In February of 1997, Johnny Carr and I traveled to Moscow to attend the “Russian Premiere” of a children’s musical we had co-written. We were in Moscow for about a week – and were guests of the private school that hosted the premiere. While there, we had the unique experience of staying in the homes of two of the teachers, and also ate authentic Russian “home cooking” in a different home each night.

In addition to feeding us and taking care of our lodging and transportation, the principal planned a sight-seeing excursions for us each day. During that whirlwind week we were able to experience an opera at the world-renowned Bolshoi Theatre, go to a performance at the Moscow State Circus, tour the amazing Tretyakov Art Gallery, attend two church services, go to a craft market, and tour Red Square.

I was not all that excited about going to Red Square. It was very, very cold and I knew we would have to do a lot of walking on ice-covered streets and walks. I expected Red Square to be nothing more than a monument to Communism – cold and bleak, much like the weather. I had grown up seeing TV clips of Russian soldiers marching goose-step in military precision through Red Square past the reviewing stand of Nikita Khrushchev or Leonid Brezhnev. When the driver dropped us off I almost wished we had asked him just to drive around for fifteen minutes or so and then come back and pick us up! The multi-colored “onion” domes of St. Basil’s Cathedral stood out in stark contrast to the rest of the landscape, which was muted, somewhat, by clouds that hugged the earth, bringing a constant flurry of snow.

When Johnny and I got to the main entrance we had to go through a military checkpoint, with less-than-friendly guards! By the time we got into Red Square the wind chill had to have been several degrees below zero. Johnny mentioned that a man he had met on an earlier trip to Moscow wanted to meet us there and be our “tour guide.” And before long, he came running up, apologizing for being late. Johnny introduced me, and off we went. In addition to speaking English, our guide was also a Christian, so he immediately began sharing things about the rich religious heritage that was a part of Red Square. Pointing to what looked like the main entrance to Red Square, he said, “Don, that is the “Spassky Gate” – and “Spassky” means “Savior.” He shared that when the square was first built it was called “Red Square” because, at the time, the Russian word for “red” also meant “beautiful” or “happy.” And for all of my life I thought the “Red” in Red Square was the “code word” for Communism. He pointed out other markers in the gates and walls that were of spiritual significance.

Before long, we began touring three other lesser-known, but important, cathedrals and were amazed at the beauty and incredible biblical symbolism in each. There were frescoes dating back to the 1500s and multi-level tiers of paintings. Even every square inch on the columns had been painted, and they, too, had spiritual and historical meaning. I sensed God’s presence in these ancient cathedrals. We were indeed on holy ground.

It was in the Assumption Cathedral that I gained a new understanding about the meaning of Christmas. In the narthex of this building there was a large glass case with displays of icons, paintings, and other items of historical significance. One of the first was a beautiful painting of the crucifixion highlighted in gold leaf. However, around this beautiful “icon” was a frame that looked like it was made from barn wood – so unlike any of the other displays. Our guide told us that, according to legend, the wood around that painting came from the manger in which Jesus was born – and had been preserved by Luke, who gives us the most detailed account of that first Christmas night. Since the Russian Orthodox Church was formed in 325, the logistics of passing down wood from the manger would indeed have been possible.

Whether the legend is true or not makes no difference. What is important is the truth that I learned that cold day in Moscow: that Christmas is a frame around the greater picture: the picture of the God’s Son, our Savior, dying on the cross for our sins.

We spend so much time celebrating Christmas – as we should – because without the manger there would be no cross. But may we always remember that Christmas is a simply a “frame” around the rest of the story.

I enjoy reading signs, particularly the ones that are not meant to be funny, but are. A classic example is the one in front of a restaurant/service station that says "Eat here" and below it says "Get gas." I saw another that read "Caution: Water on road during rain." A church sign I like read: "Don't let worry kill you - Let the church help!"

However, a sign here in Franklin that I think is paradoxical is in bold letters on the front of a store that people can use for small loans or to get an advance payment on checks. It's the title of this blog: "Free Fees." Now "fees" have to involve a cost, so if there is no cost there is no "fee." I think the sign really should read "No Fees."

Although what someone writes on their sign is not my business, I think our society really likes the word "free." It draws a crowd, it pulls in credit card customers, and plays on the desire to get something for nothing. But most of the time, "free" things are conditional. "Free mp3 players" (for the first 15 customers) or "Free financing (for the first three months) - but even after getting burned, people still go back to the stove. I think this desire for "free" things has carried over into worship. We want a "free worship" - worship that doesn't cost anything, doesn't make any demands of us, or doesn't require anything other than to just show up! In Matt Redman's book Facedown, there is a wonderful illustration of this: "In Genesis 22 God told Abraham to journey to the mountain of Moriah and there build an altar to worship Him. But this is no ordinary worship time. God instructs Abraham to take his son Isaac, for he is to be the offering. And though God never intends to let Abraham go through with this, the incident illuminates some important truths about worship. Ironically, one of the main insights comes from the boy Isaac himself. As they reach the appointed place and build an altar there, he says to his father, "The fire and the wood are here...but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?" In other words, "Everything seems like it's in place, but where's the sacrifice?" That's always a key question when it comes to real and meaningful worship.

