Then Moses says, “Now show me your glory.”

And the Lord said, “I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you, and I will proclaim my name, the Lord, in your presence. I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion. But,” he said, “you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live.”

— Exodus 33:18-20

One of the greatest moments of cinematic history comes at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. The Nazis have captured and tied up Indy and Marion and taken back the Ark of the Covenant. And then they decide to open it. At first all they find is dust. But then lightning starts to appear from inside. The Germans’ car lights and film equipment blow out. Indy tells Marion to shut her eyes and keep them closed. Ghost-like spirits flood out of the Ark, swirling all around and attacking them. Light shoots from Ark, piercing the Nazi soldiers. The ones standing next to it start screaming as their faces melt off. The German priest literally explodes. When the light finally subsides and the Ark is closed again, Indy opens his eyes. They’ve survived, but everyone else is dead.

This weekend, I heard someone talk about the passage above from Exodus. In it, Moses is in the desert talking with God. Aaron and the Israelites had built a golden calf to worship, and Moses had naturally become very angry with them. He begged God to forgive them. God told Moses to lead the Israelites to the Promised Land but said He wouldn’t be going with them because they’re a stubborn and rebellious people and He would probably destroy them at some point along the way. (As a sidenote, I can totally relate to this as a parent.) Moses then asks for reassurance, and God tells him He will look favorably on them. But that’s not enough for Moses. He wants to see God’s glory. He wants to see God’s face to know for sure that everything is going to be OK. God replies that He’ll show them mercy and compassion, but as for seeing His face, that’s out of the question. To see God’s face, to experience the fullness of His glory would be too much for Moses to handle, and he would die.

The past two months have been some of the hardest of my life. In October, just a few weeks shy of our 20th anniversary, Christy told me she thought we should get a divorce. The strain of the past year along with numerous issues that have been present in our relationship since the beginning had become too much to bear. We’ve spent the time since then working through things. It’s been slow and painful and not always certain. At many times during the process I felt like all I had left was God. I had lost everything else. My parents were gone. My job was (is) in a state of uncertainty. And now I was on the brink of losing my wife and possibly my kids and house. All I had left, the only thing I could count on and cling to, was God. I needed Him desperately. I cried out for his reassurance. I needed to know it was going to be OK.

A thousand-plus years after Moses died, God’s face was finally revealed. But it didn’t happen on a mountaintop, it happened in a dirty manger in the middle of nowhere. The Word became flesh and “we have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14). Only this time instead of bringing death, it brought life. Abundant life (John 10:10). And not just life now but life for eternity (Romans 6:23). The face of God was there on the cross when the Word that had become flesh gave Himself up for my sin so that I wouldn’t have to. And now instead of saying, “You cannot see my face and live,” God says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

Over the past two months, God has shown me His goodness. In the midst of my pain, He’s poured out His unimaginable compassion and mercy. He hasn’t turned away from me or left me to wander the desert alone but instead gone with me. I’ve felt the weight of His glory, and it’s overwhelming. I’ve seen His face, and it’s beautiful.

Merry Christmas.

On Saturday morning I walked into the weekly men’s breakfast at my church wearing a t-shirt repping my daughter’s high school, whose mascot is the Eagles. I didn’t think anything about it honestly, until one of our pastors made the comment that I was awfully brave showing up there in an Eagles shirt. “What does he have against my daughter’s high school?” I wondered, thinking maybe there was some intense rivalry that I wasn’t aware of. The school just opened this year, so the thought of a rivalry already existing is pretty funny, but it was early and it took me a few minutes to realize he thought it was a Philadelphia Eagles shirt, and apparently wearing a Philadelphia shirt around a bunch of Dallas Cowboys fans would be asking for trouble.

I’ve been replaying that scene in my head ever since then, wondering if maybe there was something else I should’ve done or said, or if maybe I shouldn’t wear the shirt at all outside of school football games. But that’s silly. I’m a proud parent and want to celebrate her school as if it were my own alma mater. But it also got me thinking about all the other times I’ve attracted people’s snide comments about a particular school or team of choice simply by wearing that team’s shirt or hat. I’ve explained before why I’m a fan, but did I ever realize just how dangerous that is?

Admittedly, that danger is more in terms of misunderstanding than physical harm, but it can still make for some awkward social interactions. When I wear a TCU t-shirt, for example, people automatically assume I went there, which I did not. When I reply that no, I’m just a fan, they sheepishly reply, “Oh.” As if you’re not allowed to be the fan of a college team unless you went to that school. Sorry, I guess I missed that part of the contract when I bought the shirt. Of course, when I wear a Texas Longhorns shirt, nobody ever asks if I went there even though statistically I’m far more likely to be a UT grad than a TCU one. They just assume I’m a fan because there are billions of Texas fans out there.

So why is it OK to wear a UT shirt when I didn’t go there but not OK to wear a TCU shirt? And why don’t people assume I’m a professional baseball player when I wear a Texas Rangers shirt? (Don’t answer that one.)

