Lots to talk about.

First, a whine. I bent over in my bathroom this morning to pick up a pill that I’d dropped. I stood quickly and slammed my head into the towel rack. I hit it so hard it is now loose, and I landed on my butt because I couldn’t get my balance. So now, strangely enough, although I hit the right side of my head (and have a three-inch knot) the left side of my head is pounding. Ungh.

Second, site news. Just put up some pictures of Max and the loft. Took the loft pictures yesterday, after I painted the threshold of the door silver. It looks awesome. The picture of Max is from the night we all went out for his birthday, then came back and opened presents and listened to Foo Fighters B-sides. Max was using my guitar and picking out the riffs within three or four measures of hearing the songs!

Okay, current stuff. Max has been on a retreat in Steelville, MO since Thursday (thank God above we got him there at all). He checked in with Melissa on Saturday night, telling her he was coming back Sunday, he hated it, he didn’t fit in, no one listens to him, nah nah nah. (He didn’t call me because he knew I’d kick his ass through the phone. Melissa’s more sympathetic!)  =)  So early afternoon on Sunday I get a call from him. He cracked me up, because the first thing he says to me is “Get a pen and take down this address.” I was like, yes sir, can I get you more coffee sir?, let me get my steno pad sir. *snort* He gave me the address, and then told me to send a GBE CD and tape to them. I’m thinking, what, industry moguls in Steelville? Then he told me the story.

He’d skipped church on Sunday because he felt like he needed to drive to town. Along the way he passed a young family walking on the side of the road. He turned the Jeep around and asked if they needed help. They were youngish, with a four-year-old daughter. They said their truck had blown a head gasket, and they had to leave it and walk.

Max offered them a ride home and they accepted, but first they had to stop at the store for kerosene for their heater. Max gave them the money for it, and told him to keep the rest. They were grateful. Turns out, they are very poor, and work hard to keep their heads above water. He is a roofer; she a waitress in a local diner. And I could tell they tore at Max’s heart.

So Max asks me to put together a care package for them, and I agree. I think, Justin has more toys and clothes than he needs, and I can spare stuff too. I’m sure there’s something we can do.

I gave a brief thought to appealing to my church, but my frustration with them has led to a hopelessness for them. I was convinced I would get no response, so why bother? I then announced to Max that I was going to shock the shit out of them at the evening service. I was going to ask for prayer for them. He said, well, ask the Lord to give you the right words, and speak them in love. Good advice.

The longer I thought about it and prayed about it, the more apathetic I got toward the idea. Finally I just skipped the evening service altogether and enjoyed the time with Justin instead.

Later that evening, after I dropped Justin at his dad’s, I headed to the loft to just sit by myself and read the Bible. Max calls me and asks how it went at church. I told him I felt hypocritical going into my church and calling them on stuff when I haven’t been in three weeks, and I haven’t even been to Wednesday night activities for six months. Basically, if I’m not even in there hauling my own weight, who am I to point fingers? It’s the whole don’t-point-out-the-splinter-in-your-brother’s-eye-until-you-get-the-log-out-of-your-own concept.

I pause, and he says, “That’s wisdom.” I’m taken aback for a minute. I’ve been praying constantly for wisdom and discernment, because I never seem to have any. And Max said he was glad I did that.

At this point I’ve arrived at the loft and am sitting in my car. Suddenly Max was back to the “old Max,” and we were talking about the Lord, and being open to Him and serving others. We were talking about the rest of the afternoon at the retreat, and how Max really felt compelled to stay, and now everyone was dialoguing with him and treating him like he has a brain. I told him the “rock star” look makes many people predisposed to think he’s an idiot. He’s actually brilliant. He told me the group had discussed my situation with my church, and they’d all agreed that I should wait to act. He also said that he’d mentioned the poor family to a semi-local to see if they could get assistance anywhere, and the group all jumped in and decided to help them.

After about a half hour, I told him I “missed this Max.” He said, oh, he never left, it just might have seemed like it. I am so extraordinarily blessed to have him in my life. We are so alike in so many ways, like mirror images. We think alike, act the same, having the same type patterns, the same bad habits, the same good habits, etc etc… The only difference are our gifts from God. His is music, and mine is business. Good thing. They are strangely complementary.

I spent the rest of the evening in the loft, listening to music, reading, and writing letters to both Max and his girlfriend. Hers was to apologize and ask for time and space - his were lyrics I’d just heard from Nicole Nordeman that were so very fitting. I thought he’d appreciate them.

I looked around that purple loft, and realized I felt strangely at home. Although I was surrounded by mixers, digital recorders, keys and miles of cables I’d never figure out, I just felt comfortable. I’d listened to the Javier Mendoza Band rehearse there, I’d heard Max record there. I’d had the shit figuratively beat out of me there and been resuscitated from a 15-year deadness there. I’d eaten dinner there, written my inventory there, cried there, and laughed there. I love it.

I am blessed.

“Crying cease

Found my peace

I am where I’m supposed to be

I am sky

Spirit, light

I am flying into the heights

No longer wilting

No longer wilting on this Vine

Weep not inside

You mustn’t cry

I am no longer on wilting on this Vine…”

-The Vine, Great Big Everything (M.)

Grateful,


mich