We'd do well in our worship to ask the same question Isaac asked: Where is the sacrifice? Sometimes in our worship meetings the "fire" and the "wood" are there -- in other words, outwardly everything seems to be in place, and we think we're set for "great worship." A skilled music team perhaps - or above-average songs or an enthralling preacher. But something is missing -- where is the sacrifice? What I am suggesting is there must be times in our worship services when we cease to say, "Please give me more," and we start to say, "It's time I gave You more." Moments in which we journey from "Here I am, meet me" -- as wonderful a prayer as that can be -- and move on to complete the integrity of worship by crying, "Here I am; send me." The only thing truly "free" is the grace of God -- but it surely wasn't free for God. It required the extravagant gift of the life of His Son. We do not deserve "free" grace, but God gives it to all who ask. In return we should live out our gratitude through worship that requires sacrifice -- not just of our money, but of our time, our talents, and our lives. Isaac Watts said it best: "Love so amazing, so divine - Demands my soul, my life, my all."

Since I celebrated my 60th birthday in April I've been in a somewhat introspective mood.

First of all, I've learned that "60" isn't nearly as old as I thought it was twenty years ago! It's amazing how our perspective about age changes as we get older. Now my definition of "old" is someone over 100! I don't really feel "old," though many of the cards I received implied otherwise! Hey, compared to Methuselah, I'm just a kid!

Second, I feel incredibly blessed to have lived 60 years. My father died when he was 49. My best friend in high school died about three years ago. Within the past month I have gone to funeral visitations for friends whose lives were far too short - a man who had just turned 50 and a woman who was 56. A young man in our church died suddenly last summer at the age of 37. It seems that more and more I hear of young husbands having massive, fatal heart attacks in their 30s, leaving behind grieving wives and young children. I realize that life is precious and fragile , and try to remind myself that each day is a gift from God.

Third, I think back ten years ago to my 50th birthday. Meniere's Disease had come into my life in 1998 like a thief in the night. The life I had known came to a screeching halt as I wrestled with this disease and also wrestled with God. For almost a year I didn't know if life would ever be normal again. In addition to having to deal with the unrelenting nausea, unsteadiness, dizziness, etc., possibly the worst thing was not being able to create, lead, or even listen to music, which was such an important part of my life -- and, in many ways, was my life.

In the midst of this life-storm, I received a call from someone who said that, as she was praying for me that morning, felt God giving her a message for me --- the same message, over and over again. So strong was this "message" that she had no choice but to call me, even though she had never done anything like this before. The "message" she said God was telling her was "I will heal Don, but it will be a slow and progressive -- and it will all be for My glory." I hung on to those words during the nightmare of that year -- and looking back, that is exactly what has happened. Although nothing changed immediately, later on that year I began to see small improvements, and in January of 1999 I was able to return to church and to leading, playing, and writing music.

Like Jacob, the wrestling match with God left me with a limp. The Meniere's is still there, but most of the time it is very much at bay and well-controlled. The constant noise that began in 1998 has never left, but it is more like a quiet hum or white-noise now that I don't even notice when there is ambient sound. Occasionally there are relatively-mild episodes that remind me that the "monster" is still there. But God's slow, progressive healing has given me back my life -- and amazed my doctor. Just last night, someone said that my recovery was a "miracle." Indeed it is! Looking back, I can see that I learned lessons "in the dark" that I probably could not have learned any other way. After becoming weary of the struggle, I finally relinquished it to God, telling Him that I couldn't believe this was His will for my life, but if it was, to give me grace to accept it. In doing so, I found a sense of peace in the raging storm, and discovered anew that God's grace is indeed sufficient for our every need. Since going through the battle with Meniere's, I have now become an encourager of others who are experiencing this disease, just as other "survivors" encouraged me ten years ago. About once a month I either get an email, a phone call, or have a conversation with someone who needs to know that there is hope. I have also had numerous opportunities to share my testimony at churches, keyboard workshops, and other meetings -- even during a worship service at Church Music Leadership Week at Ridgecrest.

So now I stand on the threshold of another decade of life -- thankful to be alive -- thankful for the good health I have -- thankful for a wonderful wife and family -- and thankful for a God who has been with me and will continue to be with me every step on this journey -- through every season -- of life.

When our son Mark was just a few weeks old my wife, Janis, and I invited a few friends over for a private baby dedication service in our home. During that informal get-together, I remembering praying that Mark would come to know Jesus as Savior – and then have a desire to know and do the will of God. Little did I know how dramatically God would answer that prayer.

While in college, Mark began serving as a Youth Ministry Intern at a wonderful church only 20 miles away. This eventually led to his being called to serve as Senior High Pastor at this church. He began dating a beautiful Christian girl named Parker who seemed to be a perfect match for him. They were married and both were involved in a very successful, innovative ministry among senior high students. The ministry grew to the point that around 150 students were attending Bible Study each Sunday – and many of these teenagers did more than just “come to church.” They actively shared their faith at school and brought unsaved youth to meetings at church. Mark and Parker worked perfectly as a team. He was the dreamer, leader, free-spirited innovator, and she provided incredible organization skills for every event. My wife and I were justifiably proud of the strong ministry Mark and Parker had – and they lived close enough that we could get together for a meal whenever they had an opening in their busy schedules.

I had been a full-time Minister of Music since college so it was especially rewarding to see Mark following in my footsteps, so to speak. Janis and I had always felt a special bond with Mark and our other son, Jonathan, and even though we didn’t get to be with him as often as we would have liked, it was still a comfort to know that he was only minutes away.

Mark always has had the knack of dropping “bombshells” very casually. One night when he and Parker were having dinner with us, he said, “Guess what? Parker and I may be going to Africa.” Since they had been on two mission trips there, we assumed this would be another short-term project. However, when we said, “How long will you be gone on this trip?” Mark informed us that they were talking about becoming full-time missionaries. Seeing that the news was not so well-received, he told us that they were just in the beginning stages of the missionary application process, which could take a year or more – and that nothing was definite yet.

