Welcome To Looking For The Long Ride

Life's Little Poetic Moments

Terry Henry — Sun, 06 Jul 2008 14:02:17 GMT

I once worked for a semi-weekly newspaper and I remember my editor making a deal with me about the column that I wrote called, "Just Common". I had recently become a Christian and so much of the meat of what I wrote about in this column had to do with themes that resonated with that new found lifestyle.

He told me that I could write anything I wanted to in the Tuesday paper, but that in Thursday's issue I had to write about the rest of life—mostly meaning to him at the time politics and so forth. I guess he was looking for more serious editorial content to balance out the nuggets of wisdom I was gleaning from reading Paul and the rest of the New Testament authors.

It was a compromise I was more than happy to make and the rest, as they say, is history. Aside from a few yellowed newspaper sheets I have in a box in the basement, that time and those writings are more or less gone forever.

Which brings me to this entry—my last effort being somewhat serious, this outing will be more of what you have come to expect from the long ride guy.

Several weeks ago I picked my wife up in Winston Salem after having spent time with my daughter in Raleigh. We meet halfway and since they were caught in some traffic, I got to spend a little more time than usual in one of my favorite haunts—the Barnes and Noble bookstore just off the I-40 expressway. It is right by a Macaroni Grill but that is another story.

The extra time I had was spent in the poetry section looking for a title or two that would jump out at me crying "read me—read me" in that small voice that only readers of poetry and other book-store browsers can relate to.

I am happy to report that I found a couple of poets that I had never read or even heard of and have enjoyed their company the past couple of weeks. One poet, Jane Kenyon, was married to a guy I met while at Michigan State University. His name is Donald Hall and he is a poet and author of the book entitled, "The Ox Cart Man" which is one of my all time favorite childrens' books.

Jane is not with us now but has left a small body of work that speaks of the rural experience in a way that I have found quite refreshing. One poem in particular grabbed my attention and is the foundation behind the thought for this entry. The poem is entitled simply "Wash" and goes like this:

All day the blanket snapped and swelled
on the line, roused by a hot spring wind....

From there it witnessed the first sparrow,
early flies lifting their sticky feet,
and a green haze on the south-sloping hills.

Clouds rose over the mountain....At dusk
I took the blanket in, and we slept,
restless, under its fragrant weight.

Jane Kenyon - Wash

This is what I call a poetic moment—one that Jane grabbed from the many that float by us everyday. The very thought of those sheets soaking up the atmosphere around them and then you or me falling asleep between them is an event that is so soft and so quiet that most will never experience it.

But this is reality—if we really are honest with ourselves—and a reality that often slips by in a storm of busyness that seems to fill our every waking moment.

How much more pleasant would our lives be if we would but take the time to filter a few of these picture poems through our consciousness on a daily basis. We could revolutionize our lives to the point where our relationships to the world around us and the people we meet would be a novel such as the world has never read.

Just as we don't really appreciate the rainy days until we have had several months of drought, our lives have mostly been lived on a level of just getting by rather than in the throes of romance or adventure, intrigue, joy or hope.

Not that every moment is golden or even has the potential to reach a poetic crescendo, but there are more of them than there are not. And that's a ride I would like to take.

Four Dollar Gas Is Only The Tip Of The Iceburg?

Terry Henry — Sat, 05 Jul 2008 16:13:49 GMT

In the past few days I have been given pause to ruminate on the current price of food, the price of gas, 401K's and the so-called "Green" initiative that seems to be coming at us—as consumers—from every possible angle.

During my daily perusal of the USA Today, I found that even the "experts" can't agree on why gas prices are so high. Some have speculated that the price is being driven artificially high due to stock market investments. Some say it is the simple economic forces of supply and demand that have pushed the price of regular to four dollars a gallon and above in many parts of the USA.

The Saudi's (when interviewed) have said that they are producing enough crude and really don't know why prices are so high. In a lunch-time conversation I had with a co-worker, he told me that China and India and other emerging industrial countries are buying all the oil they can get and that in his mind there is not enough supply. Yet there are no lines at the gas stations as I pass by them in my trips to a from town. They do seem to always have more cars pumping gas than I can ever remember.

However, all this speculation aside, just dealing with the price of gas is like scratching an itch and not ever getting to the point of what is causing it. And in my mind, what is causing the itch is hidden so deep as to be almost impossible to find.

My thoughts today are that as a culture of people, we have become used to having most anything that we have desired and this has brought us to a time in history where our options are about to be defined for us rather than us setting our own course.

As I write this, I remember a friend of mine had one of the first Honda Civic cars produced in 1973. It cost about $2,200 and got up to 40mpg on the highway according to Wikipedia. And I would have to say that since that day, we have gone backwards in gas mileage instead of forward—manufacturers are even telling the government that the mandated 35 mpg goal for 2010 cars is unrealistic and will put to much pressure on an industry already under the gun. And is it their greed or our need for bigger cars that got us here. Just asking.

Driving around town today, I thought about the Burger King motto of "Have It Your Way" begun in 1974. It was a great marketing idea that played upon our need to control our environment. Apple's i Tunes and I pod have since redefined this very basic concept—have your own music when you want it—download a song or an album and turn on and tune out. I have to watch mingling my metaphors here since I was in San Francisco during the Timothy Leary days.

As I began this thoughtful journey a few days ago I realized that there are many directions this could take. If we were sitting face to face I think I could explain to you my thoughts in just a few minutes. Writing them down has become almost to labor intensive. Yet I know there is a thread of truth about where we are as a culture hiding just around the next paragraph—so I push on.

We are at a place in history, as least in my humble opinion where there is really no clear choice for president. What can either of these men, who desire the nation's most prestigious job, really do about what needs to be taken care of.

Can they change the way we think—or at least modify what it is we think that we are entitled to as a group of people, one nation under God, etc.

Back in the day, I watched another presidential race being run on the television. I heard this 1976 era Jimmy Carter tell me and the rest of the viewing audience that he was all about giving us tax credits for equipping our houses with solar cells and that we should do all we can to develop other sources of energy—I think we all knew by this time that oil was not a renewable source of power and that to continue as a people group we would have to come up with something.

I had been raised a Republican and at that point decided to vote for Carter who was not. Long story short, 32 years later, where are all these practical ways of conserving what fuel we have left and discovering new energy sources.

Now-a-days, it is vogue for industrial types to talk about their "going green" efforts as if putting a bandage on the wound is something to be proud of—and don't get me wrong—we need green initiatives. But how many lights do we have to turn off and how low do our thermostats have to go before we make a dent in the damage that we have already sustained during the past 50 years of growth economy. While the rich got richer and the poor got even more poor, industry has paid these same spokespeople millions and billions to make the bottom line look good for the annual stockholders meeting. Sports stars are getting rich while America gets heavier in front of their 42 and 52 inch, super high-def, wide screen, wall-mounted monitors that pass for televisions these days. (Wouldn't it be great to have one too!)

We live with the fact that once prices go up, they rarely, if ever, go back down. Remember the sugar shortage of 1975. The price never went back down to what it was before the shortage. The same goes for coffee, tea and all that other good stuff we like to eat and drink. As I see it, it will take a long time for our paychecks to catch up with these rising prices and more than likely, they never will quite make it.

At some point we are told that social security (which I personally have paid into since my first real, $1.25 an hour janitorial job in the summer of 1965) won't be enough to live on when we retire. So we invest (wisely I might add) in IRA's and 401K's only to see their value go kaput with the rest of the stock market. Yes we are buying more shares but please let me know when it is time to cash out and take the 10% penalty hit. I will be ready.

These are just a few thoughts on an otherwise thoughtless rainy day. I firmly believe that as a man thinks, so he is and that things are not beyond repair—that the liberal press will do all it can to post the most depressing news until the election is over. But I know this as well—four dollar a gallon gas is the least of the problems faced by this country and others. A holistic medical rule of thumb is that it will take twice as long to heal as it did to get sick in the first place. But if we don't start today as a community to address some of what we face, we will never have the chance to get to where I believe it is we can really be environmentally and socially.

Lets ride this one together.

Who's In Charge?

Terry Henry — Thu, 19 Jun 2008 11:51:51 GMT

As many who have followed my "long ride" journey over the past year-and-a-half know, I began blogging shortly after my wife and I left the church we had been a part of after twenty-two years. That decision and what has followed would fill many books if I had the where with all to take our adventure into that arena. Suffice it to say, there have been ups and downs and periods of great clarity along with that foggy feeling that sometimes surrounds us in our day to day life.