Before the current high school opened, we were zoned for a different one whose red “N” logo is almost identical to the the logo of the Nebraska Cornhuskers. I have a hat with that high school’s logo on it and I used to wear it pretty often, sometimes with a TCU t-shirt. And let me tell you, that was an instant invitation for some biting remarks. “How can you be a fan of both TCU and Nebraska? Isn’t that kind of hypocritical?” I was asked that exact question by a complete stranger at another Christian event one time, and I was actually scared this guy was going to beat the crap out of me. But even if it had, in fact, been a Nebraska hat, why does that even matter? It’s not like Nebraska and TCU are rivals or that any native Texan even cares one bit about the Cornhuskers. Yet, somehow that combination of clothing was enough to incite a complete stranger to make a threat against me. Dude, calm the fuck down. It’s just a hat.

More often than not, though, people just jump to conclusions like the pastor at my church did. If I wear a shirt from my other daughter’s middle school — whose mascot is the Wildcats — people think I’m promoting Kansas State (which is somewhat understandable since both are purple) even though the logo is different and the shirt doesn’t say Kansas State anywhere on it. And admittedly sometimes I bring it on myself, like the time I wore a Michigan State hat (because I liked the hat, not because I’m a fan of the team) and people started asking me all these questions about their basketball team. All I could say in response was, “Uhhh…..”

Why do people react the way they do to a t-shirt, hat, or bumper sticker? What does it say about our society that we identify ourselves and others so strongly by the teams we choose to root for (either by choice or by association)? That we have these unwritten rules about when it’s acceptable to be fan and when it isn’t. That we enforce those rules so strictly that we would risk our relationships over them.

My dad died in August. For the vast majority of his life he was a die-hard Texas Tech fan. We used to go to Tech football and baseball games together when I was little, and my fanship of the Red Raiders was about him as much as it was about them. When I became more of a Longhorns fan and then a TCU fan, we would give each other a hard time about our respective teams. And then he, too, jumped on the Horned Frogs bandwagon, and we would go to TCU games together. And then my niece graduated high school and went to Texas A&M, and almost overnight my dad threw Tech and TCU to the curb in favor of the Aggies. It irritated me some, I’m not gonna lie. Not because he changed his allegiance but that it was to the most hated team in the state of Texas. At his funeral my niece got up to speak, and her eulogy was just a commercial for A&M football. They even played the Aggie fight song to close the ceremony, probably just to piss me off. After the ceremony I approached her and my sister and said bitterly, “You know dad hated A&M most of his life.” To me, his entire life and legacy had been edited down to just a couple of years, neglecting all the other ones that he wore black and red instead of maroon.

We are who we root for, I suppose, whether we intend to be or whether others say we are. Even if we wear the right name, they may be the wrong colors. Or they may be the right colors but around the wrong audience. It doesn’t change my opinion, however. At the end of the day, it’s still just a game. Even if my team is better than yours.

We went to the Homecoming, er, Forthcoming game last night, and it was exciting as usual. (God bless Texas high school football.) But it was also a little sad. Because instead of being down in the student section hamming it up with the other kids, she was in “old farts” section with the rest of the parents, hanging out with me and her sister, dateless and mumless. And, well, I felt a little bad for her.

I guess I should be the stereotypical shotgun-toting overprotective father threatening any boy’s life who dares even glance at my little princess. And yeah, believe me, the thought of her going on a real date with a boy and, well, doing teenage boy-girl stuff scares the hell out of me. But at the same time, I hate seeing her by herself without a group of friends to hang out with and be crazy with. She’s in high school, I tell myself. She should be with her friends, experiencing it. It’s gonna fly by so fast. Go, get out there. Have fun. Not too much fun, but an appropriate amount of fun.

I don’t know, maybe it’s just me projecting my own regrets on her. Some of my fondest high school memories were in the stands of the football games with my friends. Of course, in my case I was in a marching band uniform and didn’t really have much of a choice. But it was fun nevertheless, and I just don’t want her to miss out. And I suppose I also don’t want her to be like me, incredibly shy and always on the outside while everyone else was busy going to dances and stuff. I didn’t even go on my first date until I was a senior in high school (to the Homecoming dance, fittingly) and chose to work instead of going to prom.

But then, I have to remember that everyone matures at a different pace, and she’s still just 14 (even though she looks so much older). In a lot of ways, she’s still a kid, and I love that about her. I’ve always said that I would never push my kids to grow up faster than they’re ready, but I’m worried I might be doing that now. Trust me, it won’t be long before I’ll need that shotgun after all, and I’ll be begging to go back to the days she still in the parent section with me. And yes, it’s absolutely gonna go fast. In less than four years she’ll be graduating high school. It really does seem like just yesterday a little preschool-aged Meggie was hanging on to my leg while I was shopping and an older man said to me, “Enjoy that. It’s goes by too quick.” Yes, sir, it does. It really does.

