Bright, Shining as the Sun...

My formative years as a musician were decidedly unreligious. I mostly played in bars and clubs that I was not old enough to enter as a customer. After high school, I continued to work hard to "make it" and even played with some acts that did ok on a regional basis. My greatest addiction was standing on a stage and playing for people. There is absolutely nothing in the human experience like a worked-up crowd at a rock show. You can eat the energy and feel full for days.

But I kept getting older, and fatter, and less rock and roll. That was a shame, because I was just getting where I could play the bass worth a damn. I'd also acted as a stand-in manager for a band or two, so I understood a lot about the business of making a music happen.

This friend of mine, who's name is Todd, kept bugging me to come and play with his band. The guys were younger than I me, and they played Christian music, but Todd said they were really good. I finally decided to load up my bass rig and go practice with them. That was quite a commitment as my rig at the time was taller than me and weighed a couple hundred pounds. When I arrived at the church where they practiced, I was pretty disappointed to see an electric guitar plugged into a mixer, and an acoustic guitar. I'm enough of a 90s grunge kid that I once associated acoustic guitars with lame unplugged acts and bands that sat on stools. But whatever, I was there so why not play?

The first thing I noticed was these kids could sing, and they could sing a lot better than most bands I'd played with. Our focus was always on the guitars and the drums. Vocalists were just a thing you had to have. But these guys, man, they could sing. They could actually sing too well, because they never really stopped with the three part harmony. That aside, they were good song writers. I kept practicing with them, and joined the band.

We were Beneath His Feet.

We performed mostly at churches and summer camps. Sometimes we would play at or even organize these little Christian music festivals with other local Christian bands. Our music was unbearably cheesy in a lot of ways, but we still had this really enthusiastic following. We played every week for a youth group, and at some point we were less a band and more a community. It was hard to tell where the band stopped and where the community began. And that's the funny thing: the biggest impact we had on this word was not our music, but all those relationships. All those kids still run through my mind like a slideshow sometimes. I love them dearly.

I never had a brother growing up. It was just me and my sister at home. But in Beneath His Feet, I found that my family grew. I had four brothers and tons of parents. Any of our folks would take in the whole clan anytime. They traveled with us to shows, all over the southeast.

Our band broke up years ago, but our family never did. We have been through some major league stuff together. We've fought, and we've hugged, celebrated and wept. Now is a time for celebrating.

And for weeping.

My brother Mike Park (it is for him I gained the namesake "Mike2") just released his Mom into the next life. She is not with us anymore, here. She is elsewhere. And even as I type this words into my laptop I am crying again.

Mike's family has absolute assurance that she has gone on to be with Jesus himself. I get that too. But I can't get past the idea that I will not see her anymore. I am so happy that she isn't suffering like she was, but man, it is always so good to see Syble. I saw her just a couple of weeks ago. She asked the band to play some music for her celebration service, and we came over and played some of that music for her at home.

There was more healing and more tears than I have known in my days. It was sacred, like when I watched my dad and his brothers and sister sing for my grandmother before she left us.

There are many tough people in this world, but I am not one of them. I've been gliding on autopilot since yesterday, when I heard the news that Syble has moved on. It was not unexpected at all, but I just put off processing it all.

You can feel guilty about grief. Even ashamed. You don't want to make it about you, you know? You want it to be about them. Which is crazy. Because Syble is fine.

It is me who misses her. God knows my thoughts are constantly with Mike and his family, and how they are feeling and moving through it all. And that hit me. The strings of my heart move in harmony with theirs, for my friend-closer-than-a-brother and his birth clan. They have experienced lost, even if it is just for a time, and so I experience loss too.

Syble lived a good life, and touched many profoundly. She raised up three boys who are powerful men of integrity and patience. Were it not for her, Mike Park would not be in my life. He would not have taught me so many things, or shown me how to follow God with grace. He would not have set with me in a seafood restaurant while I spoke aloud a scandalous secret: I am not sure I believe in God anymore. Not only did Syble affect me profoundly: she produced one of the most important people in my life.

And that is what I told her the last time we spoke. Thank God for you and thank you for Mike Park.

I love you Syble. Peace be with you.

Forever and ever, Amen.


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