I love to hear what people think, especially about me. When someone laughs at something I do (on purpose or on accident), I like to know what exactly was funny. When someone likes me or likes something I’ve done, I like to know what and why. When someone doesn’t like me or dislikes something I’ve done, I like to know what and why.

I know I give a lot of thought to people and their actions, what they reveal about their character, and so forth. I don’t think I’m alone in that – it suggests to me that we all have a great deal of thought or even things we wish could say to others about themselves or certain actions or feelings portrayed.

It’s always cool to get compliments or encouragement. If I really jammed on a song in a performance, I’m sure someone is going to tell me I did a good job. But what I’d really like to know is what they enjoyed about it, why it was enjoyable or ‘good.’ That it isn’t to say that everything has to be broken down – there is also beauty in enjoying things how they are, free from deep analysis that may undermine certain moments and emotions.

On occasion, I ask why – sometimes a person could be hesitant to elaborate, perhaps as if I’m asking for more attention or praise. It’s not really that. It’s a learning experience. I like to know what people think of me and the things that I do; I like to know where I stand with people. It’s not just wanting to be praised – I want the same information if I’m given negative feedback. I seldom ask others why though, and when I do, I’m never overbearing about it. I prefer it to come from them on their own accord.

This thought was brought on by my Christmas present from Greg, the youth pastor at our church. We work together closely as I help lead the worship band and serve as a general group leader. We’ve also become friends – he’s just a year older than I am. He’s in his second year out of Emmanuel College. When he handed me the white envelope, he told it wasn’t much. He lied. For all of his leaders and helpers, he wrote a personal letter talking about how we’ve inspired or come across to him. It was great. He obviously wasn’t going to write me a Christmas letter about all of the things I’ve done wrong, but I’d like to know what I can improve. It was all positive, but it wasn’t so much the fact that someone was noticing my hard work that made me feel good, though it certainly made me feel good as well! The best part was that it told me that I’m doing a lot of things right. That’s important when you’re working for God, especially in a position which involves so much direct contact and influence with younger believers.

Some pieces…

“You are unlike most college students. Most students who go on to college want to get away from home and anything that reminds them of it. It’s very hard for those who are in college to get plugged into a church. They feel too old to continue attending youth church, but yet feel too young to start getting plugged in with the adults. In my tenure here, I have noticed you have completely bypassed this stage in your life.”

“Since my time here at this church [started], you have been involved in just about everything that has gone on. [...] The way that you lead in worship is amazing because you’re not just playing the keyboard, but you are worshiping God with your hands and your voice. You are pure in heart and that’s rare. There are a lot of people who are doing the right things, just with the wrong motives. You on the other hand have a pure heart which seeks to please God in everything you do. You do it with unselfish motives and the only desire is to make sure that all Glory goes to God.”

This is the type of character analysis and reassurance I encourage, need, and can work from. (Sure, it could always be more in-depth, heh…) I spend so much time doing things – driving back and forth from school for practices, meetings, putting together charts, making sure I know everyone’s vocal parts, picking out music – but I’m not often reassured by others that I’m doing the right thing, and doing so effectively. It’s like hanging a picture on the wall. You need someone standing back a ways from you to tell you when you’ve got it level. It’s the same reason that recording artists often get creative input from other musicians, studio producers, and recording engineers.

My grandpa passed away peacefully early Thursday (3 am, Jan. 12) . His body finally just shut down. My grandma and mom stayed the night at the hospital that night. He had a brief seizure and the nurses woke them up. They got to go in and see him one last time. He died five minutes later with the two of them at his side.

Friends and family have helped out a lot. We have more food than we know what to do with. A lot of others have just stopped by to talk. The blood drive I spoke of below has gone great…more have donated blood than what he required, so people are simply giving in his name out of love.

