Practicing Faith: Grace Abounds

      For the past few years Cyndi and I have traveled with the Metro Big Band, Cyndi on percussion and congas, me on trombone. The Metro Big Band is an 18-piece jazz ensemble based in the United States led by Camp Kirkland that travels to various locations around the world. Finding this ministry was a delight after all these years in music. It has reenergized our love of music and deepened our understanding of the many ways we can share the love of Jesus.

      On our trip to Guatemala, we worked with Coro Philharmonic, an organization in Guatemala City that rescues kids and young adults from street gangs and violent homes by teaching them to be musicians. Manuel Lopez explained his ministry: “In this avalanche of sin, grace abounds through music.”

      One Sunday afternoon we drove to the church in Villa Nueva, Guatemala, the Green Church as we called it because it was painted bright neon green. They were in their seats patiently waiting for us as we set up on the small crowded stage. Knowing how loud we were, I was concerned that the first row of people were only about six feet in the front of the band.

      For our church concerts we included several hymns in our set, so the congregation could sing along with us. We played “How Great is Our God / How Great Thou Art,” and “Great is Thy Faithfulness.” They loved it, singing with heads back and mouths wide open. It was a joy to be with these passionate people and their robust singing.

      During “Great is Thy Faithfulness” I noticed a woman about two rows back, probably in her 70s, with long silver hair pulled into a loose ponytail, eyes closed and arms in the air, singing with full emotion and energy, and weeping huge tears. Here was a woman who understood the faithfulness of God. Of course, as soon as I saw her, I started crying too, which made it hard to keep playing since I couldn’t see my music. The scene reminded me of Kathleen Norris’ observation about the old women and their well-worn Bibles … there is more to this than you know.

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      The musicians in the Metro Big Band come from all over the country. They tend to be middle-aged or retired adults who can afford the time away from home, and who have lived many years playing music.

      The charts are emailed to us about four weeks before the tour, which means we’re expected to learn them before we leave home. The first time the band rehearses together is our first evening in our destination country. Our first concert is the next day.

      When Cyndi and I traveled with the orchestra version of this ministry, I made it through the first night of rehearsals feeling good about it all. We were exhausted from the flight to Israel and two long hours of rehearsing, but we both felt up to the challenge of the music.

      However, that first night in Guatemala with the jazz band was different. From the very beginning, the very first song, I felt like a little boy in a room full of adults. I was intimidated by the musicianship and the rapid learning curve. The first couple of songs we pulled out scared me, not because the music was too fast or too impossible, which it was on both counts, but because everyone in the band was so much better than I was - better than I’ll ever be. Better than I could’ve ever been had I dedicated my life to it.

      After rehearsal I texted about my fears and instability to Rabon, who has traveled with this group at least a dozen international trips. He gently talked me off the ledge and promised it would get better, less frightening, as the tour proceeded. Also, after I got a night or two of sleep.

      As the week progressed, and after a half dozen successful concerts, I began to feel better about my playing. I was beginning to settle in. My confidence grew with each performance, and by the end of the week I felt, well, still out of my league, but comfortable playing with them. I knew I was contributing in a positive way. And I was having fun.

      Even with all my personal angst I loved watching Cyndi play congas and growing into her own confidence. It was probably the first time in our years together both of us had to struggle with inadequacy and fear at the same time, together. Was it a bonding experience? Maybe, but I don’t recommend it for anyone.

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      The night before we left, when we were packing our suitcases, Cyndi was thinking and rethinking her selections. We both tend to pack light, in fact we often have the least luggage in the band, so we have to make specific choices about clothing.

      She held up a handful of clothes and looked at me for my opinion. “Should I take these instead?”

      I started singing, “Don’t go changing, to try to please me, I love you just the way you are.”

      And then it occurred to me – we’ve done nothing but change for each other for the past forty years. Sorry, Billy Joel, it’s a silly song. Successful marriages are about constant change. Even after all these years, all I want to do is please Cyndi.

