Friday, January 30, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
unexpected places
Much has happened in the last few months.
So many stories have become endangered of falling away, if not captured soon. Last night, after the show, I was thinking about my lack of focused prayer, but this morning, I’ve realized there have been so many answers.
My car beloved Jetta broke down. My sister gave me her car for Christmas. My friend Bobby Cheeks had given us an extra Mac that we couldn’t use at the office, so I wrapped it in a box and gave it to Ali for Christmas.
She had been praying for a Mac that week.
Another time, as I was leaving work, Doug, a neighbor from upstairs asked me where I was playing that night. We talked music for awhile (I was carrying my guitar; he’s a drummer), then he got up real close and stared into my eyes, slurring his speech, "You must have the Spirit of Christ."
"That's right," I said. He does too. He shared a bit of his testimony about his struggle with alcoholism and the hope he’s found in Christ. Then he gave me his white teddy bear, saying, "I don't know what to do, man. We need to hang out or something. That's all I have."
He asked me what I was doing that night, and I told him I was meeting up with my girlfriend. “Oh, you lucky dog,” Doug says, smirking.
“I know it,” I reply.
Later the next week I stopped to talk to him on the sidewalk outside the ministry. He introduced himself again. "Hi, I’m Doug. Have we met?" he said. "Yeah, we talked last weekend," I replied. "Was I hammered?" he asked.
"You had a few drinks in you," I reply.
But yet, the Spirit of Christ rests on him, regardless of the alcohol on his breath.
Another day, a man named Clay came into our office. Big and tall, in his 60’s with a graying beard and dark black skin and piercing eyes, he immediately informs me to not judge him by his appearance.
We talk about what we do, and he starts telling me about his passion.
“I’m a handyman by trade, but I love poetry. Christian poetry.”
I nod my head.
“Mind if I share some?” he asks politely.
I comply, and he looks directly in my eyes, explaining the piece is “taken from the book of Genesis.” His rich, deep voice speaks poetry for seven minutes with little pauses or mistakes. He rhymes clearly and simply about the Garden state, the fall, Eve taken from Adam’s ribs, obeying God’s commands and reconciliation through Christ.
After it’s over, I give him my card. He calls back the next day and we schedule a meeting.
On Monday he came in and he met the guys, calling them by name, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Matt and Mr. Derek,” and again, shares the seven minute poem with the guys. Then he starts telling his testimony of his adolescence somewhere in or near Chicago.
“When I was sixteen, five boys were selected go away who could read and write, but I couldn’t. You know, I cried about that. But then I was in my room, someone came in, and said there was a terrible car accident. Those five boys were killed just after they left, and I would’ve been the sixth if I could read and write,” he says.
“God saved my life. He’s just given me this poetry,” he says. “I know it’s from God.”
We record Clay’s poem in our studio on-camera, telling him we just need a record of it. “I know you aren’t trying to take advantage of me,” he says. “I can see it in your eyes.”
And perhaps, despite my lack of perseverance in prayer, I am privileged that Christ meets us in different places.
So many stories have become endangered of falling away, if not captured soon. Last night, after the show, I was thinking about my lack of focused prayer, but this morning, I’ve realized there have been so many answers.
My car beloved Jetta broke down. My sister gave me her car for Christmas. My friend Bobby Cheeks had given us an extra Mac that we couldn’t use at the office, so I wrapped it in a box and gave it to Ali for Christmas.
She had been praying for a Mac that week.
Another time, as I was leaving work, Doug, a neighbor from upstairs asked me where I was playing that night. We talked music for awhile (I was carrying my guitar; he’s a drummer), then he got up real close and stared into my eyes, slurring his speech, "You must have the Spirit of Christ."
"That's right," I said. He does too. He shared a bit of his testimony about his struggle with alcoholism and the hope he’s found in Christ. Then he gave me his white teddy bear, saying, "I don't know what to do, man. We need to hang out or something. That's all I have."
He asked me what I was doing that night, and I told him I was meeting up with my girlfriend. “Oh, you lucky dog,” Doug says, smirking.
“I know it,” I reply.
Later the next week I stopped to talk to him on the sidewalk outside the ministry. He introduced himself again. "Hi, I’m Doug. Have we met?" he said. "Yeah, we talked last weekend," I replied. "Was I hammered?" he asked.
"You had a few drinks in you," I reply.
But yet, the Spirit of Christ rests on him, regardless of the alcohol on his breath.
Another day, a man named Clay came into our office. Big and tall, in his 60’s with a graying beard and dark black skin and piercing eyes, he immediately informs me to not judge him by his appearance.
We talk about what we do, and he starts telling me about his passion.
“I’m a handyman by trade, but I love poetry. Christian poetry.”
I nod my head.
“Mind if I share some?” he asks politely.