When I was Megan’s age, my mom must’ve also had this same crisis of parenting, because one day she decided that I was too old for toys (“They’re action figures, mom.”) and made me toss ’em. Out to the curb. Everything, except for whatever I could salvage. Tons of Star Wars and G.I.Joe toys that today are worth a crapload of money. I hated her it and honestly never really forgave her. And not only that, but I was subsequently embarrassed and ashamed to still have and play with the toys I had left. I had to hide them from her, from everybody. They had become taboo, a shameful secret that I couldn’t ever let anyone else in on. But in reality, there was nothing wrong with still being a boy while also being a teenager. Why would there be? Teens are these weird mutant hybrids caught between being children and being adults. They’re not really either one, yet they’re both at the same time. So why try to rush the process? Let them be children when that part of them comes to the surface. One day they’ll put away the childish things on their own.

So while I would love to see Meg hanging out in the student section with her friends, soaking up every drop of high school while she has a chance, it’s really not up to me. This is her journey. I’m just glad I get to be a part of it.

Is this my life?
Am I breathing underwater?

— Metric, “Breathing Underwater”

I texted Christy the other day. “Parenting is exhausting.” Because it is. I used to think it was only during the school year that things were chaotic. I’d pine for the summer when everything would slow down and we could relax and enjoy the long days together. In my mind, we were always sitting in rocking chairs on the front porch watching the sun go down as we sipped on iced tea. Even though I don’t drink tea and we don’t have rocking chairs on the front porch and even if we did, our house faces north so it would be hard to watch the sun go down. But still.

Of course summers aren’t any less chaotic than the rest of the year. Sure there isn’t any homework, but the housework and yardwork doesn’t go away. And it’s not like I can honestly expect my kids to get off their butts for five minutes and clean up after themselves. Heaven forbid I should expect them to actually do anything.

And then once school does start again, you add all the homework back in along with the school projects, football games, concerts, church events, and the ever popular last-minute “I need to go to ____ to get a ____ for tomorrow. Yes, I knew about it a week ago, but I’m waiting till now to say anything because I know you won’t mind dropping what you’re doing and taking me right this very second. Just wait here for 30 minutes while I try to figure out which shoes to wear.”

The thing is, if I’m being completly honest, I feel like a single parent most of the time. Christy has a great job that she loves as a nurse, but she works the night shift. Three days a week (and sometimes more) she’s gone. And when she is at home, she’s usually sleeping. And she normally works Sunday through Tuesday, so the first part of the week when things are the most hectic are completely on me. I try to do what I can around the house on weeknights after I get home from work, but inevitably there’s always a lot that gets pushed back till the weekend. So my Sundays in particular always seem to be completely full (church, grocery store, laundry, mow the yard, etc.). By the time I finally crash Sunday night, I’m so ready to go back to work where at least I can get a little rest.

I shouldn’t complain, I really shouldn’t. Christy’s doing what she loves, our kids have a roof over their head and food on their plates, and it’s not like I’m having to work multiple jobs to make ends meet. There are just times I feel like I can’t catch up. And I feel like this is all my life will ever amount to.

I guess if it is, if this is all there ever is, I should be content with that. Giving up myself for everyone else. Although I’m not really giving up much of anything, just going through what every parent goes through. It’s exhausting. But I guess it’s also worth it.

For the past couple of years I’ve struggled with what to do with this site. Do I keep it up, keep chugging away at it, keep using it as, what, my public journal? My Bible study? My witty yet insightful take on the world around me? I honestly don’t know. I never went into this with any kind of plan, and that “world around me”? Yeah, it’s changed a lot. I’m far more likely to spend my time on Twitter or Tumblr than I am here. “There” is easy. It’s instantaneous. “Here” is time-consuming and not always that fun. “There” is free. “Here” I’m paying ten bucks a month for a webhosting account for a product I’m not using. So what do I do?

I kill the blog.

That’s right, I nuke the whole thing. Close up shop. Turn the lights out, the party’s over. Break on through to the other side.

Or!

I move it. Back to wordpress.com and to a free account. Keep the content but remove the webhosting component. Once it’s free, I can do whatever I want to with it. If I ignore it, at least it’s not costing me anything. Problem solved. Easy as pie. Done and done. Except… well… there’s another option.

What if I actually use it? Post something. Like what? No idea. Let’s start with this post.

Now, I have no intentions of blogging every day or even every month. I’m not crazy. But what if there’s still value to this site? Still an opportunity to write here. As much or as little as I want. As freely as I want. Guys, this year’s been tough. Like real tough. I’ve lost both my parents in less than a year. I’m hurting, I’m not gonna lie. I don’t have all the answers and I don’t need to. This blog-thing may just me thinking out loud without any real goal or structure or spellchecking. I don’t know. I’ve given up trying to find a perfect solution to this thing.

