Written for Katelyn Grace Sinclair on the occasion of her fourth birthday, when she was but a wee child who loved to dance:
"Oh, little one
don't dance for me
nor for your father, or
mother nor anyone else.
Twirl and soar!
Laugh and flow in
symphony with the wind and
the changing rhythms of
all the life around you
and in you.
Dance equally with
partners and without, flowing
calmly between.
Dance because
dance you must because
it gives voice to heaven and
windows to your soul and
because to dance is
just not an option
your heart can take.
And when there's fear,
dance with the Creator
who gives hope
where none
seems to live. Listen…
It's there His gentle
rocking slowly lifts
you back into the
dance you must be you
know He made you do dance!
Oh dance little one!
Let us all
watch you dance!
Monday, December 15, 2014
Thursday, September 18, 2014
He was a true gentleman...
The headline and accompanying story was factual and straightforward as most death notices are. It talked about his accomplishments, and the fact that he loved his family that surrounded him as he died. It told his age at death, and where he had been living, and the fact that his last performance was September 7 on the stage of the Grand Ole' Opry that he loved so well. It was a fine tribute to a fine, talented man.
The story that I would like to share is of those things about this man that caused the tears to flow gently down my cheeks as I took in the significance of this loss. You see, George Hamilton IV was a true gentleman. And I am fortunate as is almost everyone he ever met, to have called him my friend.
A group of "regulars" were sitting in the men's dressing room backstage in preparation for the annual ceilidh sponsored by the Grandfather Mountain Highland Games, when in walked a thin man with a beat-up guitar case and a smile. The response given by those who'd already had an opportunity to get to know him was one of joy that he had simply entered the room. He saw me, the one person in the room that he did not know, and stuck out his hand and said "You must be Ron. I've heard you are a real fine singer. I'm George the IV, and it is a pleasure to meet you." That's how it was with George. It seemed his every sentence contained a compliment for the person he was addressing.
Sharing the stage with George was a special experience. We musicians are well-known for trying to one-up one another. George began his section of each show complimenting those who had come before him, and ended by telling the audience what a treat they were in for as the show continued. And you know, he really meant what he said. He made us all better because he created, by his mere presence, such a feeling of camaraderie that we all felt like family.
As the weekend progressed, George and I spent a good deal of time talking together. We shared our backgrounds and faith experiences. His stories opened new horizons for me as I realized the depths of his own faith. A deep and lasting bond was quickly developed. And before the weekend had ended, George had invited me to bring our youth choir, Crossflame to sing with him at the Opry. Everyone had so much fun, that George and the Opry invited us back again 4 years later.
Each time we shared the stage with him, he went to great lengths to praise the kids in our choir. We even had a small bluegrass ensemble that accompanied him during one of his songs during our second visit. What a kick the kids got out of getting a banjo lesson from the great Ronni Stoneman. Before, during and after the show, George spent much of his time introducing our kids to some of the biggest names in country music.
It was no surprise to us when the Country Music Association gave him an award for "Being the industry's best example of what it means to live a Christian life." And it was also no surprise to us when George went to the trouble to join us the next day in a concert we were giving for a retirement community near Nashville.
So you see, in his death, I mourn the passing of more than the facts shared in a newspaper death notice. I lament the loss of a friend who was the kind of Christian I want to be. The musical scene in heaven was enriched today as the rich baritone voice of George IV joined their choir. And I can hear George now saying "I know you. I hear you are a real fine singer…"
God bless you George. God bless you...
The story that I would like to share is of those things about this man that caused the tears to flow gently down my cheeks as I took in the significance of this loss. You see, George Hamilton IV was a true gentleman. And I am fortunate as is almost everyone he ever met, to have called him my friend.
A group of "regulars" were sitting in the men's dressing room backstage in preparation for the annual ceilidh sponsored by the Grandfather Mountain Highland Games, when in walked a thin man with a beat-up guitar case and a smile. The response given by those who'd already had an opportunity to get to know him was one of joy that he had simply entered the room. He saw me, the one person in the room that he did not know, and stuck out his hand and said "You must be Ron. I've heard you are a real fine singer. I'm George the IV, and it is a pleasure to meet you." That's how it was with George. It seemed his every sentence contained a compliment for the person he was addressing.
Sharing the stage with George was a special experience. We musicians are well-known for trying to one-up one another. George began his section of each show complimenting those who had come before him, and ended by telling the audience what a treat they were in for as the show continued. And you know, he really meant what he said. He made us all better because he created, by his mere presence, such a feeling of camaraderie that we all felt like family.
As the weekend progressed, George and I spent a good deal of time talking together. We shared our backgrounds and faith experiences. His stories opened new horizons for me as I realized the depths of his own faith. A deep and lasting bond was quickly developed. And before the weekend had ended, George had invited me to bring our youth choir, Crossflame to sing with him at the Opry. Everyone had so much fun, that George and the Opry invited us back again 4 years later.
Each time we shared the stage with him, he went to great lengths to praise the kids in our choir. We even had a small bluegrass ensemble that accompanied him during one of his songs during our second visit. What a kick the kids got out of getting a banjo lesson from the great Ronni Stoneman. Before, during and after the show, George spent much of his time introducing our kids to some of the biggest names in country music.