As Mark and Parker continued through the process, Janis and I were hoping (and selfishly praying) that God would help them to see that they were already serving as very effective missionaries to the youth culture – and that “if it was God’s will” (as it was our will) that something would come up to block the process.

Along the way we learned that Mark and Parker wanted to serve in a place where the gospel had never been shared. Mark dropped another “bombshell” one night by telling us that they would likely be in a village with little or no electricity or running water – but the good news was that it looked like they wouldn’t have a dirt floor! We had no idea that a dirt floor was even a possibility. We had reassured ourselves that we could stay in touch via the internet – and now that thread of hope was gone.

Our resistance was getting stronger, and the more we learned, the more we realized that life, as we had known it, might never be the same. Every meeting and interview went smoothly, and all too soon the time came for Mark and Parker to go to Richmond for the final step in the appointment process.

After they arrived back in town on Saturday we arranged to meet them for lunch. As soon as they got out of the car, we knew immediately that all had gone well. They were glowing with excitement – but Janis and I didn’t share that excitement. As proud as we were of their willingness to sacrifice a comfortable life and ministry in the US, we almost felt hurt that they didn’t seem to have more regret about having to leave us and the rest of the family. And they were disappointed that we didn’t share their joy. Finally, my wife said, “We’re sorry that we can’t be excited right now – but you are going to have to give us time to get used to the idea.” During the conversation, Janis shared that we had never heard Mark express a desire to be a missionary – and asked him when he felt that call. Mark said, “I really can’t tell you a date or time – but even as a kid, I thought I would one day end up in Africa.” He told us that when he and Parker began to talk about marriage he told her, “You know, one day we may end up in Africa” – and Parker shared that she also felt called to missions service. We looked over the material they had brought us and found ourselves very reluctantly mumbling some words of support, and reminded them again that we needed more time to process everything.

On Sunday, the day after we had heard the news, one of the women in the Sunday School class my wife teaches brought some photographs of GA events from back in the 1980s that someone had given here for the Church Archives. Before putting them in the archives, the woman wanted to try to identify as many of the children in the photos as possible, so she began passing them around the tables. As the pictures were being passed, one of the class members said, “Look – here’s a picture of Mark!” When Janis saw it, she became emotional, because there was Mark, maybe eight or nine years old, bent over and looking very intently at a display the GA girls had made of an African village. The huts in the display were amazingly much like those Mark had shown us the day before of the village of Ayorou. Above the display were two small, hand-lettered posters – one with the Great Commission on it and the other entitled “What Missionaries Do.” We realized that for that photograph to “show up” in my wife’s class on that particular day was no coincidence. It was something only God could have orchestrated – and that photo was a desperately-needed confirmation from God, showing us that this was His will for our son and his wife.

While we still didn’t like to think about being so far away from Mark and Parker, we began to be more supportive and asked our church to pray for us as we struggled to let go. We attended the Appointment Service in Albuquerque, NM and proudly watched our son walk down the aisle, hand-in-hand with his radiant wife. There were more confirmations and assurances during our time there, and soon we were helping Mark and Parker in the process of packing the things for their crate. We had a very moving Service of Blessing for them at the church where I serve, and the entire church was proud that one from our church had been called as an international missionary. There was a lot of interest in exactly where Mark and Parker would be serving, so much so that I downloaded a map of Niger, circled the city of Ayorou, and put it on one of the doors of our Music Suite.

We were so caught up in the flurry of activity that the months passed by all-too-quickly. Soon it was time for Mark and Parker to go to Richmond, VA for a six-week training session. This was the longest time we had ever been separated from them and the reality of separation began to set in. It was during this time that God gave us another sign: a “messenger” who was at our church during the Red Cross Bloodmobile Drive. I was walking up the hall when I noticed one of the workers from the Red Cross looking intently at the map of Niger that I had posted on the door to the Music Suite. When I asked if I could help him, he said that he was interested in knowing why we had that map on the door. I explained that my son and his wife would soon be going to serve as missionaries there. “That’s wonderful!” he said. I learned that he was a native of Ghana and had been in North America about twelve years. He told me (and later, my wife) that he accepted Christ when he was ten years old – and that through the work of one missionary couple, most of the people in his village had become Christians and the gospel had spread throughout the nation and beyond. He said that the area to which Mark and Parker were going needed to hear the gospel. His words were almost prophetic: “God will do a great work through your son and his wife and will bless them. The people in that village will love them, respect them, and protect them.” We found out that this man’s grandfather was a Songhai – the people-group that populated the village of Ayorou. This “messenger” addressed every concern we had and kept reassuring us that God would take care of them. Sensing my reluctance, he said, “Sir, you must let them go and give them your blessing. You must let go with your heart.”

The probability of having a believer from Ghana with Songhai “roots” in the hallway of our small-town church at the precise moment when I would see him looking at the map was mind-boggling – and, again, something only God could have orchestrated. As we reflected on this divine appointment, we understood that God once again was providing confirmation and assurance for us.

Eventually the time came when we had to say “goodbye” at the airport. Watching Mark and Parker walk through the security check-point was the most difficult thing Janis and I have ever had to do, and the finality of it all seemed like more than we could bear. We were emotionally spent the rest of that day. However, the next morning both Janis and I experienced an unexpected peace and a very real sense of God’s presence that has been with us every day since they left.

We’ve learned a lot over the past couple of years – about a faithful God who gives assurance when we need it most; about understanding the importance of our role as “partners” with our children as they share the gospel; and about a peace that only God can give. We’ve learned to expand our myopic world view to see nations and peoples in desperate need of the gospel. And by responding to that need, we’ve learned that sometimes God calls us to “give of our sons to bear the message glorious.”