Lately, the journey has taken on new dimensions—almost like the Dylan Thomas verse that says: The force that through the green fuse drives the flower—we have been driven into many deep places that have brought peace and subsequent reconciliation.

Walking with God is definitely a process that seemingly flows like a river to the sea which then gets swallowed up by the ocean. Yet even as we become a part of the great big ocean, we still maintain a very distinct fingerprint of uniqueness that sets us apart from the rest of the molecules that make up that great body of water.

Many of my most revelatory moments come at odd times. Like yesterday, in the shower, I had the thought about who is in charge of the church. Are the pastors in charge, or the elders or deacons? Is it the committees that are appointed for this task or that one?

In our classical understanding, most of us would say that Christ is in charge of the church—and in practical theory we would be right in that assumption. However, in reality we know that what the church looks like today is a far cry from what we see in the book of Acts. Yet what we see as the early church in much of Acts is only a spiritual blueprint and not the actual physical blueprint or manifestation of the Glory of God that was intended to fill the earth.

I will have to admit, at this point, that throughout my entire Christian life (since about 1979) I have felt that what I read about in Acts and what I experienced in my own life were very much different—and I have never really been able to put my finger on what it is I felt.

It sometimes takes years for us to assimilate the information we need in order to put together a picture of what it is we are missing. This is what has been going on in my life the past several months—seemingly at an accelerated pace.

In 1 John 2:27 we read: As for you, the anointing which you received from Him abides in you, and you have no need for anyone to teach you; but as His anointing teaches you about all things, and is true and is not a lie, and just as it has taught you, you abide in Him.

Scripture also tells us that it is the traditions of men that have voided the power of God in our lives and in our respective churches.

After having thought about this for a while, I got up in the middle of the night and read the book of Acts looking specifically for information about the early church and how it was formed. One striking fact is that when Paul, etc. wrote letters to the church, it was to "one" church in "each" city that the letters were addressed. If there were copies made and sent to the Baptists, Methodists, Charismatics, etc. I saw no mention of it. So I guess I can surmise that even though the early Christians met from house to house to study and break bread in small groups, that each group identified itself with the whole "body" of believers in that particular area or town/city, etc.

I am not going to say at this point that I am a bible scholar or even pretend to understand all of this "church" stuff. What I will be bold enough to say is this: when Christians are unified in substance and purpose, the power of God can manifest. I have seen it time and time again in many of the small groups I have been a part of the past few months. Whether we call these groups "church" or not, when two or three are gathered in His name, He is present.

When a group of people trust God and one another enough to be transparent and real, healing will take place, love will happen and change will not be something we avoid but rather embrace.

Jesus is in charge of the "church" and we need Him to help us find our way into wholeness and into the lives of those who are ready for the message that we carry.

As John Piper said: "God is most glorified in me when I am most satisfied in Him."

There are no more days of lack of purpose or perspective—rather days to enjoy our Father, our Friend and the family that we find ourselves a part of.

That's a ride worth taking anyday!

John Piper and Beyond

Terry Henry — Thu, 05 Jun 2008 11:52:44 GMT

Have you ever bought and begun to read a book that came highly recommended and only made it through the first few chapters even though the subject was engaging and the writing well crafted. I would suspect that we all have at one time or another. And I am equally sure that there are many reasons for not finishing a book beginning with what I believe is perhaps the most frequent (in my case at least): it is just not your time to be reading that particular book.

And once that book goes back on the bookshelf the chances of it ever being pulled out again are slim or next-to-none.

Unless of course you are meant to read that particular book.

Such is the case with an old John Piper book entitled "Desiring God" which I picked up during my John Eldridge period about three years or so ago. Eldridge (Wild At Heart, etc.) was a Piper fan and chopped off a little piece of the territory that Piper and some others opened up and did his thing with it and was quite inspiring and subsequently successful with it. I dropped off that bandwagon at some point and haven't looked back. Even though his stuff got kind of mass-market to me, it was Eldridge who introduced me to the Westminster Catechism and that famous first verse which states: "The chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever."

However, I have recently begun to be led back to Piper in a most interesting way. I even picked up the book again and was amazed at how much clearer his writing had become to me. Whether I read the whole thing this time through is another story. Suffice it to say I have been warmed and well filled with what I have tasted so far.

I will say I am further amazed at how God's timing in our lives is impeccable. His way is so consistent and constant and seemingly flexible to where we are headed at any given moment. As a master craftsman, He is always at work to add whatever piece we need to gain insight and revelation at just the right time. He is all about us being built into a wonderful vessel to carry His presence into the world—yet at the same time aware (and us as well) that we are earthen and prone to cracks and leaks. I have been a leaky vessel myself in times past and have let things come out of my mouth that should have been washed away in the lake of forgiveness many times over.

I have missed the mark many times over the years—first and foremost in my serving an institution rather than the Body of Christ and secondly in my representation of the Father to my children and others.

However, a new page has been turned and I am learning to trust in that still small voice and find the adventure He has intended for me to be the one of the most exciting things that has even been brought my way.

It is indeed, "Christ in us, the hope of glory" that has captured my attention during the past few weeks. And further, if the same spirit that raised Christ from the dead dwells in us, then we of all people should be the happiest and most fulfilled.

Piper's take on the Christian life can be summed up in this statement:

“God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him.”

Through good times and bad—through trials and tribulations—the apostle Paul said that he had learned to be content. He was satisfied with God and God was glorified in him.

With this awareness—Christ in us—we can move through our lives with a much different perspective on the events that make up our day. We no longer have to go anywhere to find Him—as He lives within us. Church is not a place where we show up on Sunday to meet Him—but rather us being part of a group of people who are "in Christ". A congregational meeting on Sunday is meant to be a part of the whole, not the total expression of what it means to be a Christian.

But enough about that—I would much rather talk about the journey and the sense of purpose and destiny that we can feel as we become aware of abiding in Him and Him abiding in us. When we begin to think like this we can start to see how the pieces fit together and even begin to get a hold of what a sense of humor our Heavenly Father has. He really does take delight in us—even as we stumble and fall and sometimes run, jump and fly through this world we live in. That knowledge, in and of itself, can be mind blowing and revelatory—not to mention the joy in the journey that is produced by living in a much more elastic expression of Christianity.

And as I recently read in a book simply called "Jake's Story", we don't quit sinning by walking away from it—we quit sinning as we walk toward Christ. As we fill ourselves with His reality, that other reality of sin's distraction and subsequent awareness becomes less and less.

Living in the "New Testament" is about relationship and not about a bunch of rules and regulations that we try in vain to use as our standard of whether we have achieved "holiness".

And having found this to be true thus far, I can tell you that it is much more fun to fly with the eagles that it is to be on the ground with the chickens scratching around for a little cracked corn.

Enjoy your ride and be on the lookout for the unexpected.

An Apology

Terry Henry — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 21:01:56 GMT

I have been more or less faithful to populating this blog since I left the church I had attended for 22 years in October of 2006. Lately, I have had a lot I could say and put into words that would feed the story of my life, but I have not had the where-with-all or freedom (joy) to follow through. To say that I have learned to fly again might be an understatement—I am visiting areas that I only imagined before.

God is helping me to see a new path. There will be more to come.

Thanks for checking in.

Terry

The Revolution/End Time Revival Will Not Be Televised

Terry Henry — Mon, 12 May 2008 16:41:08 GMT

Back in the day (about 1970 to be inexact), a poet named Gil Scott Heron wrote a poem about the black revolution that was taking place in America. The summer of love had had its day and much was happening on the home front. I have the CD of him reciting the poem to music—pre-rap mind you—and it was a real event.

There is a lot I could say about those times but I am having a hard time even finding the shift key on this keyboard—so suffice it to say—the thought occurred to me on the way home from church today about this song in relation to what is happening in Lakeland, Florida.

It is a juxtaposition for sure.

I have watched the revival in Lakeland on my computer many times. It is broadcast every evening on "God TV" from 7 pm until 10 or 11 o'clock. As many as 12 thousand people have turned out on any given night and many salvations and healings have taken place. Many have taken this awakening back to their hometowns. And that is a good thing.

What I thought the other day is this. As it was in the early church so it will be today. Revival (the revolution) will take place in living rooms and at dinner tables throughout the land. It won't be televised, it won't be rehearsed, but it will be "real" and it will take place. I can't speak to Lakeland or Toronto or other places where the spirit of God breaks out. But I can say that in the end, it will be personal and it will take place all over the land.