I comply, and he looks directly in my eyes, explaining the piece is “taken from the book of Genesis.” His rich, deep voice speaks poetry for seven minutes with little pauses or mistakes. He rhymes clearly and simply about the Garden state, the fall, Eve taken from Adam’s ribs, obeying God’s commands and reconciliation through Christ.
After it’s over, I give him my card. He calls back the next day and we schedule a meeting.
On Monday he came in and he met the guys, calling them by name, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Matt and Mr. Derek,” and again, shares the seven minute poem with the guys. Then he starts telling his testimony of his adolescence somewhere in or near Chicago.
“When I was sixteen, five boys were selected go away who could read and write, but I couldn’t. You know, I cried about that. But then I was in my room, someone came in, and said there was a terrible car accident. Those five boys were killed just after they left, and I would’ve been the sixth if I could read and write,” he says.
“God saved my life. He’s just given me this poetry,” he says. “I know it’s from God.”
We record Clay’s poem in our studio on-camera, telling him we just need a record of it. “I know you aren’t trying to take advantage of me,” he says. “I can see it in your eyes.”
And perhaps, despite my lack of perseverance in prayer, I am privileged that Christ meets us in different places.
fiction family
Emily and Danimal and I checked out Fiction Family last night. It's Jon Foreman of Switchfoot and Sean Watkins of Nickel Creek. Seabird opened and were fantastic.
After the show, Jon and Sean held a Q&A in the auditorium, talking about their art. Jon said that if songs are real, music will traverse from the writer to listener, and vise-versa.
The music was tight. The inspiration was better.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
mini-show this weekend
Dan and I are playing a few songs Saturday night for a show...
Date: Saturday, January 17
Time: 6 p.m.
Who: Jake Smith, Dan & Aaron, Little Tree Worship, Josiah Gentry.
Cost: $5
Keystone Eastside
2119 Lake Dr. SE, East Grand Rapids, MI 49506
Hope to see you!
Date: Saturday, January 17
Time: 6 p.m.
Who: Jake Smith, Dan & Aaron, Little Tree Worship, Josiah Gentry.
Cost: $5
Keystone Eastside
2119 Lake Dr. SE, East Grand Rapids, MI 49506
Hope to see you!
Monday, December 15, 2008
words and emotions
Parking downtown isn't easy, but we have great metered parking on our side street. However, the city blocked four or five spots to make way for a trash dumpster and trucks and workers tearing up the space next door.
Last week, I was looking at the tag on one of the unusable meters.
It read, "The City of Grand Rapids Has Reserved This Space for: Quality Air."
"Quality Air?"
Immediately I started ranting inside my head about the loss of a great space and the underlying belief that eliminating one parking place is going to somehow save the city and the environment. People are going to drive, I reasoned, why waste a perfectly proximal space to my building?
Fireworks were blazing. I spewed to a few people about it.
Then, just now, on my short walk to drop a bill in the mail, a truck was parked in the space.
The side of the vehicle read, "Quality Air Heating/Cooling."
And I am a fool.
Last week, I was looking at the tag on one of the unusable meters.
It read, "The City of Grand Rapids Has Reserved This Space for: Quality Air."
"Quality Air?"
Immediately I started ranting inside my head about the loss of a great space and the underlying belief that eliminating one parking place is going to somehow save the city and the environment. People are going to drive, I reasoned, why waste a perfectly proximal space to my building?
Fireworks were blazing. I spewed to a few people about it.
Then, just now, on my short walk to drop a bill in the mail, a truck was parked in the space.
The side of the vehicle read, "Quality Air Heating/Cooling."
And I am a fool.
thanks everyone
Thanks to everyone who came out to Tour//Creo on Friday night.
We had a great turnout and a lot of fun celebrating the new space.
If you missed it, contact us to set up a time for your own tour.
We had a great turnout and a lot of fun celebrating the new space.
If you missed it, contact us to set up a time for your own tour.
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
rip: 1996-today
The Jetta died today.
(It's not technically "dead," but dangerous to drive and the fix-it bill is ridiculous.)
I'm still in shock. It hasn't sunk in. We've been through so much.
If anyone hears any amazing deals on crappy cars, let me know.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
media: studio launch
The Business Review wrote this story on our studio launch. Remember to check out our launch party on Friday, December 12 from 6-10 p.m. at 40 S. Division, as seen below.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
support zim tonight
Tonight from 7 to 9 p.m., Vital Connections is hosting a Celebration and Silent Auction to raise awareness and support for Zimbabwe. It'll also be the official launch of the Zim Worship Project, the 16-track CD we recorded in April.
Zim Worship Project: Official Trailer from Vital Connections on Vimeo.
All proceeds from CD sales will go directly to orphans in Zim.
Tickets are $20.
There's stuff up for auction.
Mosiac Space
25 South Division Ave #225
Grand Rapids, MI 49503
See you tonight!