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      I recently stuck this question on a shelf in my closet: “I wonder what my life would be like if I started doing all the things I’m afraid to do?” Surprisingly, the first thing I thought of was music.

      One of my goals for 2017 was “to practice trombone at home more often,” knowing that any practice at all, even only one time, would exceed what I’ve been doing. But I needed more; a new big goal to follow. It was time to reboot some ancient habits, so I did something I’ve been afraid to do. I signed up for private trombone lessons, my first since 1976.

      “So why take private lessons, at your age?” you might ask. “Don’t you usually run away from situations where you appear to be a beginner? Isn’t that the very thing you’ve been afraid of?”

      “Yes.”

      I knew taking lessons would be scary at first, exposing my fading ability to a professional musician who was probably younger than my son or daughter. But I hoped the scariness would last only one or two lessons, and then the constructive work would begin.

      I’d grown lazy and complacent as a musician and needed a professional reboot. I was looking forward to starting over with basic exercises, happy to be reengaging with something I’ve loved since I was twelve. I was glad to know I still have improvement ahead of me.

      The underlying reason I started taking lessons was this – I wanted to learn how to play improvisational jazz solos. It is on my list of One Hundred Life Goals and I had delayed getting started long enough. I’ve played in jazz bands since the beginning, but always as a section player. I was never brave enough to stand up and play a solo. And then, for some reason, last fall, I decided my Fear of Looking Foolish (FOLF) was less than my Fear of Missing Out (FOMO). I didn’t want to live out my life having never tried.

      I’m so happy that playing trombone is still part of my life after all these years. I’m a better engineer because I’m a musician. I’m a better writer, a better teacher, a better husband, father, and lover. Having music in my life makes me creative, open-eyed, and helps me appreciate quality, hard work, and practice.

      I Corinthians 1:5 says, “He has enriched your whole lives, from the words on your lips to the understanding in your hearts.” (Phillips) Music is one of the most enriching gifts God has given me.

      Not only does music enrich my life, but it’s firmly embedded in my family. Dad was a church worship leader and Mom played piano so there was always music in our house. I was often “recruited” to play trombone solos in church, and since there weren’t many soloists in those small congregations I stayed in the regular rotation.

      What’s more, Cyndi and I first met in a band hall in 1973, and we’ve played in various ensembles together ever since. I cannot imagine our life without this bond between us.

      One of my favorite Bible verses is Psalm 33:3, “Sing to the Lord a new song; Play skillfully with a shout of joy.” That’s what it takes: skill (hard work), and joy (sheer pleasure). Or as my musical mentor and trail guide, Rabon says, “You’ve got to dig what you’re doing.”

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      I don’t know how far back music goes in my family; What I meant is, I don’t how many generations were musicians. But I know my grandfather, Cy Simpson, learned to play piano from a correspondence course. I wouldn’t’ve thought it possible to learn piano that way except we have a stack of his old lessons, complete with his handwritten answers and his instructor’s comments. He learned to play shaped notes, which is an old-school way of notating music. Each shape corresponds to a different note on the scale, and changing keys is very easy.

      My dad and his sister, Betty, used to stand beside the piano and sing duets while Cy played. He could change keys on a whim, even in mid-phrase, which he did often, just to mess with the singers. Joking at each other’s expense goes way back in my family, too.

      As a young man my Dad lead the music in small churches all over central and west Texas. In fact, he met my mom at a revival at First Baptist Church in Ackerly, Texas. My other grandfather, Roy Haynes, was pastor, and his oldest daughter, Lenelle, played piano for the worship services. My dad was the visiting musician for the revival, what we used to call the music director and now worship leader. He was a student at the time, at Howard Payne College in Brownwood, Texas.