What follows is Gil Scott-Heron's poem from the seventies.

Artist: Gil Scott-Heron
Song: The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip,
Skip out for beer during commercials,
Because the revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox
In 4 parts without commercial interruptions.
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John
Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat
hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by the
Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie
Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
The revolution will not make you look five pounds
thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother.

There will be no pictures of you and Willie May
pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run,
or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.
NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32
or report from 29 districts.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being
run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.
There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy
Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and
Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
For just the proper occasion.

Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville
Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and
women will not care if Dick finally gets down with
Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people
will be in the street looking for a brighter day.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock
news and no pictures of hairy armed women
liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb,
Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be right back after a message
bbout a white tornado, white lightning, or white people.
You will not have to worry about a dove in your
bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.
The revolution will not go better with Coke.
The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath.
The revolution will put you in the driver's seat.

The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,
will not be televised, will not be televised.
The revolution will be no re-run brothers;
The revolution will be live.

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

The Long Ride and Some Subsequent Sidetracks

Terry Henry — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 11:15:14 GMT

Today began as one of those mornings, where the traffic I found myself in as I took my daughter to school, had me locked into a slower pace than I would have chosen for myself. It was so slow and then slower still—and as I couldn't find a way out of it—I settled back, and determined not to bump the car in front of me, watched the many drivers talking on their cell-phones, applying makeup and seemingly picking what was left of their sausage biscuit out of their teeth.

Like water finding its' own level, the motion of the morning rush to school, to work and to parts unknown was measured not so much to annoy me as it was to create a safe zone for each car that took its place in this medley of daily activity.

It is sort of like "The Long Ride" with some significant departures off the beaten path along the way. Not that I intended for any of this to take place—but I guess that is what makes life here on earth interesting and more complex than we could have ever thought or imagined.

And that is mostly the good part.

The past few weeks have been filled with much introspection and discovery about myself and those around me.

I could postulate that this part of the journey began with me reading a book that had been given to my wife by a friend of ours. The conversation went something like this: "I just read a book and I liked it so much I have ordered one for you," my wife's friend said. And sure enough, the very next day there was a package on our front porch from Amazon with a hardcover copy of "The Shack" in it. It is always fun to get a gift and even more fun to open a new highly recommended book. And two people reading the same book is a sure test to any relationship—but hey, that is why bookmarks were created in the first place.

The Shack, like any good book, takes you on a ride that you never imagined you would be taking. It is the story of a father's pain, his traveling a traumatic path for much too long and his headlong encounter with the trinity of God the Father, the Son and of course the Holy Spirit. In the process he finds a freedom that can only be described as supernatural in total essence. It is a story that can send shivers up your back and bring tears to your eyes all in the space of one or two pages or paragraphs. At the end of it all, I felt as though I had been lifted to a new height and that some cobwebs had been removed from my mind and my life.

I don't think my journey has been changed as much as my perspective about the very same journey has been transfigured somehow. Life is still lived out one footfall in front of another, but what I have the potential to do with each moment is now a bit clearer and not completely hidden behind lots of dark clouds.

Reading The Shack set the stage for what was to happen next—a weekly trip to a church about an hour from Boone where I was invited to play percussion, etc. with a praise team as a part of what is being called "The Kingdom Chronicles." My farmer friend Alan Smith is directing the Saturday evening get-together's. I say directing because it is much more than him just leading the meetings, he is much like a conductor in his approach to seeing a group of people come together and get something out of it. In addition to being a dairy farmer, Alan also oversees Stoney Point Christian Publications. Most of the stuff that has been happening in Taylorsville is available online including the music and teaching notes.

Suffice it to say, interacting with these musicians and being given total freedom to create a musical space has been invigorating and very freeing. It has somehow scratched the itch I was feeling creatively and at the same time released me from feeling as though I have to play in order to be accepted—if that makes any sense. In other words, when you get to do what you are created to do, then what you do becomes an offering instead of a point of validation—although you receive ample acceptance in the giving itself.

In the midst of all of this happening in my life, my brother, whom I had not talked with in about five years, called me out of the blue to chat and update me on his where-a-bouts.

Then my uncle from Michigan, my dad's youngest brother, called and said he would be in town and would I like for him to stop by. It had been many, many years since I had seen him as well and his visit was to play a big role in the healing process I am experiencing in my everyday life.

There is much more to say about all of this but I think I have come to the end of what I can explain in a day. Miracles of all kinds are all around us, we just have to have eyes to see them for them to become a reality in our time and space.

Enjoy your ride today.

What My Wife Says

Terry Henry — Mon, 07 Apr 2008 10:36:43 GMT

I have been re-miss in my blogging duties these past few weeks and for that I ask for your understanding—there has been a lot of stuff going on and I just haven't had the time time to organize my thoughts enough and put them into words. On the other side of that—I am still trying to make sense of everything that has been happening in my life. Call it blog-block or just a time out—it essentially means the same.

On the one hand, my wife—who knows me as well as anyone—says that I am stuck in the past. And in a sense she is right—although I would beg to differ with her that I am really just using the past as a literary vehicle to move into and explain today and the future. Yet she is right. I am stuck and have been for some time.

God designed me to be a plane that flies into the heavenly realms and I have spent a lot of my life on the tarmac moving this way and that without ever making it to the runway itself. (Can You Relate?)

In the past couple of weeks, I have taken a call from my brother who I have not talked with in several years. I have been visited by my Michigan uncle and cousin who I haven't seen since the early nineties. I have also been invited to play music with a praise and worship team that I have admired for several years.

And that is just the beginning.

Having been a Christian for most of my adult life, I have come to the awareness that what seems random at the time it is happening is often a part of what might be called a "grander scheme" of things. While I can't connect every dot together to form a picture of my life and show how everything relates to one another, the feeling of destiny is often just under the surface of my day to day existence.

Life is filled with what I have termed "window of opportunity" times. These are distinct moments when we can step from one level of reality into another—from one place of being into the next life moment. Often the keys to unlocking this window or door are presented to us in a subtle way or can occur in one of those "light bulb" moments.

In all of this I am not talking about getting that car or bike or fishing pole that you have always wanted—I am mostly referring to human potential and the steps we take that lead us into becoming a person of maturity.

It is my belief at this time that we were created by God to live a life of substance and purpose and that each of us has a destiny—so to speak—built into our very DNA. A plan and purpose that only we can uniquely fulfill. We are not cookie cutter creatures that come out of the oven all looking the same but very distinct creations with the potential to become beings that interact very deeply with everyone and all that surrounds us.

Everything that we do creatively is an attempt to connect with and add meaning and comprehension to our journey here on earth. And this creativity is not just limited to the arts but includes science and math and yes, even the psychology of our everyday encounters with one another.

All this having been said—it is also my belief that we can get stuck in certain areas of personal growth and if not released can end our lives never having fully lived or reached the potential that was in our original design. Hopefully as you read these words and my attempt to explain the last few weeks of my life, you can pick up on the thoughts that are not written down—the spirit of what is being said that exists in the space between the very words themselves.

As a I alluded to earlier, we are beings that were created to fly in heavenly places and yet spend most of our time scratching around on the ground looking for food like chickens. Events in our lives that have gone unresolved have clipped our wings in a spiritual sense and when left, all piled up inside, kept us from fully being all that we were created to be.

This is sort of abstract thinking to the degree I have not given an event or moment in time to pin this all to. For the sake of clarity, lets just say that when I was a child, parts of who I was becoming stopped growing because of some external event or trauma. Fast forward to adulthood and I can only reach my full potential to the degree that these areas of wounding are healed and put behind me. I firmly believe that we are all works in progress and that God has never stopped interacting in our lives to bring us into this fully alive maturity. He knows our needs even before we ask. He knows where we have stopped up places in our innermost being and has never quit working to bring events and circumstances into our lives that will facilitate our breakthroughs. There is a plan and purpose for each of our lives and until we discover this plan we will never fly as high as we were intended to. That there are windows and doors that show up in our lives and lead us to discovery of self and one another is a gift from God to a people that were created in the very image of this self-same God.

I don't want to remain on the ground, weighed down by all the baggage that life can heap on us—crippled inside by all the hurts and wounds that I have not been willing to let go of for whatever reason. Life on this earth is short and I for one am tired of only feeling half-full.

During these trying times, I believe that for those who seek, we are being given a "heavenly" opportunity to unload all the baggage that has kept us from soaring. What we have carried around to our detriment for all these years can be unloaded in a matter of minutes if we are listening in the spiritual realm and take the time to respond. Only when we are free and living fully alive can we then take that same presence into our relationships and the lives of those around us.