Recently I’ve been thinking quite a bit about Moses, who is one of my favorite Bible characters. Although he could have chosen to live a charmed life in a palace and would have lived like a prince (literally!), he could not betray the feeling he had deep inside his soul that this was not his true identity. After seeing one of his fellow Israelites being abused, he could take it no more and the anger that had been bottled up inside him exploded, and, as you know, he killed the cruel Egyptian taskmaster. Fearing for his life, he frantically ran or rode for days deep into the Midian desert, and found himself trying to survive in this hot, rugged, desolate wilderness. I imagine that Moses must have thought that his life was over at this point, and often wished he could go back in time and undo the impulsive act that had taken him from the palace to the desert. Acts 7:22 gives us some interesting insights into the life of Moses when he was the powerful son of a princess: “Moses was taught all the wisdom of the Egyptians, and he became mighty in both speech and action” (New Living Translation). However, the forty years Moses spent in the desert must have left him physically, emotionally, and spiritually bankrupt. By the time he encountered God in the burning bush, Moses went through a list of reasons why God should choose someone else: he was “clumsy with words,” was not a good leader, and was insecure – quite a change for one who was “mighty in both speech and action.”

If we go back a few verses in Exodus 4, there is a significant conversation between God and Moses: “What do you have there in your hand?” God asked. “A shepherd’s staff,” Moses replied. Then God said, “Throw it down.”

I don't claim to be a biblical scholar, but I think the shepherd’s staff was more than just a stick to Moses. After leaving the luxury of the palace, this staff had become his new identity as a shepherd, and represented his life and his security. Though the biblical account doesn’t tell us how long Moses held on to the staff before finally throwing it down, my guess is that he clutched it close to his heart for one last time before choosing to obey God's command. Moses didn’t know what would happen to the staff. He might have wondered if it, like the bush, would be consumed by fire. However, we know that once he threw it down, God transformed it. When Moses picked it back up it was still, in many ways, the same staff, but now it had been transformed and represented a completely new identity and a new life for an 80-year old who was content to live out the rest of his days in the wilderness as a simple shepherd.

God comes to us and asks: “What do you have there in your hand(s)?” We show Him our degrees, our recognitions, our identities as musicians, pastors, teachers, painters, plumbers, and lawyers. We pull out and clutch our drawer-full of Sunday school attendance pins, certificates, our well-worn Bible commentaries or keyboard technique books – everything about us that makes us distinctly us. And then we hear the same words that God spoke to Moses: “Throw it down.”

Some clasp their identities even more tightly and choose to run back into the desert. But those are willing to "throw down" the things that best define them will find that when they reach down and pick back them back up, their “staffs” been completely transformed by God into something far more significant and meaningful than they could have ever imagined. But transformation cannot take place until we have made a complete and total surrender of our lives, our wills, and our identities to God.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about that first Christmas. I love the Christmas story and I love nativity sets. We have nine nativity sets in our home – in all different sizes and styles – and we enjoy them all. However, I don’t believe that any of them – or any I’ve seen – really capture the reality or the “humanness” of the Christmas story. Most sets have Mary clothed in a white robe with a long blue headdress, Joseph and the shepherds looking all nice and clean, and the manger looking all neat and cozy.

We’ve seen nativity scenes like this so much that these are the images we see whenever we think about that first Christmas. I believe we need to revisit the Christmas event and try to forget about those perfect, porcelain, carved or stained-glass figures.

Mary and Joseph had traveled about ninety miles from Nazareth to Bethlehem. The Bible doesn’t tell us how they traveled, though many paintings show Mary riding a donkey which Joseph is leading. Whether they both walked or rode horses or donkeys – it was a long, difficult trip that took many days. I don’t imagine there were very many opportunities to take a bath every day or put on a change of clothes. My guess is that they may have had some cots rolled up that they carried along the way – and around sunset they would find a place to build a fire, spread out their cots, and sleep under the stars. No wonder some people think that Mary was a saint!! Any woman in the last stages of her pregnancy that had to walk or ride a donkey ninety miles and then sleep on the ground is definitely quite a woman! Anyway, by the time they got to Bethlehem, they were probably very dusty, dirty, weary, and completely exhausted.

The Bible doesn’t mention an innkeeper, but it does say that there was no place for Mary and Joseph to stay except for a stable. In all probability, this was a working stable. Have you been in barn lately? If so, you know that barns are not the cleanest or nicest-smelling places in the world. Mary and Joseph probably had to look around the stable for a while before they could find a spot that was clean and unoccupied, and finally were able to spread out their cots for the night. Then it happened: Mary went into labor. This barn would certainly not pass inspection by the Board of Health, and I’m not sure where Joseph got hot water or if he even knew what to do – but it was there, in a dirty, smelly, unsanitary place that Mary gave birth to Jesus, the Savior of the world! She wrapped him in “swaddling clothes.” Sounds like it might be a cute outfit from a baby store, right? Wrong!! Swaddling clothes were rags that had been torn into strips that were wrapped around the baby to help keep Him warm. And then they laid Him in the manger. Have you seen a trough where animals eat? If you haven’t, just let me tell you that most animals would not meet Miss Manners’ rules for proper eating! There was probably slop on the sides of the trough as well as dried remnants of other feedings crusted on the sides. I’m sure Joseph searched for the cleanest hay he could find to fashion a make-shift bed for baby Jesus and then had to push away the inquisitive animals who thought it was feeding time!