      Music was part of our home life as far back as I have memories of anything. My dad had stacks of long-play record albums, mostly of Southern Gospel singing groups. He also had the Greatest Hits of Glen Miller, and I played it all the time. It was my first exposure to big band jazz and hearing it was fundamental to my being a musician today, 50 years later.

      I credit my dad with the fact I am a musician today. He never pushed me into music, but he certainly inspired me. In my life as a young boy, because of my dad’s obvious example, music was something grown men did regularly. It was a manly pursuit. So I pursued it.

      And just like my Dad, I married a musician. Cyndi played melodic percussion (bells, chimes, xylophone, etc.) and I played trombone, and we played together in various church ensembles as often as possible.

      Our children, Byron and Katie, became musicians. They both played piano and sang in children’s choirs. We used to sing songs together while driving around Texas in our Chevy Astro minivan. Especially during the Christmas season, which in our family begins November 1st, as soon as Halloween is over.

      Both B&K went on to play trombone, and one of my favorite memories is Christmas caroling as a trombone trio. We kept trying to bring Cyndi into our group so we could become the Simpson Family Quartet, but she said we were just making fun of her as a percussionist. She was a little bit correct in the making fun part, but still, we wanted her to join.

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      I’ve tried to think my way into jazz for too many years. I assumed the way to learn to improvise would be to learn all the blues and jazz scales, maybe learn some cool licks in every key, and then good music would simply flow out of me. It was intellectual and structured approach. Engineer-like, like me.

      Nowadays I’m trying not to think so much, just listen and play. I’m not doing anything interesting yet, but it is fun to try. And I know it isn’t enough to poke around in my practice room my myself. I must step out and play in front of people who know the difference.

      I mentioned once to Rabon, “I suppose I have to commit to failing in front of my favorite people for at least a hundred times.”

      Rabon said, “Or a thousand times.”

      When I mentioned this to Bob Hartig he said, “You have to commit to failing every single time. You have to jump in all the way.”

      The thing is, this whole episode of my life is about more than just practicing, or learning different scales, or whatever. It’s a deliberate move to receive guidance and encouragement form an expert, something adults don’t get very often.

      I like being told what to do.

      I can’t believe I just wrote that because I usually bow up when someone tells me what to do, but I suppose I have my categories when I like it.

      I like being coached when lifting weights or doing Pilates or yoga. I don’t always want to decide on my own. And I like it when my trombone teacher, Ethan, shows me new software aps or new music or practice books. There is comfort in being directed, nurtured, and guided. And especially when there is a mutual expectation that I will get much better.

      My jazz sensei, Rabon, introduced me to a classic musical textbook by Madeline Bruser titled, The Art of Practicing. In it she wrote, “Fear is energy. If you allow it to flow through you, you transform it into fearlessness … each time you confront fear head on and let the adrenaline flood your body, you liberate the energy of fear and make it available for creative action.”

      I’ve made a mental commitment, when playing with our local community college jazz band, to agree to as many solos as possible and appropriate. To be brave enough to stand up and play despite the fear of failing, being stupid, looking and sounding like a beginner.

      I know I’ll get better with practice, but I need practice in front of people. I must force the fear, take it on, and push through that barrier, in order to improve and really learn. This is one of those things I cannot get better at by reading and studying. I have to clock in the time.

      Karen Rinaldi wrote an interesting book called, (It’s Great to) Suck at Something. I’ll admit I was hesitant to read it since sucking at something was what I was trying to avoid, but after I heard a podcast interview by the author, I decided to give it a try.

      Rinaldi explains how working at something you aren’t good at and will ever be exceptional at leads to other opportunities and other situations that would never be possible otherwise, but would never even be on your personal radar, on your bucket list, never under consideration. She asks us to trust that working hard at this will result in ways I can’t imagine. Failing is often the only way to get better.

      I want to live in courage and not fear, and the only way to learn that skill is to be intentional about doing things that I am afraid of, knowing courage there will also pop up somewhere else.