So here’s what I’m proposing. I’m not starting over. That’s not what this is about. But take one step. Maybe another. And see what happens. No promises. No hard feelings.

I think I can live with that.

When he had received the drink, Jesus said, “It is finished.” With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.

— John 19:30

I have a tendency to whine. A lot. Maybe not as much now as in the past, but certainly more than I should. It’s human nature, I guess. When we’re children, it’s all about us. I’m hungry, I’m tired, I’m bored, I want this, I need that. It’s impossible to see beyond ourselves and our current physical and emotional state. You never see a 3-year-old tell his mom, “I’m really hungry, but I know you’ve hard day, so I can wait patiently for dinner. And here, I’ll even set the table for you.” We want and we need. That’s who we are.

As we get older and more mature (and hopefully wiser), we should be able to see things in greater context. We know we’re not gonna die if we have to wait an extra hour or two to eat. We know the world isn’t gonna end because we get a speeding ticket or the toilet overflows or we didn’t get that promotion at work. The other night on the way home from work, I got caught in a major hail storm and my car got pummeled. I’m not happy about all the dents all over it, but none of the windows were broken and the car is fine otherwise. So all I can do is shrug it off and move on.

But it’s not always that easy.

The fact is, I do still whine and complain even when I know I don’t really have any need to. Logically, I know I shouldn’t worry about stuff I can’t control. I shouldn’t complain about how hard I have it when I know I’m far better off than most other people. James even tells us to consider it pure joy when we face trials “because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” (James 1:2-4).

So instead of an attitude of bitterness, I should have an attitude of thankfulness. Thankful that even though I’m suffering, I’m growing. No pain, no gain, right? So why is it so easy to revert back to child-mode when things don’t go exactly how I want them to exactly when I want them to?

My mom passed away on New Year’s Eve last year after almost 11 months of ups and downs and medical setback after medical setback. As stressful as it was watching her go through that, it hasn’t been any easier dealing with the aftermath. It’s been a huge battle getting everything with her estate settled. Getting her house cleaned out and fixed up and put on the market took weeks. I’ve had to jump through hoops and deal way more with Bank of America than I’ve ever wanted to in order to get her bank account closed out and money transferred to a new estate account. Heck, just selling her car has required multiple phone calls and two trips to the DMV. Nothing has been easy.

If it were just about settling the estate and selling her house, I wouldn’t be so worried. But Christy and I are also in the process of building a new house, and the only way that’s gonna work is if my mom’s house sells ASAP. We need our portion of the money from her house, car, and bank account to pay off our credit card and student loan debt so we can qualify for the home loan, and we need enough left over to be able to put down a sizeable down payment so we can afford the house once we’re in there. If mom’s house doesn’t sell, we lose our new house. No pressure, right?

They say one of the most stressful things in life is buying a house. Well, we’re buying a new house and selling two. What can I say? We’re gluttons for punishment.

I’ve tried not to worry about it. My mom’s house is in great condition in a very desirable neighborhood, and it’s a seller’s market right now. One would expect it to sell really fast, and in fact we’ve already had a lot of showings. But the longer it stays on the market, the more nervous I get. What if it doesn’t sell in time? No, it will, it absolutely will. But what if it doesn’t? It will, trust me. BUT WHAT IF IT DOESN’T?!

Hey! Relax. It’s finished.

The house hasn’t sold yet, I know. We still might have another round or two to go with Bank of America, I get it. The clock is ticking, believe me I know. But it’s finished.

It’s already been taken care of. Two thousand years ago on a Roman crucifix outside Jerusalem by the Son of God. When Jesus gave himself over to Roman authorities to be beaten and humiliated and nailed to a cross, not because he deserved it but because we did. And in the final moments of his life, he reminded us, “It’s finished. Your sins have been paid for. It’s done. The balance has been settled, and you owe nothing.”

So I whine and complain and worry and fret over the house, but I don’t need to. Because whether the house sells or not, it pales in comparison to the greater question of our sins and our reconciliation with our Creator. (It’s all about context, remember?) But those questions have already been dealt with. Jesus’ death and resurrection was enough. It was complete.

It’s finished.

Previously:
A time to mend
The Gospel Project: For God so loved the world
There He goes, a hero, a Savior to the world
It was all because of love

I don’t know how I feel about the word “introvert”. Introverted, extroverted, Type-A, melancholy, choleric, INTJ, ESTJ, ESPN, whatever. All ways we try to figure out how to measure each other, define us, figure ourselves out, make sense of something that is more complex than any one particular label we could come up with. We look at ourselves in the mirror and feel compelled to name what it is we see. Like Adam naming the sheep and the cattle and the cockroaches. To not be content with identifying the genus and species, the gender and age, but to know ourselves beyond what we can see, the soul and spirit many of us refuse to even believe exist.