And then there were the shepherds. The Bible says that they “lived in the fields.” We don’t know too much about their work schedules, but it’s very possible that this was a 24/7 job. Being a shepherd was not glamorous or easy. In fact, shepherds were generally treated as “scum” by “polite” society. Maybe it was because they didn’t have time to wash their clothes or bathe as often as they should. I really don’t think personal hygiene was all that important to them. Considering all of this, it’s even more incredible that God sent the angels to the shepherds to announce the greatest news in all of history: Jesus, the Promised Messiah, had been born! After the angel “visitation,” the wide-eyed, weak-kneed shepherds ran to the village to find the Baby the angel had told them about. Who knows if they considered the consequences of leaving the sheep unattended – sheep that they were supposed to be guarding? These traumatized sheep probably scattered in a dozen directions and ran for cover when the night sky was split open by the heavenly choir! But I don’t think the shepherds thought about anything other than finding that Baby in a manger. Once they had found the Child, the Bible said that they told everyone about what had happened, and that those who heard their amazing story were “astonished.” However, I find it interesting that nothing is said about the townspeople rushing from their homes and inns to see this newborn King. Although some may have made their way to the stable just out of curiosity, my guess is that many of the folks in the village were too preoccupied with their own lives to take time to check out the shepherds’ story. Others may have just considered the source, finding it hard to believe that people like the shepherds would have “inside” information about something so important.

Does the reality of the Christmas story take away its wonder and mystery? I don’t think so. In fact, I think it makes it even more wonderful -- and amazing! The same One who was there with God and spoke the worlds into being now has now been compacted into the form of a tiny baby and come through time and space to a small, insignificant planet. For centuries, God had been shouting his love to the world in thousands of ways – but the people still didn't understand, so as Gloria Gaither beautifully writes, “God sent His Son to the world as a baby – so we would have to touch Him, and have to hold Him close.” As the apostle John proclaimed, “the Word became flesh [human] and lived among us, and we beheld His glory. The glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth.” And this Word of the Father, this tiny Babe in the manger became our Savior on the cross.

I’ll stop “pondering” now and close with a beautiful Christmas poem that is from my “quotes” section.

Praise God for Christmas
Praise God for the Incarnation,
for the Word made Flesh.
I will not sing of shepherds watching flocks on frosty night
or angel choristers.
I will not sing of stable bare in Bethlehem,
or lowing oxen,
wise men trailing distant star with gold, frankincense and myrrh.
Tonight I will sing praise to the Father
Who stood on heaven’s threshold
And said “farewell” to His Son
as He stepped across the stars to Bethlehem and Jerusalem.
And I will sing praise to the infinite eternal Son who became most finite – a Baby;
A Baby who would one day be executed for my crimes.
Praise Him in the heavens,
Praise Him in the stable,
Praise Him in my heart.

I hope you understand that the title of this "Pondering" is very much tongue-in-cheek!" I believe that true humility is a goal, not a destination, and that we are always on the journey. I remember as a child hearing people use the phrase "Lord, keep us ever humble" in their prayers at church. My mother, who was a truly humble person said one day that perhaps a better prayer would be "Lord make us humble" - that saying "keep us humble" suggests that we think we have already arrived.

When my first piece of music was published in October, 1974, I was proud to finally have my name "in print." I was sure that when I walked into a room that people would "Ooo" and "Ahh." Well, maybe that's carrying it a bit too far, but I did expect to be recognized, particularly a couple of years later, when a few more arrangements had been published. God used several events those early years to try to help "put me in my place." One was a conversation at Ridgecrest with someone from the Sunday School Board who was one of the editors of The Church Musician magazine. This was pre-Pedalpoint, and all of the organ, piano, and instrumental music was in this one magazine. I introduced myself -- and after not seeing a spark of recognition or hearing any accolades, I said, "You know, I've... done some of the music in your magazine." It was probably a poor choice of words. Nonetheless, this person's response was "That's great. I'm glad you enjoyed it." Rather than say any more, I simply walked away a bit red-faced.

Another time I was singing a song at a revival that I had written (and I'm not a soloist.) Before I sang, I said in my most spiritual, somewhat theatrical voice: "I wrote this song," and then went into great detail about how the song "came" to me, and how meaningful it was to me. I think my wordy introduction took longer than the song! Anyway, I made it through one verse and chorus with no problem -- but when it was time for the second verse, I went completely blank! Janis was at the piano with the only copy of the music I had (this was also pre-Xerox days), so I stopped and walked over to the piano and she had to hand the music of my own song to me, this song that I had said "meant so much to me!" When I sat down after that song, I didn't feel nearly as "tall" as I had earlier. Another time when I was singing this solo during a revival at another church, a big spider started crawling up the microphone and after it stood on three of its legs and waved at me, spun a web and dropped onto the pulpit. I lifted my music and put it back down "firmly," but before the song was over, the spider crawled back out. The congregation couldn't see what was going on, but the choir could -- and they were in stitches. Before Dr. Clyde Francisco preached, he said he wanted to take care of "an item of business," killed the spider, then explained what had been going on. I don't know whether God sent that spider or not -- but since He sent a whale for Jonah, I don't think a spider would be any problem. And, by the way, I haven't sung the song since!

God also used the "Amazing Grace" incident to help shape my understanding of the keyboardist as a minister rather than a performer. {If you don't know that story, it is included in the "Quotes" section of this website. Go to "Inspiration," then select "Quotes"). There have been many other things that have happened other times and places on the journey: One time before a major church music event, a big zit came up right on the end of my nose the day of the conference! The first time I was asked to participate in an "autograph party" at Ridgecrest, I was in the process of having my two front teeth capped. In preparation for the caps, the dentist had whittled my teeth down to nubs, and put temporary caps on them. He told me to be careful, because the caps could come off when I was eating. I could just imagine sitting in the Dining Hall at Ridgecrest -- or even worse, behind the desk at the "party" -- and have one or both of my front teeth come off when I bit into a cookie. So I lived the whole week in fear of what might happen. In addition to these incidents, there are many, many other stories I could share -- but I've already go on far too long.