The Love of Music Part Two: The San Francisco Chronicles

Terry Henry — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 22:15:32 GMT

I guess my awareness of the "Long Ride" began when I quit high school about two or three months before graduation and hitchhiked to New York City with a friend who tended toward being a little weird—but in the overall scheme of things, quite normal for the times we were living in.

I think his name was Ray and he was a little timid about going to NYC, but with my never-may-care attitude as his shield, he packed his bags and joined me on the side of the I-94 expressway for our trip to the Big Apple. We had both met a guy who was attending the high school I was in who said that he knew people in New York who would put us up and help us find our way. But that is another story for quite a different day—and perhaps not one I am really ready to take out of the vault.

Suffice it to say, I stayed in New York long after Ray headed back home to who knows what and I eventually moved on to San Francisco during what was to become the Summer of Love. It could have really been called the Summer of Music and everybody would have understood. When I arrived in Haight Ashbury, just south of the Golden Gate Park, there were hippies lined up against the stores on both sides of the street that eventually ran into the park. I remember lots of Hell's Angel types mixed in and a steady line of people going into what we called the "free clinic". This was where all the people who believed in 'free love" ended up for their penicillin shots—if you get my drift.

Several blocks away and running parallel to the street was pan-handle park, where a group calling themselves the "diggers" would cook some kind of pasta dish every night to feed the hundreds of youth who had found their way to the city. They lived in a house that was not to far from where the Grateful Dead lived and I remember eating spaghetti with the rest of the "street people" on several occasions. As was my lot, I found people who let me sleep in their houses and hang out with them—it was only later I was to realize that my heavenly father was looking out for me during these formative times.

And did I mention that I was not that far from the Straight Theater at the corner of Haight and Cole streets. This was a smaller and hippier version of the giant Fillmore auditorium more or less run by Bill Graham and the one that most people remember when they think of Frisco's music scene. The Straight saw the Grateful Dead, Country Joe and the Fish, Moby Grape, and the Jefferson Airplane perform—just to mention a few of more or less local bands that were featured. What I remember most is the light shows that filled the giant screen on the stage behind the bands. The colors would move to the sounds of the music and were really quite sophisticated in a late sixties kind of way. I think they also used strobes and black lights in addition to the colored water and oil mixes on top of an old opaque projector in the back of the room. And of course, everybody danced—if you can call bouncing up and down to the beat of the music for several hours—dancing? I remember evangelist Kenneth Copeland saying at one of his events that if the church behaved the way they should (meaning energetic dancing to the worship music) there would be no need to go to a work out center. He is probably right.

But it was really all about hanging out and enjoying the music. I always thought that they had so many concerts because they wanted to keep all the people occupied and off the streets and maybe there is a bit of ironic truth hidden in that belief—maybe not.

There were also the concerts in Golden Gate Park on the weekends which featured bands like Steve Miller and the Airplane. And the nightly jams in the Panhandle Park after a free meal at the hands of the Diggers. Not quite utopia but an attempt to find the road that led to the long ride indeed. I was seventeen and convinced that there was more to life than a job in daddies car lot after high school graduation. I was just a kid from a small town in Michigan looking for something a little more permanent and dare I say eternal. Something I could believe in and become a part of and really during those times the music held it all together—although in a loose sort of sloppy hippie way.

The plaintive cries of the Jefferson Airplane to love somebody, to Strawberry Fields and Penny Lanes; Donovan's Mellow Yellow, the Butterfield Blue's Band's, East West and the Door's Light My Fire, paved the way for Jimi Hendrick, U2 and even contemporary Christian praise and worship music. Today I listen to Misty Edwards, Joanne McFatter, Chris Tomlin, Hillsong and Morningstar music. Good music always opens up the doors of perception or leads us into a better understanding of just where it is we stand.

And yes, sometimes the rhythm even follows us on that after dinner walk with our significant other or on that long 25 mile bike ride in the country. It is always with us, just the way God told us that He would always be there as well.

From Haight Ashbury to today is not that far apart when you consider how very long eternity must really be. Enjoy your ride today and your history as well and remember that you haven't heard all the music that can be listened to yet.

The Love Of Music

Terry Henry — Sun, 23 Mar 2008 22:26:15 GMT

Tonight is one of those nights where I need to use the computer to generate a little cash for the Henry household. I do a few newsletters and web sites on the side and generally enjoy what I do—that is if it doesn't begin to take up my life—I like to read the paper, talk to my wife before and after dinner and watch a few TV shows as well when I am clocked out from "real" work.

As I began to layout the latest newsletter I inserted a few CD's into the player that sits by my desk and pushed the start button on the console. As the bopping sound of Lionel Hampton began to fill the room and my fingers began to snap to the beat I thought of my mother and how she loved to listen to jazz and big band music and how that has affected my life in a good way.

I remember those youthful days and nights watching my mom and dad listen to music on the ancient turntable we had in our living room. It is worth remembering that the living room had off-white carpeting.

I can even remember the turntable being delivered in a big box and the all of us sitting around waiting for my dad to open it. This was back in the day when twenty-cents went a long way and comic books were only a nickel. Even though it seemed like it would be several years before we had our own records to play, this was a "family present". As it turned out it would not take that long for my brother and I to begin our own collection of early rock and roll, folk and jazz records to play on that turntable. We even got to the point where we realized those portable turntables all but tore up the groves in our records and we got a better turntable to play records through an amplifier and not through some small tiny attached speakers.

Now bear in mind, this is not a completely accurate picture of those days. My time line might be a little off but this is the best my memory can handle at this point in my life. And being completely right is not the point anyway. It is more of what I came away with from that experience that counts.

Both my mother and father liked music—generally big band jazzy type stuff. The first records we got in the mail to play on the new turntable were Columbia or Capital record sampler albums with a selection of songs currently available in their catalog for sale. This music went from Andy Williams ballads to cuts from a Miles Davis album and lots of stuff in between. One song I vividly remember playing over and over was the M.T.A. by the Kingston Trio. It was a peppy song about a guy who got on the subway in Boston and while he was on his way to work the fares were increased and he couldn't get off the train because he didn't have the money in his pocket to pay the fare. Kind of far-fetched but a great song about politics and all the rest. I am looking at the CD of their greatest hits which includes that song. Things have come almost full circle.

There were times in my life when after a night out on the town (think high school senior, etc.) I would come home and not be at peace enough to go to bed and fall asleep and I would quietly sneak into the living room and put on an album by Bob Dylan or Miles Davis and listen to it through the headphones until I was calm enough to go to bed. Music was what got me through a lot of tough times and I am grateful for my parents input into that process. It was like I had my very own soundtrack to life and was not even aware of it—come to think of it, it was even before the very concept of soundtracks had even been invented. Here I am thinking to that time in the movie Jerry Maguire when Renee Zellwegger and Tom Cruise have their "moment" and we are treated to the Bruce Springstein song "Secret Garden" and that seems to sum up everything that has happened between them up to that point. Or imagine Natalie Portman walking down a Manhattan avenue with a Damien Rice song playing in the background as Jude Law catches a glimpse of her and is fully smitten.

I have come to realize after living more than half a century that we all have a life soundtrack playing in our lives. We might not be aware of it—it could be a Mahler symphony or a top-forty ballad—every now and then we might catch a John Mayer rift or a Sly and the Family Stone, "Dance to the Music" feeling in the background of whatever is going on. The only difference being that there is most likely no camera man following you around nor a song editor finding just the right mood music to place behind the action in your life—but the sound is there none the less—trust me on that one.

The other night my wife and I watched a movie "August Rush" which never made it to our little mountain town. It is the story of a young boy separated from his mother and father at birth who uses his musical gift to draw them back to him. As with all Hollywood movies it is not perfect in its portrayal of humanity as I would like it to be. But the point really lies underneath all of our frailty and really speaks to the hope that is resident within the collective human spirit.

Music really is all around us—I woke this morning to the birds singing and enjoying the food I put out for them. Even my tiller makes a certain sound that punctuates the distance between me and the sound of the shovel being pushed by my foot into the soft spring soil of my Appalachian home. And perhaps the only thing that separates me from this concert is the voice of my enemy who likes to bring things to my attention at 3 am in the morning which I can't really do anything about but really wants to interrupt the peace or joy that I have found in living for the long ride. It is the sound of distraction, fear and doubt and sometimes I have to get out of bed and sit in my favorite chair until I can find—once again—my very own soundtrack—while not without its pathos and bathos, is not condemning or intent on my destruction.

