The second advantage to playing the guitar...

Not only will the ladies love you, but you'll UNDERSTAND THEM AS WELL!


Let me explain…no…is too much…let me sum up.

I once read this book called "For Men Only". It had a chapter about men needing to listen more. It made the point that women need guys to listen first, fix problems later…or perhaps the problem is not the facts or the situation, but that the lady needs her feelings on the matter heard. They don't always need our "brilliant" advice, they just want us to know we've LISTENED to them, and care about them.

Now, if that much isn't true, Ladies, go ahead and skip the rest and just comment "You're a moron, James Legg" and we'll go on with our lives.

However, if that much is even REMOTELY true, then we might be on to something here gentleman. As I sat and pondered this point, I tried to think of some avenue of a gentleman's life that would in SOME way parallel. I think I may have found one.

If any of you play guitar, you've been in this scenario. You and your friends are jamming around, playing riffs, favorite songs, etc. You then decide to share with the guys a new chord progression you came up with late last night at 2:00 am. "Hey guys, listen to this…" you say as you begin playing the slow but elegant ballad. All goes well for the first thirty seconds or so, until one of the other punks with a guitar starts playing little melodies over it. Now, depending on who you are, you may or may not say anything but every guitarist FEELS the EXACT same way. "PUNK! Can you not just listen for just two minutes!?"

It doesn't really matter if what they were playing fits the music or not. In it could even be a relatively good melody for the chord progression, but unless it's the music of heaven it just ticks us off a wee bit. It means that they can't keep their own guitar from going off for an incredibly minute amount of time, and just listen. It means while they may have HEARD our chord progression, they weren't LISTENING. We don't want them to add on, we don't want them to make it better, we don't want them to give us advice on what the chorus should be, we just want them to listen for a minute.

I don't think it's that much different with women. When they come to us with something that's troubling them, they don't want us to fix the circumstances. They want to know that we not only HEAR them, but we're attentively LISTENING to them.


Practical ways to do this:

Don't offer advice, LISTEN to them first.

Physically let them know you're listening, don't play a video game, instrument, watch the TV, read the newspaper, or blog while they're speaking. Make Eye contact.

Affirm their emotion. While you may not always understand or agree with everything they say, chances are, the emotion has a legitimate root, and can be affirmed without you lying to them.

Gentlemen, what do you think? Or more importantly…Ladies, what do YOU think?

-James

The scent of a repentant heart

A poem by James Legg:

You anointed my two feet
Just before my life fell apart
It’s fragrance a reminder:
The scent of a repentant heart

Betrayed by a close friend
Abandoned by all the others
Left to face my fate alone
All have fled even my brothers

Yet as I walked down the road
Head bent, ready to do your part
Up came a sweet reminder
The scent of a repentant heart

Condemned, beaten, and disgraced
A man of sorrows, some have said
Crucified, Mocked, rejected
The cross drenched from the blood I’ve shed

The cold reaches for my soul
As time comes for me to depart
The last breath breathed, took in
The scent of a repentant heart

(John 12:3, Matthew 26:6-13)

-James

Shall beauty transcend?

Below is an abbreviated version of a Washington post newspaper story. I picked out the parts that seemed most powerful to me. None of the facts are altered. If you want to read the full story, follow this link:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/04/04/AR2007040401721.html

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It is 7:51 a.m. on Friday, January 12, the middle of the morning rush hour. The location is El’Efant Plaza. A mall that is connected to a subway, located in downtown Washington D.C. A violinist enters the building. He picks a wall to stand by, pulls out his violin, throws a few dollars into his case, pivots the case around to his audience, and begins playing. 1,097 people will pass by in the next 43 minuets.

No one knows this, but the fiddler standing against a bare wall outside the Metro in an indoor arcade at the top of the escalators is one of the finest classical musicians in the world. His performance was arranged by The Washington Post as an experiment in context, perception and priorities -- as well as an unblinking assessment of public taste: In a banal setting at an inconvenient time, would beauty transcend?

The fiddler’s name is Joshua Bell. To some of you this name may mean nothing, to others your eyes might gleam with a twinge of excitement and awe. For those of you who don’t know let me give you a brief summary…

Bell had his first music lessons when he was 4 years old. His parents discovered him stringing rubber bands across his dresser drawers, and picking out classical pieces by moving the drawers in and out to vary the pitch. His parents thought formal training might be a good idea. He is considered a child prodigy.

Now, at age39 Joshua Bell has arrived as an internationally acclaimed virtuoso. Bell has filled the house at Boston's stately Symphony Hall, where merely pretty good seats went for $100. At the Music Center at Strathmore, in North Bethesda, he played to a standing-room-only audience so respectful of his artistry that they stifled their coughs until the silence between movements. When he performs, he walks out to a standing O. Interview magazine once said his playing "does nothing less than tell human beings why they bother to live." He is undisputedly the greatest violinists alive today, and in the top ten of all time.

The violin he plays has a history of its own, and is considered to be one of the finest violins ever crafted. It’s price tag is about $3.5 million.

