. It was Patsy, my brother's wife, who finally got through and asked exactly where I was. Reports were coming in that both bridges into Memphis would be shut down to all traffic later that morning since there was fear that the city might be a terrorist target. If I found myself in Memphis when the bridges were closed, I wouldn't be able to get home....and at that point we didn't know how long it would last.

I turned around and went home. I didn't have the presence of mind to call anyone and cancel my appointments for the day. I thought the world was coming to an end anyway and none of it was going to matter. I tried to think about other things when I got home, but I sat glued to the television. I was frightened of what was going to happen next. I feared for the safety of my friends living in New York as well as those in Los Angeles -- so many were assuming that the entire nation was under attack.

As aircraft were grounded around the nation, I saw the immensity of the situation. Then television stations began to go off the air as a show of respect to those who had been lost. I couldn't believe what was happening.

Later that afternoon I learned that the bridges were not going to be closed and got a phone call from my boss that the church was hosting a special prayer service that evening. I had mixed emotions about going to be perfectly honest. I wanted to be in a place of prayer, but I was not looking forward to being 45 miles from home while the world was in chaos. I made the drive to East Memphis. I sat outside the church on the hood of my car and talked with friends before the service began and was shocked at the silence that was all around. The church normally had lots of air traffic going overhead due to flight paths to the international airport. That afternoon was strangely and eerily silent.

As I sat in the quiet, I began to think about many things. I had to teach children's church on Sunday morning. How was I going to address how God could allow so many people to die who had done nothing to deserve it? How was I going to assure them that in this craziness God was still in control? Was I honestly convinced of that myself? Then I started to think about my upcoming calendar. I was supposed to get on an airplane in just a few weeks and travel to Los Angeles for a performance. Would the airlines be up and running again? Would I have the courage to fly? (I made the flight to LA in early October, but I was completely petrified, reading a large portion of the New Testament with a white-knuckle grip.  My return flight wasn't much better since the US had attacked Afghanistan the day before and the airports were on high alert in case of retaliation.)

I got back to a semi-normal routine with the rest of the country in the weeks after 9/11. I had convinced everyone I was fine, but I knew that I wasn't. I had to face this fact when the drama series The West Wing returned to the air. I had been a regular viewer of the show since its beginning and hadn't missed an episode. The show immediately after the hiatus dealt with terrorist attacks as their response to the tragedies. I started watching the episode but couldn't bring myself to watch it because I was so disturbed. Truthfully, I have not watched an episode of The West Wing since that evening. I own the entire series on DVD and have made efforts to watch them from the beginning, but I can't make it because of the knowledge that I will have to face that episode in order to finish the series.

So here I am 11 years after the events of 9/11.  I wasn't in New York City on that day. I didn't know anyone personally who was among the victims. Still, I find that I was scarred on that day and don't know that I have ever fully recovered.....or that I ever will.