And that my friend, is a good ride indeed. Enjoy your ride and your very own soundtrack.

The Price of Wheat and Tea in China

Terry Henry — Sat, 15 Mar 2008 15:40:43 GMT

I will have to admit upfront that I am not a fan of what we have come to call news reporting during the past several years. I can't remember when I last watched the evening news on television (maybe 20 years) or read "Newsweek" or "Time" magazine—which were staples during my newspaper reporter days in the early eighties.

However, one of my major weaknesses—besides Hagen Daz ice cream—is my affinity towards the "mac paper" USA Today. I seem to buy it almost every work day and if the truth be told, head first of all to the Life Section to see what's up in the life of all those people that I will never be and am not sure I totally approve of anyway. I like to get the latest scoop on movies, books and TV shows and this really seems like the place to land. Then I move on to the green section which is their business news and by reading that section generally have an idea of what is happening in the "real" world of stocks and bonds, business and technology. If time permits, I will often take in the sports section and keep up on what Tiger Woods is doing or what is going on in the world of tennis, baseball or biking.

Now that that dirty laundry is out in the open, I will also admit that I read the Winston-Salem Journal on occasion and that if you keep up with the news, their Saturday, March 15th paper was or was not the one to read—depending on how you look at the current state of affairs in America. It was chock full of the stuff that nobody really wants to hear about in the first place but news junkies soak up like a dry sponge during a long drought.

On the front page we read that investment bank Bears Stearns was on the verge of collapse and was bailed out by JP Morgan and in an extraordinary step, the Federal Reserve. They lost nearly half their market value (about $5.7 billion) in a matter of minutes largely because of their ties to the "sub-prime" mortgage crisis, which is still raising its' ugly head in board rooms all across the country.

In other news we find that wheat, the food staple of most all civilized nations, has tripled in price during the past ten months. Poor wheat harvests in the U.S., Australia and parts of Europe have caused China and other Asian countries to buy more American crops, which are especially attractive because of the weak U.S. dollar. In addition, we are not planting as much of the stuff because lots of farmers are getting on the ethanol band wagon by growing more corn, which has also gone up in price dramatically.

And if that is not enough, along with rapidly rising fuel prices and the prospect of $4 a gallon gas by mid-summer, we find this little piece of information from Grants Pass, Oregon. It seems like fisheries have canceled the early season of ocean fishing for Chinook salmon off the coast of Oregon and Northern California because of a "collapse" of fish stocks in California rivers. Why there is less salmon to catch is up for debate but the two biggest theories are disruptive weather patterns along the Pacific coast and the increased pumping of water from the Sacramento River for farmers in Central and Southern California. Six of one and a half dozen of another is my thought.

It almost seems like it has taken several years for what we then called the Y2K effect to take place—and this recent news has nothing to do with that event but has everything in common with its' effect.

We are being poisoned by our spinach, our beef and our dog food. There is more lead in our kids toys than ever before and people are dying because of an adulterant in their blood thinner. And I will be bold or stupid enough to ask—what's next!

Back in the day when I used to ask a stupid question—or so thought my mom—she would say, "What does that have to do with the price of tea in China" as if I was of an age to understand all that grownup logic. I guess what she really meant was whatever excuse you just came up with for whatever it is you just did, is not that good and won't hold up in a Chinese court of law or anywhere else for that matter (a little latitude here).

However, what my mother didn't live long enough to see was how close China really is in economic terms to America and that what happens over there is only a few hours from happening here as well.

I am ready to fully admit that our global economy has me baffled to some degree and the fact that Apple Computer can make more money this past year than ever before in their storied history and just because their stock didn't "meet" their predictions and/or the investors expectations and was tanked the very next day, is simply business as usual but still confusing to me.

As to "Y2K" I firmly believe at this time that we should begin, ever so slightly, to take measures to stock up on food stuff that has a long shelf life. That we should make every effort to get out of debt and begin to live a more simple life—take more walks, watch less TV and burn less gas in the days, weeks and months to come.

At best our economy is a thought in the heart of a God who has given us the ability to "create wealth" (Deuteronomy 8:18). But everybody knows we can't just keep on producing goods that no one can afford to buy in order to make our stock prices attractive to potential buyers. And yes, what about China and India and all those other nations who want to to be able to have cell phones and I pods and all the other stuff we take for granted. But it takes petroleum to "fuel" an economic burst and there is only so much of that stuff to go around and then what?

Just as George Washington Carver looked at the lowly peanut and found lots of stuff hidden inside, the answers are there—we just need to know where and how to look for them. I believe we need our eyes opened in a very practical way in the next little while in order to understand the times we are in and how to respond to them.

Enjoy your ride today—it is getting more interesting on the road we all share.

It's Almost Spring!

Terry Henry — Wed, 05 Mar 2008 21:19:12 GMT

During the past couple of weeks our mountain weather has gone from the mid sixties to the low twenties with several inches of snow, a few inches of rain and lots of windy days and nights thrown in for good measure. During my almost thirty years in the western part of North Carolina I have seemingly seen it all.

Several observations can be made about spring in the mountains: it rains more than it snows; we are always teased by fantastic weather only to have it vanish completely over a several hour period; and the daffodils always want to bloom before the weather on the top of the earth is really ready for them. In between we have what everybody has: sometimes the late frost gets the fruit and the rest of what blooms early and sometimes it doesn't.

Have you ever noticed how the big chain stores like Lowe's Hardware get seeds and stuff to plant way before it is really time to even think about it. But if you hesitate even for a Saturday or two you will find that all the seeds have been bought and if the the past is any indication, they won't be getting any more of that stuff in for those of us who realistically waited.

We once had a store in Boone that catered to the "real" gardening crowd. If we came in to early because of one of those tempting warming trends, we were told in no uncertain terms to cool our jets and wait for a while until it was really safe to plant. In other words, they wouldn't keep you from buying but would let you know that your success rate would increase if you waited until the time was really at hand to plant. They were the ones that bought seeds in big cans and would measure them out into little packets for sale and would generally have enough left if you wanted to plant that extra run of spinach in the fall and had forgotten to buy the seeds in May. Whereas, Lowe's and their like, time everything to move quickly so that they can free up space to sell us the next season's stuff before we are even done with the last one. It's all about moving the merchandise and making a profit for the stock holders rather than about you and me and the people that keep them in business.

This year, after having run out of seeds last year way before I was ready to run out of them, I bought lots of salad seeds and even got some grape and berry plants though I knew that I wouldn't be in the garden for at least a month. They will be out of stock long before I have even planted a row of lettuce but I remember what the market was like the past couple of years and though I wasn't ready to buy I wasn't ready to run out in mid-summer either. Push, push, push. Wal-Mart even starts selling Christmas lights in September these days and in my neighborhood there are a couple of people who haven't taken last years lights down yet. Maybe we will still see them in August—what do you want to bet!

In other news I could mention the last and perhaps one of the best books I have ever read. It's called "The Shack" and is very hard to fully explain. Fact or fiction, it is a book about one man's encounter with God after his youngest daughter is kidnapped while on a family camping trip. It is one of those books I looked forward to getting off of work so that I could come home and finish reading. If it is your time to read it you won't be able to put it down. All I can say is that for many of us it is a big piece to the puzzle of our lives and where we are to head in the days in front of us.

This past Sunday was an example of one of those beautiful spring days that I often reference. My biking buddy Glen and I headed out after church and a quick lunch to take a 30 mile ride on one of my favorite roads. It is always the same but different every time—we have a great ride and pat ourselves on the back every few miles for being on the road and not in our easy chairs taking a Sunday afternoon nap—although by mile 25 I was tired and hoping my car was just around the corner. It wasn't and I did finally make it home and into my big easy chair with a glass of Merlot as my reward for being such a good boy. It's a tough life but somebody has got to live it.

As you have probably noticed, blogging has taken a back seat to...I really don't know what but it must be important. Life is lately like the price of gas and almost everything else...prices keep going up and we really don't know where all the money goes other than the fact that there is often more month than money many times. I remember when gas was twenty five cents a gallon and you could get a hamburger, fries and a shake for well under a dollar.

In the meantime, I sit and wait for another good book to fall into my lap and the next episode of "Lost" to appear on television. In due time it will be time to drag my winter weary body into what was once a garden and do something to make it look that way again. Thursday is looking good for an afternoon ride and then another cold weekend is in store before things begin to heat up and the days get longer and the walks after dinner begin again for the next year.