The Bible says we’re created in God’s image, and I think that’s true. But not in the physical sense. As complex as the human body is — and it’s extremely complex — we can peel back each layer and identify each component and its purpose. This machine made of muscle and tissue and water and bile that somehow works in amazing harmony for decades despite all reasoning to believe it shouldn’t. After tens of thousands of years, we finally understand more of it than we don’t. And yet that’s the easy part. That’s the part we can see. Then there’s this whole other part that we can’t, and we don’t know how we feel about that. So we give it abstract names to try and simplify it, then start putting the different variations into well-defined categories, and then anything that doesn’t fit into those neat little boxes we say is abnormal and must be corrected. Meanwhile, we can’t seem to admit that maybe that unseen part — the part made in the image of a Being that exists outside the limits of time and space — is more complex than what we could ever fully comprehend. This spirit within us is more than just the result of firing synapses in the brain. We think and analyze and socialize and dream in ways that are similar to other mammals, and yet we’re more than that. We wonder. We question. We yearn for truth. We look at our reflection and ache for more than what we see. The spirit within us reaching out to connect with a God that is also more than what we see. The God who created us in His image before time even existed.

So I say that I’m an introvert. That I’d rather type these words in the solitude of my home office while my wife and kids laugh and joke around in the other room than be in there with them right now. That I don’t know how to explain that to my extrovert wife. How do you explain the need for aloneness to the person that is your “bone of your bone, flesh of your flesh”? I love her more than I could ever put into words. And I love my daughters as well. To the moon and back. And yet, here is this part of my life that while I don’t necessarily keep secret, I don’t necessarily share openly. There’s nothing I need to keep secret from my wife. Everything I have is open for inspection. But more and more I find myself sinking into this sort-of duality. On one side of the door is my life with Christy and the girls, where I’m husband and dad and employee and everything normal and boring. On the other side of the door is my solitude, where I listen to music my family doesn’t listen to, read books my family doesn’t read, get caught up in episodes of Friday Night Lights and MI-5 on Netflix, dwell on Tumblr and Twitter and start each day with Peanuts and Dilbert on GoComics.com.

Two realities. Two identities. The same and yet completely different. I’m an open book, but the book is kept just out of arm’s reach. I’ll gladly answer any question you ask, but you have to know what to ask.

I don’t know how to justify the duality. I don’t see it as depression. I know what depression feels like. I’ve experienced depression in a true, clinical sense. This isn’t a sign of depression. Actually, for me, this is normal. I spent the majority of my home life growing up alone, either as the only person in the house at the time or holed up in my room with the door closed while I played with my toys or listened to music or wrote stories or drew airplanes. I was perfectly content being alone, and as I’ve gotten older, that contentment hasn’t changed all that much. Not that I ever want loneliness. I need my family. I need some tangible interactions with other people. I’m still shy, but I’m not afraid of the spotlight. I love teaching 4th- and 5th-grade boys at church and seeing them grow and mature over the years in the youth group. Some of those kids who were crazy rugrats back then are now amazing leaders and role models for the younger ones right behind them. It makes my heart swell with pride to watch these kids grow up before my eyes. Kids that aren’t my own and yet I claim them anyway, thrilled that I could play a tiny part in their journey as Christians.

So this isolation isn’t an escape. It isn’t a rejection of people, hiding away to avoid having to deal with the real world. The only answer I can come up with is that it’s a safety valve. It keeps me balanced and recharged mentally and emotionally. I can take a step back and catch my breath and chase a few rabbit holes, then rejoin the rest of humanity when my batteries are full. WIthout it, I can feel myself becoming irritable and restless.

Everybody has a safety valve. Erin has to have her “Erin time” in her room with the door closed while she plays or reads. Megan also escapes to her room at times. And Christy will lose herself in a book or Pinterest or Facebook, although she prefers the company of others to being alone, as extroverts tend to do. The point is, duality isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Falling in doesn’t necessarily mean falling apart. Like anything else, I suppose, it’s about moderation. Am I truly being transparent during those times, willing to be honest and vulnerable and trustworthy? Am I purposefully making time for Christy and the girls, nurturing and strengthening those relationships? Am I keeping my priorities in check, not putting my wants ahead of my family’s needs? If so, then the safety valve is doing its job.

This introverted, melancholy spirit I see in the mirror isn’t broken. It’s made in the image of God, designed for a relationship with its Creator and with the world around it. It desires aloneness and connectedness at the same time, incomplete without either. It’s complex and yet simple. Content and yet easily discontented. Needing a head full of blaring rock ‘n’ roll one minute and silence the next. I love my wife. I love my kids. I love spending time with them. And I like my time apart as well. So from time to time I may retreat further inside than usual. It’s OK. You don’t need to chase me, I don’t need to be rescued. I promise I’ll be out soon enough.