      She writes that the ability to suck at something, which is weird to think of as an ability, is a learned skill. Most of the time most of us won’t even attempt something that we don’t think we can do well, we’re more afraid of looking silly than afraid of missing out, so allowing ourselves to be bad in public, is an ability.

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      I dreamed I was sitting inside a band hall full of chairs and music stands scattered randomly, like all band halls between rehearsals. I was the only musician in the room, and I was holding my trombone and sitting in the third chair from the end of the row when I heard a sharp rapping sound known to all musicians as the conductor calling his group to attention.

      It seemed a little strange to me since I was apparently alone in the room, but I put my horn up out of habit and prepared to play. I didn’t even have any music.

      The conductor said, “Let’s begin.”

      “Begin what? I don’t have any music.”

      “Just follow Me and it’ll be fine.”

      “Follow where? What do You want me to play?”

      “Just follow My lead. Start in A-flat and try to keep up through the changes in the chorus.”

      “You want me to improvise in the key of A-flat? That means I have to play in 5th position. Nobody plays 5th in tune on a trombone. Let’s do something else.”

      “You always want to do something else, don’t you? You always want to pick the music yourself. I’m the conductor. Just follow Me. Trust Me.”

      “I do trust You. I just want to you to pick a key I can play well. How about something in F? I always play better in F.”

      “Not as often as you think.”

      “What? How often do You hear me play?”

      “Well, I’m the one who gave you that horn. I’m the one who gave you music.”

      “My parents gave me this horn back in 1970.”

      “But I put music in your heart. It’s because of Me that you still play. And, by the way, it wouldn’t have hurt if you’d’ve practiced a little more through the years.”

      “You wanted me to practice?”

      “I gave you a gift; don’t you think I expected you to practice a little?”

      “Well, I did practice. I made All State, I played in college, I play in church orchestra … “

      “I gave you a gift, and I wanted you to use it more often. But that is beside the point. Let’s play!”

      “I don’t have any music.”

      “Improvise.”

      “You want me to play jazz?”

      “Why do you always want a plan, a direction, a piece of music to look at? Is it so you won’t have to follow Me? You don’t want to be a musician; you want to be a technician … a plan follower. I want you to follow Me.”

      “OK, I’m ready. Should we tune?”

      “Oh, suddenly you want to tune. All these years you didn’t worry that much about tuning. You just wanted to play the notes.”

      “Should we tune?”

      “We’ll tune as we go. You’re playing a trombone, the easiest instrument to play in tune. Remember, you’re holding your tuning slide in your hand.”

      “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that my whole life from every band director I’ve known. If I’m holding my tuning slide in my hand, it also means a trombone is the easiest instrument to play out of tune.”

      “Don’t get Me started. You wanted choices. You wanted free will. You wanted to be independent. You could’ve played an instrument with structure and no obligation for tuning … like the triangle.”

      “But I’d only get to play one note.”

      “Do you want freedom or not? If you want to play a lot of notes, play them in tune. Let’s go.”

      “Well, I’m sorry I’ve played out of tune so often. My ear isn’t as good as it used to be.”

      “Your ear was never that good. Maybe if you’d practiced more … “

      “The thing is, I can usually tell when I’m out of tune … I just can’t tell if I’m sharp or flat. I can tell I’m off; I just don’t know how to fix it.”

      “That’s the smartest thing you’ve said since we started. You play the horn and let Me tune for you as we go.”

      “You can tune my horn while I’m playing?”

      “I don’t care about your horn. I’ll tune your heart. You just play.”

      “How will tuning my heart make me play well?”

      “Stop worrying about whether you play well. That’s My problem. All I want you to do is practice, and play, and listen, and follow Me.”

      “So, what’s my job again?”

      “Follow me and let me tune your heart as we go.”

      “OK. So, what are we playing?”

      “Just follow Me.”

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      Manuel Lopez of Guatemala City advised, “Play with excellence, and wait for the miracles of God.” That’s what I’m counting on.