Enjoy your ride and I hope you find a good book to help you through the next few weeks.

When The Music's Over?

Terry Henry — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 22:06:13 GMT

Today has been one of those cold dreary days that have February in the mountains written all over it—the fire wood is damp, it's hard to get the house above 65 degrees and after a gray day or two it's now foggy outside and getting dark earlier than usual.

It's been a weekend where very little gets done and there is not much I am particularly inspired to do. In my mind it is like the flip side to a coin where the other side has clarity and breakthrough pictured boldly in three dimensional glory.

As I said—or at least implied—I had to pull myself out of the rocking chair, where I was covered with a warm blanket in order to attend a solo piano concert by a friend of mine this Sunday afternoon. I was happy under the blanket waiting for the house to get warm, but I am glad that I made the effort.

I knew that my friend (Steve Sensenig) was a good pianist but I was nonetheless surprised at how masterful he was when it came to taking on Beethoven, Chopin and Mendelssohn all by himself in that small recital room on campus. I had positioned myself to be at eye level with his hands and slightly to the left of the keyboard. Except for about twenty people or so in the room mostly behind me, it was just me and Steve and the music for a little under an hour.

It is hard to describe the thoughts and feelings that float by as we allow ourselves to relax and be entertained. Not unlike a good movie, our focus seems to be shaken loose from "everyday" reality and lands somewhere in the realm of possibility. We find ourselves in a place that is not really all that unfamiliar but a place that we know from experience that we must leave at some point. It is a place where hopes and dreams come together in a mix of extreme expectancy only to be followed by the poignant realization that we live our lives far below what we are capable of.

It's that moment of time when we relax and enjoy the minute by minute beat of a feeling that given the opportunity says we can do and/or be anything that we can think of or imagine. That is until we reach the very moment of breakthrough and the music stops or the movie ends and we find ourselves back in the parking lot looking for our car.

And I have said all that to say this: that even though I have sat through that same movie for many years, I think I am just about to enter into an area of reality that I have only, up until now, been able to sense as a light breeze might be felt coming in off the ocean. It's a fullness that expresses itself in a joy and an understanding that is as if the movie continues even when we have left the theater or concert hall. That the photo frames that have escaped us all these years are about to be captured in full color and surround sound.

I know this must sound a bit extreme and somewhat truncated. I realize that saying what I have is a lot to get our heads around. How can we go from watching the movie to actually being a part of it? And I don't exactly have a road map in front of me—it is more of a sense or a feeling that a window of opportunity has opened in front of me and that I must by all means go through it.

My wife and I watched a DVD the other evening that was made at a conference last October in the Dallas/Fort Worth area of Texas. It was called "Shatter" and was a Christian arts and worship release event. The very last evening of the conference, after a two hour plus praise and worship service with banners and dancing and people making art, John Paul Jackson got on stage and said that our idea of what worshiping God means has been to narrow. He then went on to explain that whenever we did something within an area of our gifting, we were in reality worshiping God. Scripture says that God gave gifts to men and what better way to exalt the giver of the gift that to operate in it and enjoy it.

Therefore if your gift is encouragement, when you encourage someone you are in a sense glorifying God through that act. And you most certainly don't have to attend a Sunday "worship" service to feel as though you are indeed worshiping God. Not that that hurts—but you know what I mean.

So I guess what I am trying to say is that when the music stops, you move on to the next song and don't wait around until something from someplace else just happens to show up in front of you until you begin to sing again.

Enjoy your ride and your song.

A Bit Of The Past - From a Piano Perspective

Terry Henry — Wed, 20 Feb 2008 18:53:30 GMT

I grew up in a small to medium sized town in Michigan called Port Huron. The town itself was sort of nondescript and was like many towns of its day—the rich people lived in one part of town, the poor in another and those who found themselves in between—well they sort of lived on the edges of where everybody else lived.

We had two high schools, a couple of radio stations, a community college, two golf courses and a sailboat marina among other attractions. In addition, the town was just across the St. Clair River from Sarnia, Ontario, Canada. During my youth we would travel to hockey games across the Blue Water Bridge which joined the two towns just at the place that Lake Huron ended and the river began. If you have ever heard of the Port Huron to Mackinaw sailboat race then that would be the place where the race began every July.

It was an interesting place to grow up nonetheless and the reason I am remembering any of this is that on the way to the coffee shop tonight to take my daughter to meet a friend, I turned on the Beatles' Rubber Soul album and listened to one of my favorite songs from that time period, Norwegian Wood. And that brought back another interesting memory from that time period that I hadn't thought about in quite some time.

Port Huron had its share of strange people who just seemed to float around. People who would show up one day and then wouldn't be seen again for months. Stories would grow up around these people and after so long you would not know what was the truth and what was rumor.

One of these people lived just on the outskirts of my neighborhood and even though I never really learned his complete history, suffice it to say I would occasionally find myself at his house and would listen to his music and his stories. He lived in an apartment above a closed in garage which wasn't used much as he didn't have a car but what he did have was an old upright piano sitting against an outside wall.

I have always been fascinated by pianos and this one was in tune and everything. He told me it was for sale and even though I knew that one—my parents would never approve of me buying it and two—even if I did there was no way I could get it to my house and even if I could there wasn't anyplace for it to live.

So, as my memory serves, for the next several months I would visit that garage and play around with my new purchase. I remember giving him twenty bucks for it and thinking back, probably knew somewhere in my mind that I was really just paying a rental fee. I even went so far as to buy the piano sheet music to Norwegian Wood and spent hours just trying to train my fingers to hit all the right keys.

Like I said, he was one of "those" people and one day I found the door to the garage locked. I hadn't seen Jim or Joe or whatever his name was around but I had heard that his mother lived in an old house by the local beach, just a few blocks from the piano garage. It was one of those places that had seen better days and as I approached I could see all the curtains shut and noticed the grass hadn't been cut in a couple of weeks. I knocked and waited and knocked and waited some more. Just as I was about to leave an older, somewhat disheveled artistic looking lady came to the door and asked me why I was bothering her. I told her that I had been playing the piano in her son's garage and that the door was now locked and wondered if she knew where her son was and if she had a key so that I could open the door and get in to play the piano.

I didn't tell her that I had "rented" it out or any of the other details of my life that pertained to the aforementioned instrument. She proceeded to tell me that he had left town again and that she really had no idea of when he would return or where he was for that matter. She indicated that there might be a key around somewhere but I could tell that she doubted my story and that that was the last time I was ever going to be in that garage.

I was disappointed as I walked away but seem to remember getting caught up in some other aspect of my life and that my piano days began to seem further and further away. I don't remember ever seeing my piano friend again.

That is until yesterday and the strains of Norwegian Wood wove their way into my head and then on to this cyber page.

I have had several other love affairs with pianos since that time and when I get a moment it might be interesting to tell the story of when I would sneak into the sanctuary of my church in Port Huron in order to play the great big pipe organ that sat unused all work-week long.

Enjoy your ride today and remember it is the little things in life that make the ride interesting.

Yes We Can...Or Can We?

Terry Henry — Wed, 20 Feb 2008 18:54:50 GMT

In light of my recent discovery of the "Yes We Can" music video featuring Barak Obama and its powerful message calling people together for change, I have to wonder what the real message of this video is and whether it is realistic to think that "ordinary people" can make much of a difference in the political landscape of America.

Or put another way: based on what I think I know about the political system in America, is it realistic to think that what the "people" on the grass-roots level say or do is going to have any lasting effect on the totality of the political process as it perpetuates itself.

I will admit upfront that this is an extremely hard subject to articulate.

This afternoon at lunch with my co-workers I half humorously asked if God would have us vote for the lessor of two evils in the upcoming presidential race. They looked at me like I was stupid for even asking that question—I guess their reaction came from knowing that we have been in this situation for some time and it is about time I woke up to that reality.

And this entry is not so much a story with a beginning, middle and an end as it is one man trying to make sense of a world that on one level wants us to believe that things are getting better while at the same time we see death and destruction happening all around us—from Columbine and the Southwest Indian reservations to Iraq, Israel and the middle east in general. Not to mention the atrocities in Africa, Serbia and China.

I read that in the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. And after that God created us, male and female and said to them, "Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it;". In that statement and others throughout the Bible it is implied that we are to be "good stewards" of the earth and its' resources as well.

Yet having said that I must also say that I am not into "dominion theology" either which broadly states that: ...the kingdom of God will be established on Earth through political and (in some cases) even military means, preparing the way for or enabling the return of Christ.