Previously:
40 years in the wilderness
Walking backwards
Reflecting and refracting
It’s dangerous to go alone

Taylor Swift recently made a lot of headlines for pulling all her music from Spotify, arguing that the streaming service was hurting album sales and essentially driving her into bankruptcy, killing the rest of the music industry, and clubbing a few seals just for the heck of it. It’s a laughable argument, see as how Swift is one of the most commercially successful musicians out there. No amount of streaming can put a dent in her album sales or profits, and whining that it does only makes her sound greedy and elitist. (It should also be noted her music still remains on other sites like Rdio, which further deflates her reasoning.) Spotify, for its part, issued a rebuttal, naturally picking and choosing which statistics would make it sound the best. They may have paid out $2 billion in royalties, but many artists will rightly point out that they still earn far less from streaming than from album sales.

There are plenty of people who have very vocal opinions on both sides of the issue, and I’m certainly no expert when it comes to the music industry. But while I can’t speak for the artists or the streaming services, I can speak for myself as a consumer. And from my standpoint, it appears Spotify, Rdio, Pandora, and the rest offer way more pros than cons for consumers and for the music industry in general.

Fact #1: Art isn’t always about the money.

Let’s get one thing straight right off the bat. Being an artist (musician, writer, actor, painter, etc.) doesn’t automatically mean you’re going to be rich and famous. In fact, it’s almost always the opposite and has been for centuries. Many of history’s greatest artists lived miserable lives and died penniless: Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Beethoven, Schubert, Mozart, Wagner, Paul Gauguin, Henri de Toulouse-Latrec, Edgar Allan Poe, Herman Melville, Oscar Wilde, and countless others. You wanna be a great musician? Go for it. You wanna be rich beyond your wildest dreams? Fine. But the two are mutually exclusive.

Fact #2: Video didn’t kill the radio star.

The radio industry freaked out when television came along, as popular radio programs moved to the new visual medium. Yet radio adapted and survived. The movie and television industries freaked out when the VCR came along, fearing that piracy would destroy it. The issue went all the way to the Supreme Court, which ruled that recording a TV show didn’t amount to copyright infringement. Thirty years later TV and movie studios are doing better than ever. Recording studios flipped out as cassette tapes and then CDs and then the Internet could be used to copy and distribute music illegally. The RIAA pushed Congress to pass the Digital Millenium Copyright Act, crippled CDs and music downloads with DRM copy protection, destroyed Napster, and even went so far as to sue individuals who had downloaded pirated music. Yet while piracy does still exist, companies like Apple and Amazon now sell DRM-free digital music without any negative effect on the music industry. In fact, the recording industry today is arguing for the same thing it argued against fifteen years ago. If downloading music was going to be the death of the record studios, why are they now begging consumers to buy their music from iTunes? Because times have changed and the industry has adjusted. And the times are changing again as technology marches ahead unimpeded. Media companies must once again adapt or die.

In cases where companies have adapted, new opportunities have opened up for consumers. Blockbuster Video failed to adjust, opening the door for Netflix to rent movies by mail and then stream them over the Internet. When the movie studios tried to cut them off, they turned to streaming TV shows and then to creating their own original content. The radio industry, initially fearing that the Internet would doom them forever, eventually embraced the World Wide Web as a way to extend and enhance their on-air properties. For example, one of the nation’s largest radio conglomerates, ClearChannel, recently rebranded itself as iHeartMedia, further integrating its stations with the iHeartRadio streaming app.

Meanwhile, the newspaper industry hasn’t fared nearly as well. Ensconced in 200+ years of traditional journalism, newspapers have found themselves on the outside looking in as people no longer feel the need to pay for a paper copy of the news when they can get the same information for free on the Internet. Papers have of course established an online presence to compete, but they still hold fast to the traditional subscription model, even when such subscriptions and website paywalls fail to work as expected.

The bottom line is this: Spotify and other streaming services aren’t going to kill the music industry any more than CDs or iTunes did. But the industry will have to adjust.

Fact #3: Streaming services benefit smaller bands far more than they hurt them.

A lot of lesser-known bands will make the argument that they can’t make a living when consumers stream their music instead of buying it, and that’s true to an extent. Streaming pays far less per stream than does buying a track or album off iTunes. However, Spotify and other streaming services do provide one critical function to a band’s success: discovery. How many bands will get signed to a record contract? And of those, how many will get radio airplay and other promotion? Only a tiny fraction of a tiny fraction of bands out there will make it big. Taylor Swift is an anomaly, a highly successful musician who has become a household name and icon in both country and pop music. But just because she’s more successful than most artists, that doesn’t mean she’s more talented. There are thousands upon thousands of excellent musicians that will never make it to radio, let alone win a slew of awards. Services like Spotify, Rdio, and Pandora level the playing field in many ways, giving lesser-known artists a way to get their music heard and helping consumers find music they never would’ve known about otherwise. Many of the bands I love were discovered through these apps, and in many cases I’ve eventually bought their albums, EPs, and remixes because I do still value ownership.