As the years passed, I began to understand that the musical world does not revolve around me, and there are scores of others who are better writers and better musicians than me. I don't have the boyish good looks of Bruce Greer (this is a major understatement!!). I don't have the harmonic and chordal genius of Max Lyall or prolific output of great music like Mark Hayes . I don't have to look far to find those far more gifted and talented than me. And as a pianist, I am not even in the same league with Joseph Martin. After I heard him play the piano for the first time at Ridgecrest I thought, "Why should I ever play the piano again?!" and "Why should I even try to write another arrangement?" His playing -- and his arrangements were brilliant! I guess the lesson I am learning is that God doesn't want or expect me to be Bruce Greer or Joseph Martin or Max Lyall -- or even Dino. (Though "Dono" might be catchy!!) Instead, I think He wants me to be the very best Don I can be, and realize that all of us are part of the same team -- and each of us has gifts to share with the body of Christ that are uniquely us.

I have been reading Michael Card's book, Scribbling in the Sand recently, and particularly like what he says about humility. He suggests that we have lost sight of true humility in our time, and have substituted a "false humility" in its place. He uses an example of a his giving a concert to show the contrast between pride and humility. In one, he is wondering what people are thinking about him, and he is trying to impress them, which he says generally equals "messing up." In the other, his attitude is quite different.

Anytime we begin to feel important, we should remember the example of Jesus. Michael Card writes: The disciples, like a lot of artists and musicians argue, "Who is greatest?" And Jesus rises and demonstrates what true greatness is. In the upside-down kingdom, true greatness is found in the servant's kneeling with the basin and the towel. Genuine, biblical humility is nothing more or less than knowing that truth of who we are in Christ. Only a relationship to Him can give us the genuine article. Jesus reveals to us two crucial truths about ourselves, and in the tension between these truths lies real humility. On the one hand, He convicts us of our sin and fallenness, telling us that our righteousness is really only filthy rags. And then in the next breath, smothering us with a big hug like the father of the prodigal son, He tells us how much we are valued, that in spite of our rebelliousness He loves us so much that He would rather die than live without us. That, then, is who I am. And that is who you are as well if you know Him. We are men and women, boys and girls who are truly hopeless yet full of hope, truly lost but nonetheless truly found. We are shored up on either side so there is no room for false humility on one side or pride on the other."

Michael Card proposes that becoming a servant is the highest goal we can aspire to in our creative work, and I agree. When we realize that God is the source of whatever gifts we have and try to use these gifts to "wash the feet" of others, we are making progress on the journey of becoming His servants. And in the process, we are discovering that true humility is simply picking up a basin and a towel -- and getting ready for Sunday.

Several years ago, the music in our Evening Worship featured hymns written by B.B. McKinney, and I shared a few facts about his life and the stories behind some of his best-known hymns. After the service several people came to me and shared memories that were associated with one or more of the songs we had sung. It reminded me once again that the hymns and gospel songs we sing are more than words and notes on a page. They connect us with special times, places, and people - and open up the “history books” of our lives.

I’ll never forget singing “Wherever He Leads I’ll Go” (a B.B. McKinney hymn) when I served on the staff at Cedarmore, our KY Baptist Conference Center. On the weekends we would gather at dusk for informal worship in the outdoor “bandshell” area, and as we walked back to our dorms, many times we would sing hymns and choruses in beautiful harmony. As a high school student I was searching for God’s will for my life – and that song, sung to God under the big, starry sky, helped express words to God that my heart wanted to say. I also remember the first time I heard “Lord, Here Am I” during Music Week at Ridgecrest, North Carolina, one of our Southern Baptist national conference centers. The text to this hymn, written by Fanny Crosby in the 1800s, was perfectly wedded to a recent tune by John Ness Beck and expressed some very profound, powerful words of commitment that I needed to say to God at that time in my life.

I’m sure many of you could tell how a particular hymn or chorus helped you encounter God, deal with a crisis in your life, or about a special memory that you have whenever you hear a particular hymn or gospel song. We must never underestimate the power of a song -- especially when coupled with the ministry of the Holy Spirit. Because music is such an incredible "tool," I think we need to make room in our worship for every kind of musical expression – including contemporary music that is helping today’s generation find a voice for their faith. Sure, some of “today’s” music is rhythmic and sounds like “rock,” but B.B. McKinney's music sounded "contemporary" in his day, and he used harmonies that were popular in the 30s and 40s. For that reason, some church musicians were slow to embrace his songs. And many of the hymns we cherish most were considered to be “scandalous” when they were first introduced. Even the wonderful music of J.S. Bach was considered by many to be "newfangled, and the work of the devil." He never lived to see his music fully accepted, and would probably find it both amusing and amazing that now we call him "The Father of Church Music."

Regardless of the style, every time we sing a hymn, gospel song, or a contemporary chorus, we need to remember that for many people, these songs are their connection to their personal pilgrimage of faith. I love the verse in the Psalms that says “Let one generation express its praise to another…” In my opinion, the scope of the music we use in our churches should always be broad enough to allow people of all ages the opportunities to find expression for their praise – and, in doing so, we can learn from each other and join hands across generations to worship a God who transcends any musical style.