Visit www.helpzimnow.com for more information on VC.
Zim Worship Project: Official Trailer from Vital Connections on Vimeo.
All proceeds from CD sales will go directly to orphans in Zim.
Tickets are $20.
There's stuff up for auction.
Mosiac Space
25 South Division Ave #225
Grand Rapids, MI 49503
See you tonight!
Visit www.helpzimnow.com for more information on VC.
Friday, November 07, 2008
november ride
I'd heard about Lake Michigan surfers before. Then I met electric Emily, who spent five years surfing in California before coming back to the people under the bridge.
This afternoon, she heard waves were out at Holland State park, so we headed west, surfboard strapped to the roof of her Lumina. Trees barren or bursting with color. It was 50 degrees out. Surfing in Michigan? In November? Really?
"This is my first documentary," she says, as I'm rolling video. Can't miss this.
We arrived and crammed into the wetsuits under towels (not as fluid as it sounds) in the parking lot with her other surfer friend, who thankfully let me borrow his extra wet suit hat. Emily had never surfed Lake Michigan, so I stayed back on the beach to absorb her wisdom and roll footage.
She rocked it. It was like riding a bike for her. She gracefully rode three long waves right away, flashing the peace sign before coming back in to fetch me. "I've never taught anyone who hasn't stood up," she says.
California girls. Did I mention she's battling a cold?
Talk about pressure. Your sick girlfriend just dominated Lake Michigan and you don't know what you're doing, only that you're wearing her extra wetsuit, and it's really tight. Really tight.
Emily tells me to stand with my legs at shoulder width, pushes me, calls me "goofy" (footed) and gives me a quick surfing lesson on the beach. We wade out in the great lake, dodging waves, my ankle strapped to the board, not knowing what to expect.
She tells me to get on the board, with my "chin by the marker" and points me in the right direction, her hand holding onto the tail. The waves start crashing.
Then she shoves me off and yells at me to start paddling when the right wave comes.
First try. Failure. Bail. Felt good though.
Second wave. We're moving. I try to stand up. Semi-success.
What!?
I'm in shock. I'm standing on a surf board, actually riding a wave without falling.
When I look back, her hands are in the air. I return the gesture. Air pumps.
Then I fall and it's over. But it felt amazing. Makes you want more.
"Second time," she says, smiling. Great teacher. Lucky student.
Third wave. Disaster.
I'm satisfied and quit before something breaks. I give her the gloves back, she grabs the key from the back of my (her) wetsuit and tells me to run to the car to change, while she wades out into the lake for another round.
We celebrated her first Great Lakes ride and my first ever surf by eating too much Mexican food at Tres Lobos.
It was delicious; and all is well.
This afternoon, she heard waves were out at Holland State park, so we headed west, surfboard strapped to the roof of her Lumina. Trees barren or bursting with color. It was 50 degrees out. Surfing in Michigan? In November? Really?
"This is my first documentary," she says, as I'm rolling video. Can't miss this.
We arrived and crammed into the wetsuits under towels (not as fluid as it sounds) in the parking lot with her other surfer friend, who thankfully let me borrow his extra wet suit hat. Emily had never surfed Lake Michigan, so I stayed back on the beach to absorb her wisdom and roll footage.
She rocked it. It was like riding a bike for her. She gracefully rode three long waves right away, flashing the peace sign before coming back in to fetch me. "I've never taught anyone who hasn't stood up," she says.
California girls. Did I mention she's battling a cold?
Talk about pressure. Your sick girlfriend just dominated Lake Michigan and you don't know what you're doing, only that you're wearing her extra wetsuit, and it's really tight. Really tight.
Emily tells me to stand with my legs at shoulder width, pushes me, calls me "goofy" (footed) and gives me a quick surfing lesson on the beach. We wade out in the great lake, dodging waves, my ankle strapped to the board, not knowing what to expect.
She tells me to get on the board, with my "chin by the marker" and points me in the right direction, her hand holding onto the tail. The waves start crashing.
Then she shoves me off and yells at me to start paddling when the right wave comes.
First try. Failure. Bail. Felt good though.
Second wave. We're moving. I try to stand up. Semi-success.
What!?
I'm in shock. I'm standing on a surf board, actually riding a wave without falling.
When I look back, her hands are in the air. I return the gesture. Air pumps.
Then I fall and it's over. But it felt amazing. Makes you want more.
"Second time," she says, smiling. Great teacher. Lucky student.
Third wave. Disaster.
I'm satisfied and quit before something breaks. I give her the gloves back, she grabs the key from the back of my (her) wetsuit and tells me to run to the car to change, while she wades out into the lake for another round.
We celebrated her first Great Lakes ride and my first ever surf by eating too much Mexican food at Tres Lobos.
It was delicious; and all is well.
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