It was no surprise to us when the Country Music Association gave him an award for "Being the industry's best example of what it means to live a Christian life." And it was also no surprise to us when George went to the trouble to join us the next day in a concert we were giving for a retirement community near Nashville.
So you see, in his death, I mourn the passing of more than the facts shared in a newspaper death notice. I lament the loss of a friend who was the kind of Christian I want to be. The musical scene in heaven was enriched today as the rich baritone voice of George IV joined their choir. And I can hear George now saying "I know you. I hear you are a real fine singer…"
God bless you George. God bless you...
Thursday, December 12, 2013
"I'm a mean man…"
As I reach the age of serious retirement planning (5+ years from today), it becomes easy to think about the past and those who have had a profound impact on my life. It is only fitting that the first blog I write be about my Grandpa Bill. This tobacco chewing, cigarette smoking, hat wearing man did more to help me form my view of the world than anyone else. His stories and unique way of sharing life's lessons became foundational for my life.
Grandpa lived the great depression. Cotton mill doffers could be hired for a dime a dozen, and that was the work he did best. When work "played out" at one mill, he would go to the next town, then the next and even the next if need be, to find another job. As was the custom in those days, the hiring mill provided a home in the company village for workers and their children. Granny and their children (my mother included) would pack up all their belongings, and move into whatever house was available in the new place. One day, my Grandpa confided in me that many of their moves came because he often had "disagreements" with his bosses. In one mill, he was forcibly removed after throwing a brick through the window when his complaints about it being too hot to work without open windows were ignored. "I'm a mean man" he would say. "People don't mess with me."
With every move came hunger. And every journey to a new place to find work meant trying to find somewhere to safely sleep while trying to get hired. Grandpa never passed a Salvation Army bucket without putting something from his meager pockets into the kettle. He told me a thousand times that had it not been for the Salvation Army, he would not have survived the "tough years." He was always thankful that they helped anyone in need, without question. His relationship with the Salvation Army continued throughout his life, and that is a story for another post on another day.
FDR was in his estimation, the greatest President our country has ever had. Though his social security pension was small, it was the only pension he had. Many times he told me that without it, he and Granny would be a burden to their children. His pride would not let him be a burden. Before FDR and the New Deal, older folks had little hope of "making it" he said, especially if they worked in the mills like he did. Many continued to work until they could work no more, and then "just died." His stories of friends in the WPA workforce brought the entire era to life for me. This was living history, and it helped me realize just how desperate the times were. It also helped me see those times from a working man's perspective instead of from an historian's.
I was 12 when Grandpa died. To this day, I still miss him. But I am thankful for the lessons learned and the values instilled by his time with me. I only wish my brothers had known him as well as I. My oldest little brother, Steve was only 8 at the time. While Steve was still living, we talked sometimes about our memories of the old man. Glenn was too young to remember much. And Alan and Rhett were not even born. I love my brothers, but I am different from them in many ways. Grandpa Bill's influence was strong, and helped me see the world from a different perspective. That man may have been mean at one time, but this old, odd man treasures him still.
Shalom.
Grandpa lived the great depression. Cotton mill doffers could be hired for a dime a dozen, and that was the work he did best. When work "played out" at one mill, he would go to the next town, then the next and even the next if need be, to find another job. As was the custom in those days, the hiring mill provided a home in the company village for workers and their children. Granny and their children (my mother included) would pack up all their belongings, and move into whatever house was available in the new place. One day, my Grandpa confided in me that many of their moves came because he often had "disagreements" with his bosses. In one mill, he was forcibly removed after throwing a brick through the window when his complaints about it being too hot to work without open windows were ignored. "I'm a mean man" he would say. "People don't mess with me."
With every move came hunger. And every journey to a new place to find work meant trying to find somewhere to safely sleep while trying to get hired. Grandpa never passed a Salvation Army bucket without putting something from his meager pockets into the kettle. He told me a thousand times that had it not been for the Salvation Army, he would not have survived the "tough years." He was always thankful that they helped anyone in need, without question. His relationship with the Salvation Army continued throughout his life, and that is a story for another post on another day.
FDR was in his estimation, the greatest President our country has ever had. Though his social security pension was small, it was the only pension he had. Many times he told me that without it, he and Granny would be a burden to their children. His pride would not let him be a burden. Before FDR and the New Deal, older folks had little hope of "making it" he said, especially if they worked in the mills like he did. Many continued to work until they could work no more, and then "just died." His stories of friends in the WPA workforce brought the entire era to life for me. This was living history, and it helped me realize just how desperate the times were. It also helped me see those times from a working man's perspective instead of from an historian's.
I was 12 when Grandpa died. To this day, I still miss him. But I am thankful for the lessons learned and the values instilled by his time with me. I only wish my brothers had known him as well as I. My oldest little brother, Steve was only 8 at the time. While Steve was still living, we talked sometimes about our memories of the old man. Glenn was too young to remember much. And Alan and Rhett were not even born. I love my brothers, but I am different from them in many ways. Grandpa Bill's influence was strong, and helped me see the world from a different perspective. That man may have been mean at one time, but this old, odd man treasures him still.
Shalom.
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