The year was 2000, and Janis and I were taking a tour of the Holy Land, generously given to us by our church in recognition of our 26th anniversary at First Baptist. (I was on a medical leave the year before). I had seen so many photos, slide shows and videos from the Holy Land that I felt like I had been there. I also had some preconceived ideas that every holy site would be commercialized and turned into a shrine, to the point that the simplicity and holiness of these places would be gold-plated.

I was wrong – very wrong. Much like the Grand Canyon, you can’t really understand the Holy Land until you experience actually being there. Our days began early and ended late. There were some places that, in my opinion, were overdone with ornamentation, and there were many “tourist traps” that our guide would make us walk by. (He knew the places that were best and had authentic merchandise.) However, there were many sites that had been protected and were as authentic as possible. I don’t consider Janis or myself as “mystics,” yet there were places where both of us felt an unusual sense of God’s presence. At the Mount of the Beatitudes it was easy to imagine Jesus and the multitudes gathered on that hillside. The weather was perfect the day we were there, and down the gently-sloping hillside was the Sea of Galilee, with the rays of the sun dancing on the waters. I wish we could have sat on that hillside for several hours, soaking up the peace and presence of God there, but we had to move on. Later we took a boat ride on the beautiful Sea of Galilee. About halfway through the ride, the motors of the boat were turned off and our tour leader read the account of Jesus stilling the storm and quieting the fearful hearts of the disciples. Other very special places were the Garden of Gethsemane, the Church of St. Anne, the Mount of Olives, and the Jordan River. And then there was the Garden Tomb.

The Garden Tomb was discovered in the mid-to-late 1800s during excavations along the base of the cliff below what some people think was Golgotha, or “the place of the skull.” Once we entered the garden gates, time and the outside world stopped. The land surrounding the tomb was purchased by British Christians in 1892, who were committed to keeping the area free from commercialization. There were several winding pathways going back to the tomb, and the whole area was alive with beautiful flowers, trees, and fountains. Once we got to the tomb we waited in line for the opportunity to go in and see the place where many people think Jesus was laid. Going into the damp, dark tomb made the light and beauty outside seem even more brilliant. Our group assembled to have communion at one of several “gathering places” not far from the tomb. At the conclusion of the service the tour leader asked if I would lead our group in singing a few songs. We sang some hymns appropriate for communion, and then I said, “We can’t be in this place and not sing about the resurrection,” and suggested that we stand and sing “He Lives.” Although I know that this song is not one of our grandest or best hymns, it somehow seemed right. I stepped back to open up a little more space for our group to stand. And as we were singing I looked over to my left and had a perfect, unobstructed view of the tomb. I led the group in holding the final, victorious chord of “He lives…” as long as possible. I looked over at the sunlight shining on the empty tomb and had goose-bumps all over my body! The truth of the resurrection had never been clearer, and that moment will forever be etched in my mind -- and for me, Easter will never be the same.

In 1926, G.T. Chesterton wrote "It is not enough that the musician should get his music out of him. It is also his business to get his music into somebody else." Beginning in his teenage years and continuing until the end of his life, Bill Roper's music flowed from his heart and found lodging in the lives of thousands of people who were touched and blessed by his ministry.

I don't remember too much about Bill and Patty's courtship. But I do remember how polite, kind and somewhat reserved Bill was early on -- and how my father delighted in pulling pranks or saying things to try to "loosen" Bill up a bit. The first few times he came to our house, Bill was visibly nervous, but it wasn't long until Bill felt right at home and enjoyed the craziness and fun of being a part of our family. However, he never lost some of the character traits that made him so special -- and I'm so glad he didn't! He remained gracious, polite, humble, encouraging, thoughtful, respectful, affirming, and dedicated to excellence throughout his life.

I worked as the "stock boy" at Cedarmore (one of our KY Baptist assemblies) several summers during my high school years, and saved my big salary ($15.00 a week!) to purchase a used piano. Since I had not had any piano lessons at this point, I taught myself to play, putting together the treble clef I had learned playing the accordion and the bass clef that I had learned playing the tuba! I soon began arranging show tunes, hymns, and gospel songs "by ear." One time when Bill heard me play, I remember so well him saying: "I can't wait till Don gets to college and understands what he's doing." At the time I didn't exactly know what he was trying to say -- but once I began studying theory, I understood perfectly. I could put "names" on some of the chords I had been playing and began to see the theoretical basis for the things I had been doing by ear.

Bill was the first full-time Minister of Music I knew -- and I wondered what in the world he could do at church every day! When Janis and I moved to Louisville I began writing and arranging music -- and took every song I wrote over to Lyndon Baptist Church for Bill to see and hear. I don't think I really wanted his "honest" opinion. I think I wanted him to tell me how wonderful my songs were! I'm sure that there were many times it was an imposition for Bill to stop what he was doing and talk with me and listen to my newest song -- but if so, he never told me. He patiently listened to what I would play and sometimes gently made a suggestion or two -- but he was always very "affirming" of both me and my music.

I admired Bill for many reasons: he was "published," had a very successful music ministry, and soon became well-known in church music circles. I enjoyed "dropping Bill's name" in conversations, because I was very proud to let people know that he was my brother-in-law -- and possibly also thinking that might give me more credibility! When I began having music published, Bill and Patty were some of the first to know and every time something new was released, Bill would let me know how very proud he was of me. From that moment on, every time I would see Bill he would tell me that he took great pride and joy in informing mutual friends that he was my brother-in-law. I, in turn, would tell him I felt the same about him.