Certainly the economics of the music industry have changed dramatically in the last 20 years. It used to be that the only way you could get your music out there was to get a record contract and hope for enough radio plays and album sales that you could make a second album. Today, bands can self-fund their albums through Kickstarter or Indiegogo, record their own music, sell it online through Amazon and iTunes, and promote it heavily through social media, all without ever going through a record label. Is it harder to do that? Absolutely. Is it a necessity in many cases? Absolutely.

So yes, while streaming pays far less than buying, it’s still a critical factor for bands looking to build a fanbase. You’re probably not going to get rich because of Spotify, but again, if you’re only in it for the money, you’re almost certainly bound to fail.

Fact #4: The economic value of music isn’t static.

If I wanted to buy a vinyl record album in the 1970s, the cost was about $5, which is the equivalent of about $15 today. In the ’80s, a cassette tape cost about $10. In the ’90s, a CD was usually $12-15. Today a new album on Amazon or iTunes costs about $10-13. Why is the cost of music relatively the same over 40 years? Because the record industry says so. Even though downloadable music requires far less overhead than CDs or cassettes, consumers are used to paying X amount for an album, so that’s what they continue to cost. But there’s no real reason that has to be the case. The free market says that the economic value of a particular good or service is whatever the consumer says it is. When demand goes down because prices are too high, prices fall to compensate. When demand rises, prices will go up.

Music, for the most part, is a fungible commodity. If Taylor Swift’s newest album isn’t available on Spotify, there’s plenty of other stuff I can listen to. If I’m a big fan, though, I’ll tend to place a higher value on the album and be willing to pay a higher price for it. The assumption that everyone from the casual listener to the most ardent fan should pay the same set amount for the privilege of listening to her album is completely ridiculous. There are plenty of other fish in the sea, so to speak.

The reason people are willing to pay $10 a month for Spotify or Rdio is because they’ve determined that to be a good value for the service they provide. But even then, the math doesn’t always add up. While Spotify is the most successful streaming service worldwide, it’s never been profitable. If it raised its subscription price to the point where it could pay all its necessary royalties and overhead costs and still turn a profit, users would rebel and close their accounts, which is exactly what happened when Netflix raised their rates by 60% in 2011. The market had determined the value of Netflix’s services to be a certain amount; when it raised prices above that, demand fell sharply. It was only when Netflix began offering more exclusive content did the perceived value rise until it met the price point. And then subscribers began coming back in droves.

The record companies want to keep essentially the same distribution model with the same prices that they’ve always had, but the free market is saying otherwise. Consumers will pay what they perceive to be a fair value for their music, one way or another. If you want them to pay more, you’ll have to offer more value.

Conclusion.

I’m not trying to say that Spotify, Rdio, or Pandora are completely blameless or perfect in any way. Certainly, they have to be able to work with the record labels if either party wants to continue to be successful. However, as a consumer who listens to (and buys) a lot of music, I’d greatly prefer a world with music streaming to a world without it. Maybe that makes me selfish, although the free market would say I’m actually acting rationally. Maybe that makes me naïve, although history seems to say otherwise. Maybe that makes me insensitive to the plight of struggling artists, but art has never been about financial gain anyway.

Taylor Swift and other artists are free to pull their music from Spotify if they don’t like it. There’s certainly nothing stopping them from doing so. But as a consumer, I’m free to listen to something else. If she doesn’t like that, fine. But at least for now, everybody has a choice.

Previously:
Is ‘Blue Like Jazz’ the anti-‘Courageous’?
The first video I ever saw on MTV
Derek Webb’s ‘Stockholm Syndrome’: Conflict and controversy

My mom is dying.

In the last nine months she’s spent maybe a week total at home. The rest of the time has been spent moving from the hospital to a rehab center to a managed care facility and back to the hospital. My older sister, who has a nursing background, has spent almost all of that time with her, to the detriment of her job, her family, and her health. She’s taken over my mom’s finances, stayed on top of the countless medical bills, and micromanaged 7 different specialists. Needless to say, this has been a rough year.

I won’t go into the specifics of my mom’s situation; it would take too long to explain everything anyway. But her condition has gradually worsened over time, and it’s not going to get any better. This past weekend, I sat down with my sister to discuss and begin planning her funeral. This isn’t something that I ever expected to be doing at this point in my life. Both of her parents lived well past 80. The possibility of burying my mom at 67 is unimaginable. And yet, here we are.

Whatever happens and whenever it happens, I’ve already agreed to speak at her memorial service. I don’t know what I’ll say, but it’ll probably be a funny story from my childhood and about how much she loved us. And that’s true. While she didn’t always voice her love for us, I never questioned it. I can never thank her enough for all she’s done for us or repay all she’s given us. Because of her, I have a college education. Because of her, we managed to keep making our house payments and put food on the table at times that we otherwise couldn’t. Because of her, I have a chance to be the husband and father my family deserves. And yet, despite those truths, when I look back over my life, I can’t help but to be angry.