Christianity to me is in reality more of a heart change inside of us rather than a legislative mandate to not have an abortion or work on Sunday's.

I have certainly failed as an individual time and time again in being a conduit for what I believe to practically affect those around me. I have wasted energy resources, have not always re-cycled and have certainly added my share to the national debt.

In my humble opinion it seems we haven't really been able to "totally" agree on anything since we had our single language confused at the tower of babel and were scattered all over the face of the earth.

Knowing this, how am I to believe that any political candidate is going to be able to bring peace, harmony and equality to an earth that is so highly fractured and seemingly going in different directions.

I am currently reading a book entitled "Honor: What Love Looks Like" and in the first chapter the author talks about all the broken treaties that the white government broke with the American Indians. This has, in her opinion, been a major factor in why native American's have a high rate of suicide, unemployment and alcoholism. In this we see that the very root of governmental expansionism is full of lies and deceit.

I know this is over simplified—but has anything really changed. Systems have a way of getting what they need—if they need your land and want to call it eminent domain then who are we to argue with that.

Herein lies the rub—you have built your scenarios of what all this means and I have built mine. We can have chapter and verse back us up and still come to different conclusions. And having said that I am not saying that I am giving up hope that we can work it out. I am just going to begin to try and come at it from a different direction or perspective. I am going to work on me and not try and fix you.

In having some of this conversation with a friend the other day he informed me that he doesn't read what any political candidate says about anything. He simply shows up on voting day, enters the booth and asks God who he should vote for. I can't say that I am there yet but that seems like an interesting place to stake a claim.

How it all plays out I haven't a clue. But I do remember a Dylan song that ended with this partial verse:

Will I ever learn that there'll be no peace,
that the war won't cease
Until He returns?

Knowing something and doing it are two different things. Hopefully our ride today will be a combination of both.

"A" Political

Terry Henry — Fri, 08 Feb 2008 17:01:45 GMT

In the overall scheme of things it is hard to describe just how very little politics matters in my life.

And I think it all stems back to a political science class I took at St. Clair Community College in the late sixties.

Located in Port Huron, Michigan, SC Four was a feeder school for the state college system in Michigan and taken at that level was not a bad place to hang your hat, so to speak.

I entered community college after returning from Europe and getting my high school diploma at night school. I joined the pregnant girls and the guys that married them in night school because the principal of the high school I attended before I split to discover myself would not let me back in the regular day school regimen. Something about me being more mature and all that, he said. And while I never quite forgave him for that decision, it didn't take me long to figure out he had made the right one.

So I got my High School diploma at night school and moved on to community college as a way to eventually get into Michigan State University, the very same school that Magic Johnson attended.

This was an interesting period of my life. Against my better judgment I moved back into my parents house after being in Europe for several months and got my diploma. Then I went to community college for 2 years in order to get my life back to some sort of normal. I even became the student government president during that time period and reveled in all the doors that position opened to me. My pony tail hair had become short and for all practical purposes I was as straight as a string.

But other things were working inside of me and it wasn't long before my mind began to wander and I moved on from there to Lansing, Michigan where MSU was located.

However, I am getting way ahead of myself.

While at community college, one of my very first classes was Poly Sci 101 taught by a teacher named Stephen Rubel. The very first class I remember him stating with all the authority vested upon a community college teacher that political parties would very soon become a misnomer as each candidate would eventually have to do what was demanded of them by whatever circumstance the US found itself in. That it really wasn't a democrat or republican thing at all but that the candidate that looked best on TV would be the one who would win and so forth.

Bear in mind that this was before everything about a campaign and running for any public office would become all about consultants, media analysts and focus groups. Not to mention political action committees, the silent majority, the religious right and liberal left.

What brought this all home to me was an e-mail link I received the other day from Denny Hatch who is an internet target marketing guru. The link said:

Electile Dysfunction: The inability to become aroused over any of the choices for president put forth by either party in the 2008 election year. —Ed Zuckerman, Proprietor of “Government Policy Newslinks” to Denny Hatch, e-mail, January 23, 2008

And in light of all the "E D" commercials we have to put up with on television, I thought this was hilarious. So much so I got a good belly laugh and then realized I couldn't agree with it more. There is no Camelot candidate for us to choose this year and hasn't been one for some time. Maybe they got caught in the last trickle down wave from Washington and are still trying to find their way back into mainstream America.

While thinking about all this I stumbled across a Bill Kinnon post on his Achievable Ends blog which features the Barak Obama "Yes We Can" speech from the New Hampshire primary. "Yes We Can" is a music video by Will.i.am of Black Eyed Peas incorporating this speech. It features a host of celebrity cameos, including Scarlett Johansson, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Nick Cannon and Herbie Hancock.

Suffice it to say I was intrigued by the concept and have to believe that a lot of votes are being directed his way due to this video. Little did my Poly Sci professor know how much his idea of the "television" candidate would be realized in 2008 when he made his remarks to that class of 1970.

At this point I have no idea who will get my vote. On my way to work I saw a pickup truck with a big poster on the back about Ron Paul who I guess is a grass roots presidential candidate. And knowing what the press does with anyone who runs for public office, I wonder why anyone would want the job.

I don't know what else to say other than the Obama video link is below. Let me know what you think about all this.

Yes We Can Video

One of those days

Terry Henry — Thu, 07 Feb 2008 09:11:32 GMT

Yesterday was one of those days that rolls around every 15 or 20 years or so in North Carolina when the temperatures in February reach record highs. The recorded temperature yesterday for Boone was 69 degrees, surpassing by 7 degrees the 62 degree day recorded in 1991.

And being the bike rider and opportunist that I am, that kind of weather spoke loud and clear to me: "Take the afternoon off work and go for a long bike ride—you would be stupid if you didn't." So, I didn't argue with this voice inside my head and after a quick lunch I cleaned up my bike and headed out with my buddy Glen to get a little fresh air and exercise.

If you have ever found some activity that totally pleases you what I am about to say will make a lot of sense. While riding I told Glen that it shouldn't be this easy—finding pleasure in just riding—without a lot of attendant pain and so forth. Riding for me has become the sort of endeavor that requires little more from me than just showing up and getting into the saddle.

Yet it seems like it should be harder—more masochistic—that I should have to pay for my satisfaction with a pound of flesh and a high mortgage rate. Yet that could not be farther from the truth.

Yesterday we rode 30 miles and tackled one of the highest hills that we have ridden. Normally this would be something that we would do in April or May and having done it so early in the year is a promise for good things for the rest of 2008—bike-wise. And other than a little calf-cramp late in the day, the ride was pure pleasure.

It would be my hope at this point that you would have found something as rich and rewarding in your life as riding has become to me.

I am reminded of a verse in the book of Ecclesiastes that states:

3:12 I know that there is nothing better for them (read "us") than to rejoice and to do good in one's lifetime;

3:13 Moreover, that every man who eats and drinks and sees good in all his labor--it is the gift of God.

What the writer is saying to me is that God is very interested in our lives and really has our best interests at heart. That if we enjoy an activity such as eating or riding or working, this feeling or understanding of that enjoyment comes from God as well. In other words, God has so framed our relationship to the world around us that in gaining pleasure from it is part of the dynamic built into our perception of its reality.

And that my friend is really a mouthful.

In all of this just voiced I am not implying that I am some super-spiritual being that basks in the joy of living 24/7. I have my hangups and am dysfunctional in my own specific ways. But I realize that we are all joined together by a silver thread that is used to stitch the pieces of this patch-work quilt called humanity. Whether African or Indian, Asian or Caucasian, we share in an adventure that can only be called "inspired".

To see my ride as frivolous or unimportant is to devalue how much I really mean to God—to fully understand how much I am cared for is almost to much for me to comprehend.

This is the divine tension called "living" that we are faced with each and everyday.

Songs have been written about it—poems have attempted to give us insight into what it is all about.

But until you are fully into your ride, you will never know just how much it is you have been given to live and to rejoice in.

And that my friend is a ride and a wrap.

Another Ice Storm

Terry Henry — Fri, 01 Feb 2008 10:31:06 GMT

One of the major differences between North Carolina and my previous home state of Michigan is the incidences of freezing rain/ice storms during the winter months. My memory of Michigan is that the sky clouded over in late October and you didn't see the sun again until almost May. Then it would get cold and the snow would snow on top of snow and everything eventually looked gray and unappetizing—not your "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas" kind of picture at all.