The piece the he opens with is Bach's "Chaconne". It is considered one of the most difficult violin pieces to master. Many try; few succeed. 19th-century composer Johannes Brahms, in a letter to Clara Schumann said this about the piece: "On one stave, for a small instrument, the man writes a whole world of the deepest thoughts and most powerful feelings. If I imagined that I could have created, even conceived the piece, I am quite certain that the excess of excitement and earth-shattering experience would have driven me out of my mind." This piece and others that Bell later played are masterpieces that have endured for centuries on their brilliance alone, soaring music befitting the grandeur of cathedrals and concert halls.

Now that you have been properly introduced, let me remind you of the setting; a bare wall outside the Metro in an indoor arcade at the top of the escalators.

And so the master begins playing, throwing his pearls away, whether it is to swine or appreciative listeners is yet to be decided. Three minutes role by, sixty-three people have passed the musician before someone takes notice. A man gives Joshua Bell a glance, acknowledges his existence, and continues to walk. It may not have been much, but it was more than any of the other sixty-three people gave.

A half-minute later, Bell got his first donation. A woman threw in a buck and scooted off. It was not until six minutes into the performance that someone actually stood against a wall, and listened. In the three-quarters of an hour that Joshua Bell played, seven people stopped what they were doing to hang around and take in the performance, at least for a minute. Twenty-seven gave money, most of them on the run -- for a total of $32 and change. That leaves the 1,070 people who hurried by, oblivious, many only three feet away, few even turning to look.

Even at his accelerated pace, even at the height of emotion, with the most beautiful and joyous melodies ever to be laid upon human ears, the most fluid and graceful movements of the fiddler; only seven stopped to take notice. So apart from his audience -- unseen, unheard, otherworldly…you find yourself thinking that he's not really there. A ghost. Only then do you see it: He is the one who is real. They are the ghosts.

There was no ethnic or demographic pattern to distinguish the people who stayed to watch Bell. The behavior of one demographic remained absolutely consistent, however. Every single time a child walked past, he or she tried to stop and watch. And every single time, a parent scooted the kid away.

The poet Billy Collins once laughingly observed that all babies are born with a knowledge of poetry, because the lub-dub of the mother's heart is in iambic meter. Then, Collins said, life slowly starts to choke the poetry out of us. It may be true with music, too.

Calvin Myint. Happened to be one of the people who passed by the musician that day. He got to the top of the escalator, turned right and headed out a door to the street. When interview by a reporter a few hours later, he had no memory that there had been a musician anywhere in sight.

"Where was he, in relation to me?"
"About four feet away."
"Oh."

There's nothing wrong with Myint's hearing. He had buds in his ear. He was listening to his iPod.

For many of us, the explosion in technology has perversely limited, not expanded, our exposure to new experiences. Increasingly, we get our news from sources that think as we already do. And with iPods, we hear what we already know; we program our own playlists.

The song that Calvin Myint was listening to was "Just Like Heaven," by the British rock band The Cure. It's a terrific song, actually. The meaning is a little opaque, and the Web is filled with earnest efforts to deconstruct it. Many are far-fetched, but some are right on point: It's about a tragic emotional disconnect. A man has found the woman of his dreams but can't express the depth of his feeling for her until she's gone. It's about failing to see the beauty of what's plainly in front of your eyes.

Edna Souza is from Brazil. She's been shining shoes at L'Enfant Plaza for six years. Souza nods sourly toward a spot near the top of the escalator: "Couple of years ago, a homeless guy died right there. He just lay down there and died. The police came, an ambulance came, and no one even stopped to see or slowed down to look. People walk up the escalator, they look straight ahead. Mind your own business, eyes forward. Everyone is stressed. Do you know what I mean?"

British author John Lane comments: "This is about having the wrong priorities. If we can't take the time out of our lives to stay a moment and listen to one of the best musicians on Earth play some of the best music ever written; if the surge of modern life so overpowers us that we are deaf and blind to something like that -- then what else are we missing?”

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Then what else are we missing? My pastor posed this question today.

“If the Kingdom of God was all around us, how would we recognize it? Or would we even recognize it at all?”

Do we ache in vain?

As a boy I grew up going to church every Sunday. This usually consisted of two different segments: Sunday school, and big church (as we called it). It was in such a Sunday school class that I became very familiar with the story of Adam and Eve and the fall of man. You know, the snake comes, tempts Eve, she miss quotes God, Adam does nothing, Adam and Eve eat the fruit (if you had pictures you know it’s an apple), realize they’re stark naked, hide from God, and are banished from the garden. This takes place in Genesis 3. I knew the story inside out.

Let me submit to you that no human, save one, has ever fully comprehended the depth, the change, the corruption, and the sorrow of Genesis 3. There have been times in my life where it has been confirmed in my heart that this is indeed the case. Not because I have reached the great heights of Eden’s joy and splendor, but because I have taken part in the great ache in the depths of pain that has existed since Genesis 3. It is from this low point that I have looked up and can see we have fallen too far to comprehend the distance. It seems that every human, no matter how distant of close to civilization, no matter the nationality, no matter the upbringing, no matter the religion, will all find within him/herself a problem that needs to be fixed. It is from this ache that we must logically conclude that there once was, if even only for a moment, a time where things were right, for how can we learn to ache for something that has never existed?