My parents divorced when I was six. With my mom working and my sister who knows where, I spent much of my childhood alone. I’d walk myself to and from school, stay home by myself after school, stay alone at night on many occasions while my mom went out on dates. When I entered the 7th grade, we moved to DFW, leaving my sister in Lubbock to live with my grandparents while she finished high school. At the absolute worst times in my life, my mom was too busy working to be there for me. And my dad wasn’t there, my sister wasn’t there. Over the years, I was dragged to smoke-filled bingo parlors, honky-tonks, and even to the Lubbock feed lots. (My mom once dated a guy that lived and worked there. I’ll never forget the sights and smells of that place, but on the plus side I got to learn how to count cattle and deliver a calf. And his trailer was well stocked with Playboys.) I was also dragged to another smokey trailer in Crosbyton, Texas, where my first stepdad lived with his parents and briefly to Garland when my mom took a job in Dallas. In junior high, some unemployed loser alcoholic moved in with us. He treated my mom like shit and abused me before she finally got the nerve to kick him out. When my second stepdad came along — a genuinely good guy even though he was a borderline chain smoker — we moved in with him far away from my high school. Luckily I didn’t have to transfer schools, but those years were miserable for me. I didn’t want to live in that house. I didn’t want to live in a frickin’ ash tray anymore. I just wanted out.

I have every right to be mad at both of my parents. No kid should ever have to go through the hell I went through. No kid should ever be left alone that young and for so long, left to fend for himself. I should’ve ended up a drug addict or an alcoholic or in jail. I shouldn’t have made it out alive and relatively unscathed. But I did, somehow, by the grace of God.

So as I sit here thinking about what I would say about my mom, part of me is still hurt and angry. Part me wants to get up there and tell everyone just what kind of mother she really was. But I can’t and I won’t. Because despite her mistakes and her often terrible judgment, she honestly tried. She wasn’t a perfect mom by any stretch of the imagination, but she never stopped trying and she never, ever stopped loving me. And I never stopped loving her.

Ecclesiastes reminds us that there’s a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear and a time to mend. The time for tearing is over. It’s time to mend, to love, to forgive, and ultimately to say goodbye. To remember the laughter and joy of my childhood and celebrate a mom — my mom — that made me the man I am today.

I love you, Mom. I’m gonna miss you forever.

Previously:
Mistaking rocks for fossils
Memento Vivere
Remembering my grandfather

I have a confession to make. I’ve started another blog. Well, sorta. I’ve actually started a tumblr, which I don’t consider a “blog”, per se. But I guess technically it is. Anyway, you get the idea. It’s called (as you can probably guess by now) no coffee for squirrels. Which would also probably make a good band name come to think of it. If there any bands out there willing to pay me six figures for the naming rights, give me a call, I’m sure we can work something out.

What does that mean for this thing? Absolutely nothing. I plan on continuing to post here, although as you can see I don’t do it very often. But that’s OK. I see this site as being better suited for longer, text-driven posts that are more personal or introspective. Those kinds of posts aren’t well-suited for Tumblr or Google+ or other social networks. This will always be my refuge, my home base so to speak, where I can write with relative freedom and complete independence. Those moments don’t come along very often unfortunately, but when they do, I need a place to embrace them. This is that place, and it always will be.

So why Tumblr? Honestly, no particular reason. It’s something I’ve thought about in passing a few times before but ultimately signed up for on a whim. That’s how I typically do things on the Internet. This blog, Twitter, Instagram, etc. I hopped on board each of them without any particular expectations or idea of how I would use them. It was just something that seemed like the thing to do at the moment. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.

Tumblr, of course, isn’t anything new or revolutionary. It’s waned in popularity with the youngens as they’ve moved on to Instagram and Snapchat, and admittedly it lost a lot of its cool factor after Yahoo bought it. Nevertheless, it still has a pretty sizable and active userbase, so there’s plenty to discover. Again, it’s not like I took any time to analyze the pros and cons of signing up, I just did it.

As for the name, well, that was the hard part. Virtually every name you can think of is taken already, so it was either this or a 64-character string of hieroglyphs that may or may not have referenced wild monkey sex. Personally, I think was the better option. But I also didn’t want to reference “tindog” anywhere in the name. It was important to let this site stand on its own and have its own unique identity. And I wanted the name to be fairly nonsensical and random since that’s pretty much what I specialize in. Plus, it’s a good reminder that squirrels shouldn’t have coffee. The last thing we need is a bunch of hopped-up rodents plotting our imminent demise.

So that’s that, I suppose. Nothing too shocking. If you’re on Tumblr, too, hit me up in the comments and let me know. I’m always looking for other weird folks to follow.

Previously:
Freshly brewed: The new blog
Deconstruction
God. Family. Texas. Coffee.
Home Sweet Blog