Not that winter was all bad—when I was a kid I earned a lot of money shoveling snow on those days when it dumped a bunch and we didn't have to go to school. We'd walk around the neighborhood and knock on doors and sometimes we wouldn't get home until late in the afternoon. I never thought about it this way before, but I bet my mother was glad to see us pick up the shovel and head out—you know how kids can get when school is out there is nothing to do.

By my late twenties and early thirties, I had also discovered all the many recreational types of things you could do during the long Michigan winters. Since there were lots of state parks, cross-country skiing became one of my favorite things to do with my not yet wife Sandi. We still talk about those days. Instead of letting her teach me how, I bought a couple of books and read up on the sport and since I was a purist the skis I purchased were very Nordic and wooden and were the kind that needed different kinds of wax applied to them depending on the type of snow you would be skiing in. Sandi's were fiberglass and had little ridges on the bottom and worked in all types of snow and actually worked better than mine most of the time. But that is the way life was back then—I would like to think that I have changed for the better.

We have been in North Carolina since 1978 and have seen our share of ice storms and freezing rain. Back in the day, whenever we had freezing rain, the power would go off for an indefinite period of time and so I bought lots of kerosene lamps and we always kept water in jugs handy. There were many times I would fire up the old Coleman stove just outside the door in order to heat some water for coffee or soup. Ah...those were the days my friend!

The first seven years in NC we had a wood cook stove as well as a wood heater and when the power went off nothing much really changed—life went on as almost usual.

But we don't lose our electricity much anymore. Our power comes from Blue Ridge Electric and all during the spring, summer and fall months you can see trucks all around the county cutting the tree limbs that could potentially fall on the power lines during one of our freezing rain periods. They have done a good job and I am typing this story while everything around me (outside that is) is covered in up to 3/8ths of an inch of ice from the freezing rain we had last night. The temperature is hovering around the 34 degree mark and my driveway is a 30 degree pitch of solid ice.

I may make it into work after a while. I have only heard one vehicle leave the neighborhood since I have been up and I will probably throw some ice melt on the driveway in a bit to help it along.

Since I can't get out and about to show you what things look like, I took a picture of my bird feeders out of my kitchen window. At least you will get an idea of what it's like outside on this first of February in the mountains of North Carolina.

I am going to feed the fire and get another cup of coffee. Enjoy your day wherever you may be riding.

Dreams and All the Rest

Terry Henry — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 19:41:55 GMT

What I know about dreams and what they mean can fit neatly into an extra small coffee cup—the kind like those upscale shops use to put a shot of espresso. One gulp and it's finished.

What I do know is that I do dream and sometimes when I wake in the middle of one, I remember the content and the feelings associated with whatever it is rambling round my nighttime brain. I can also say without reservation that dreams seem to cycle and re-cycle themselves—often the same feelings seem to be attached to different cerebral scenarios.

Last night I remember dreaming about being in Africa—it is a dream that I have had many times over the past couple of years since I returned from my trip to Tanzania. Although the scene is always somewhat different it is a vivid dream of me being in Africa and being caught off guard as to the timing of my return trip to America.

What I always seem to remember most is the feeling that the day stamped on my return ticket comes and I am not prepared to return. It is always a scramble to get my luggage together and arrange a ride to the airport which is always about an hour or two away from where I am staying. It is as though I am caught unawares by the date and seem unsettled with my ability to get myself to the airport and home again. Like if I don't the ticket expires and then what do I do.

And this is not to say that I wouldn't want to stay there in Africa—just that the dynamic of the dream is such that I am always looking at a situation that has no easy solution.

In the past I have never made it to the airport before I woke up—yet last night I not only made it to the airport, but found that the plane itself always arrives several hours later than what the ticket says. So, after much worry, I made it to the airport in time to meet the plane. Then I woke up.

What this says about me and my psyche is really up for grabs. I have wanted to go back to Africa since the very day I landed back in America from that first time. That said, a return trip is not something that you do on a whim—lots of planning and money go into the makeup of that type of journey.

In other words, I have the time, the inclination, but not the where-with-all to make it back.

Sometimes I doubt my sincerity—if I really wanted to go back to Africa that bad (I say to myself) I would save my nickels and dimes and go without that bottle of wine in order to facilitate a faster return trip. Yet even as I allow myself to think about this I realize how hard it is to accomplish everything else it is I want to do and I sort of lay off myself for a season.

I am a man in conflict with his very nature and upbringing. Add to the previous scenario the fact that I would like my wife to go with me and perhaps my 14 year old daughter and things get really complicated.

I guess for now it is enough to know that I finally made it to the airport in my dreams—yet the dream is always me coming back and not leaving for and that I haven't even begun to comprehend.

In the meantime I hope to get a good nights sleep this very evening and look forward to the weather getting warmer so I can get outside a little more. I guess Africa will take care of itself and that is probably the best I can hope for at this point.

Enjoy today and look forward to another ride—that is what life really comes down to—a place for everything and everything almost making it to the table.

Enjoy your ride today.

Blog Block and the Rhythm of Life

Terry Henry — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 08:25:49 GMT

I remember back in the early to mid eighties when I worked at the Jefferson Times newspaper, I had to come up with editorial and feature ideas for the twice a week publication on a very "regular" basis. I would often read the Winston-Salem Journal to get story leads in order to put a local flavor to them—what resulted was uniquely mine but the ideas were sort of second hand. And the great part is that nobody seemed to know I did this and I really feel that if they did, they didn't care one way or the other. Newspapers are like that—in one eye and out the other and then we pile them up and take them to the re-cycle bin every so often.

It was an interesting time—one in which I never thought I would be reminiscing over almost 25 years later. But that is like a lot of our lives—we live them day by day and often go years without really taking the time to evaluate where we have been and where we are headed. As if any of this really matters—it is what it is, as some would say.

Yet we find ourselves several years down the road in our ride and begin to wonder how long it will last and have we made the most of it and all the other thoughts that come to mind on a lazy winter evening.

All that to say this: it is late January in the mountains of North Carolina and I am ready for the winter to be over. I am sure the ski resorts are not ready but I am. If I never see snow again I think that I would not miss it. I have burned almost two loads of wood since November and hope I have enough left to see me through until the balmy days of spring—i doubt it will last but one can always hope. It is the same every year—but different. Sandi and I started the winter reading books every night instead of watching the television and really enjoying the time shift into slow winter mode.

It wasn't until later that I realized that I had added a few pounds of winter-weight primarily because the weather had not been conducive to taking bike rides like last year. When you are used to getting into one size of pants and your body is sending you a different signal, it's hard to adjust. For those of you who have never experienced mountain winter weather, you can have all that I can send you and then some more—I have seen enough to last a lifetime.

I began to chronicle my thoughts blog-wise over a year ago after leaving a church I had been a part of for over 22 years. I had lots of thoughts that I needed to express and this was the medium that I chose. I am here to say that I don't have any fewer thoughts today that I had way back when, but getting them out is a little more protracted that before. It is almost like my mind went on a writer's strike of its own and since it is not worried whether or not it finishes a season or not for syndication, I am left with what I have. I may finish 15 episodes this month or I may only submit five—that's the way it is and I can't make it be what I doesn't want.

I could talk about Euclid and his postulates which state:

   1. A straight line segment can be drawn by joining any two points.
   2. A straight line segment can be extended indefinitely in a straight line.
   3. Given a straight line segment, a circle can be drawn using the segment as radius and one endpoint as center.
   4. All right angles are equal.
   5. If two lines are drawn which intersect a third in such a way that the sum of the inner angles on one side is less than two right angles, then the two lines inevitably must intersect each other on that side if extended far enough.

Or I could mention the fact that Greek thinking is linear and perhaps has gotten us into a mess that we don't really want to be in. They had the world figured out and fashioned in their own image—so much so that the logical thinking we use everyday was formulated by them.

Or I could just say that the winter is long and my mind has gone into hibernation and I will be a lot more regular blog-wise in the spring.

Yesterday I left work early and went for a 22 mile bike ride with my buddy Glen. It was 52 degrees when we began and got progressively colder as the afternoon floated by. But it was good to be out and about if you know what I mean. I then came home, spent some quality time with my wife and went to bed early. I imagined my ride again as I felt my body tone down after a good workout—every vibration and bump in the road was like a poem re-read and written only to me. It won't be long before I can be out and about in a more regular fashion—it will be a time to order seeds for the garden and get the tiller out of the storage shed.

In the midst of all the years that have been lived and have passed us by—it really is a joy to be alive and be looking for the long ride.