“Each evening, from December to December,
Before you drift to sleep upon your cot,
Think back on all the tales that you remember
Of Camelot.

Ask every person if he's heard the story,
And tell it strong and clear if he has not,
That once there was a fleeting wisp of glory
Called Camelot.

Where once it never rained till after sundown,
By eight a.m. the morning fog had flown...
Don't let it be forgot
That once there was a spot
For one brief shining moment that was known
As Camelot.”

Let me take a step back from Christianity for a moment and ask a few questions:

Do you ever feel like the world is really messed up?
Do you ever think there was a time when it was right?
Do you think things could ever be right again?
And lastly…do you ever long for a time when thing will be right?

Almost all of us will answer “yes” to question one. The cynic, or the coward might disagree with two and three, but without exception we all identify with four. It is this great ache that haunts all of us, Buddhist, Christian, Muslim, Atheist, and alike. It is this ache that fuels some and curses others. How is that? Because some do not ache in vain…

I’ve heard it said that a human soul can go through just about any tragedy, or suffer most any loss, and continue on as long as they have a reason for it…the part about tragedy that gets most of us is that we don’t understand why it happened, and thus are crippled.

So do we ache in vain? Does this ache spur us to grieve for ourselves, or does it make us reach out to our broken brother, and hold fast until the ache is relieved?
\
My friend, if there is one I thing I know, it’s that I ache for you…do I ache in vain? Shall we hold fast?



P.S.
DJ and Erin are married! Such a beautiful wedding! I love you guys!

“Why do things always have to be fake on the internet?”

I’ve heard this complaint over and over and over again. They say that people aren’t “real” on their facebook/myspace/xanga/blogger/you name it. Here are some of my favorite quotes:

“Welcome to hell…err…facebook”
“Welcome back to our wonderful world of friends and facades”
“You looked better on your myspace picture”

It seem like we are overrun by sparkly profiles, and deluded with gaudy applications. Instead of taking time to find commonalities with friends we figure out which Lord of the Rings character we’re most like. Our entourage 35 deep, our friendship shallow, and our interests, music, and movies section have become applications to a popularity contest.

Why do we behave this way? I believe no other person has summed this problem up better than a good friend of mine:

“I’m here because I have an addiction to attention”

Ahh…yes…our drive to be significant, to be valued, and to be wanted. It can be vicious, but shall we say that drive is a petty thing? Yes this drive does cause us to do ridiculous things as I have mentioned above, but I do not think that is the problem. As a galaxy without a star, or a landscape without a single blade of grass, so to are our lives without significance or value from another being. There is nothing but random sound in a conversation if devoid of relationship. I might even go as far to say that relationships are the very essence of life.

Does the mean we have failed at life? Is so…bummer.

(This next this though is rather abstract but bear with me.)

Maybe it’s because we have lost “ourselves”. It’s the paradoxical thought that “If you lose yourself you’ll find it, and if you grasp or seize yourself you’ll be lost”

In the garden of Eden man and woman reached out so seize the object of godhood. “For then you will be like God, knowing good and evil”. Once they laid their hands on the fruit of their desire, the horrible affect took place immediately. The object laid its hands on tehm, and the “self” (which was innocent, like God at the time) was unselfed. Not fulfilled or filled but emptied. The apple grew into a god, and man shrunk into its slave.

“A man is a slave to whatever he cannot part with, that is less than himself.”
-George McDonald

In a very similar way I think we have tried to find our identity in something less than ourselves through internet socializing websites. We devote ourselves to possessing that object (I.E. attention), and so we are possessed by our possession.

“Well, James, if you hate facebook and myspace so much why don’t you just delete your account?” My friend it is not the internet site that I hate, rather it is the force that has taken hold of us through it. I do not believe the internet is an evil that corrupts our ability to be genuine by turning us into facades, rather I think we have lost ourselves completely because we have tried to grasp selfhood by means of profile views/comments.

So what are we to do with this addiction to attention? Perhaps the answer is on the other side of the paradox…We must lose ourselves to truly be found…now…as to what that looks like I don’t know. I speculate it will look different for every person.

-James

p.s.

This is not a note telling everyone to delete their facebook/myspace account.

I'm not letting go.

Go outside tonight, and look at the stars. Then come back and read this post. (I grantee you’ll enjoy it more that way)

Back now? Ok…now think of this:

Some of the stars you saw tonight are dead. Right now, in space and time, those stars have finished their course, yet when you went out under the sky tonight, you saw their light.

So it is with people we love who have passed away. They have run their course, they have finished and are no longer here…but their light shines on. You see, just like love, starlight never dies.

Hmm…I want to burn out bright.
Friday, April 04, 2008