One of Bill's trademarks was excellence in all he did. He felt like the music that we offered to God needed to be the very best we could do. Because of that, I think one of the things that bothered him most was when he heard a choir or soloist sing that had not prepared adequately. He was one of the first ministers of music to have the Living Christmas Tree and set a standard of excellence that continued throughout the twenty-two years he directed it. I just learned this week that many other churches patterned their Living Christmas Tree by what they had seen or heard about in Montgomery. The “Tree” quickly became a Montgomery tradition and scores of people came to know Christ through that worship experience. Because he saw the Tree as an opportunity to honor the Christ of Christmas, Bill chose to never use any secular music. He once told me that people can go to lots of places to hear "Jingle Bells" and other secular tunes -- but that church was the only place they could go to hear the true Christmas story, and he wanted to be faithful in sharing it well.

Every anthem Bill directed, every solo he sang and every service he planned was imprinted with his stamp of excellence. He was a great conductor, soloist, clinician, curriculum writer, and composer -- and recently served as President of the Southern Baptist Church Music Conference. Most of all, he was a dedicated husband, father, grandfather, servant, friend, and mentor who loved God and loved making music to honor and praise Him.

Another word that was a trademark of Bill's life was encourager. I've shared how he encouraged me, but learned last week that he encouraged many people. One former youth choir member wrote him recently and said that when she was a teenager he was the only person who truly believed in her. The word "encourager" was used many, many times by both family and friends as people shared their stories about Bill's special ministry to them.

Bill was so excited about the new sanctuary and choral suite that is to be completed in April and wanted so much to lead the music in that new facility during the first worship service. Sadly, that was a dream that never became a reality for him. But even though he won't be there physically, his spirit will always be an integral part of First Baptist, Montgomery. Worship will be more meaningful in the new facility because of the acoustical decisions Bill made early in the process and his attention to detail will be evident in the sanctuary and choral suite. His pursuit of choral excellence will live on in the choirs he trained. Before the carpet or flooring was laid, church members wrote a prayer or a thought on the concrete floor in the new sanctuary. Bill's inscription was in the floor of the new pulpit area, and it was the chorus from one of his favorite hymns: "Stayed upon Jehovah, Hearts are fully blessed. Finding, as He promised, perfect peace and rest." Bill is now experiencing that peace and rest that he could not find during the last few weeks of his illness.

I received a beautiful poem from a missionary couple that I had never met. They had learned from a friend of Bill's illness and lifetime service to God , and I thought it was so kind of them to write. They are with the Crossroads Bible Church in Bellevue, WA, and serve as missionaries in Moscow. The poem is about the times when we have to go through the process of "letting go," and I think it's wonderful.

Tiptoe
My spirit is standing on tiptoe now,
Longing to be free;
The flesh grows weak, but the straining soul
Is strong with expectancy.

The winds stand harnessed, with beating wings,
Ready to bear me far,
And my eager eyes trace the shining path
I shall travel from star to star.

And high on the heavenly parapets
Is One whom I love and know,
And His voice rings down through a million miles,
"Loose him, and let him go!"
- Martha Snell Nicholson

After seeing Bill experience so much pain, Patty understood that as hard as it was, she needed to "let go." Jay Wolf, pastor of First Baptist, Montgomery wrote these words in this week's newsletter: "Oliver Wendell Holmes once said, "Most people die with the music still in them." Throughout Bill's life he was faithful to his Lord, his family, the body of Christ, and ministry endeavors. We have been mightily blessed by the Lord with the gift of Bill's life. He taught us much about worship, ministry, and family. He instructed us on how to live faithfully and die graciously."

Mother Teresa once said that "We are all pencils in the hand of a writing God, who is sending love letters to the world." Bill was a wonderful "pencil," and over the sixty-six years of his life he faithfully sent beautiful love letters from God all over Kentucky, Alabama, across our nation, and to many parts of the world.

I'll miss Bill's warm smile, his humor, his honesty, his friendship, and his words of encouragement. I am grateful that God allowed our paths to cross many, many years ago. And though Bill is gone, part of him will continue to live on in me, in my family, and in all those who knew him, loved him, and worked with him.

So Bill, if you can receive emails in heaven, I want you to know that I have never been so incredibly proud to be your brother-in-law as I was last week at the Celebration Service of your life. Thank you for believing in me, encouraging me, and accepting me for who I was.

In Jay's words, "I'll see you there." - Don

Several people have requested that I include "The Greatest of These" on my website. I wrote this as a devotional for a National Keyboard Symposium in Nashville back in the mid 80s. It later was published in Pedalpoint. Since then, I have received numerous requests to use it at various keyboard conferences, and it is always one of my "handout" at conferences and seminars I lead. Several pianists and organists have even told me that they have the "original" from Pedalpoint framed and keep it on their piano as a reminder about where their priority should be. I'm very humbled and grateful that this has been so well received. Although this was written for keyboard ministers, I think it is also applicable for any church musician. If you would like a printed copy of this, please let me know and I'll be happy to send it to you at no charge.

Children can be great teachers! Many times it is their simple, child-like faith that speaks to us when we are trying to make our relationship with God complex. And sometimes they may speak to us when they or we least expect.

My family and I were returning home from an exhausting trip to Nashville many Christmases ago. We had tried, but failed, to finish up some last-minute Christmas shopping, As usual for this time of year we had lots of people, programs, and preparations rightfully demanding – and needing – our attention.

It was in the midst of this ordinary return home that God spoke. He didn’t speak in a voice or song on a tape or on the radio. Rather, He spoke through a child. Mark, our youngest son, who was about four years old at the time, was in the back seat singing some Christmas carols to himself. However, his songs were loud enough for us all to hear and we were enjoying the luxury of having a few moments of time together as a family, with Mark’s “serenade” in the background. Then it happened. Mark was singing “Joy