The man who keeps track of such things at the blood center made a remark – “Another? I’ve never heard of Leighton Mcleod, but he must’ve been quite a guy.” He was quite a guy. He wasn’t a pillar of the community; he wasn’t on billboards; he didn’t reach out to people in big ways. He was just extremely friendly, and had a sharp mind. It was like he could remember everything that every happened to him. And as soon as he remembered something, he was telling someone about it. He could carry on a conversation with a sign post. A handful of stories would come into his mind when any little thing happened or was mentioned. If you were telling a story and he thought of something, you’d go ahead and take a twenty minute break.

He was always telling vivid stories about his early life farming, or his time in the military as a young man, or his 30+ years of service to Fayetteville Parks and Rec. maintenance. He would tell stories about how he had saved the city loads of money with his creative ways of doing things with the parks and playgrounds around town. Back when he was working, he would get so annoyed with some of the other guys he was working with – he would get annoyed when they didn’t truly care about what they were doing. He took pride in everything he did.

He loved to hear Jeremy and I play the guitar. He also liked to hear me play the piano. He always wanted to play the guitar. His father played. He would tell us about how his dad could walk the bass line on the strings while playing. He’d show us how he would fingerpick, and tell us about the time another guy told his dad that he couldn’t play without looking at his fingers. His dad took the bet, and, with guitar raised behind his head like Jimi Hendrix, continued to play. He also told us about the “bumble-bee” where you slide your finger all the way up a string to the end of the fretboard, then smack the guitar for a percussive noise. I also remember a story about the time one of his army friends played bar tunes on a piano so hard he broke it.

When he came over, I often wouldn’t know. I would be playing guitar at my computer, and he would stand at the doorway, silent and listening, until I finally stopped. In November on Courtney’s birthday (two weeks before he went into the hospital), I sang him the only old country song I know – Hank Williams’ Your Cheatin’ Heart. He was delighted. I might be singing a song at his funeral. I’d like to do something like that for him, but for me, it doesn’t have to be at his funeral, or anything explicitly announced as ‘for him’ necessarily.

I’m not coming undone or anything. It’s been such a long process. He missed out on Christmas, still in ICU. I think I’ll miss him more around times I definitely would’ve seen him – Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, my birthday, others’ birthdays. He was not as old as some, but at 72, he was old enough that I knew there was always a possibility of losing him to health conditions.

My only real concern is my grandma and mom. My grandmother especially – she does not let go of things well. She doesn’t just see the glass as half empty. She’ll mope about it, and let it stop her from carrying on normally. She had a terribly tough time when her other daugther passed away a few years ago. She blames herself for a brother’s death in ’57 because she was washed clothes on New Year’s Day. I didn’t even know that was a superstition. She grew up in a superstitious farming household with 9 siblings; she was the youngest. I hope she can put it behind her.

I’ve just remembered that he bought a guitar a few months ago at a yard sale. I think I’ll fix it up.

(Thursday, January 05, 2006)

I dropped my car off at a shop last night. The guy couldn’t fix it, so I had to pick it up early this morning. The gas light was on when I dropped it off; he had put a little in it this morning for me.

I left early for work – almost three hours early, in fact, to give Wal-Mart two hours to change my oil (which also needed to be done) before I had to be at work. Two miles down the road, the gas came back on and I immediately ran out of gas.

One lady was outside next door smoking as I got out of the car. As soon as I start walking to the house I pulled over at, she went inside and closed both the screen door and regular door. I understood that as “I’m not interested.” Plus, I didn’t feel like approaching a lone female who might be uneasy about a stranger. I spent a long time walking up and down the road knocking on seven other doors to try to find someone with some gas (in a gas can, say, for a lawn mower). No one was home.

Across the street, there was a gas can on someone’s front porch with two gallons of gas.

Booya.

I was laughing a little inside. I put a gallon into my car, and tried to start it. (I left them the can, and eight dollars shoved in the door.) It wouldn’t start. I was trying to get it fixed because it idles so hard that it knocks the whole car, shaking it. It takes a lot of gas to get it from idle to going. I punched the gas a couple of times, but because of the amount of gas it takes, nothing was happening – I didn’t give it enough punches.

It made some bad noises as I ran out – I thought it might have just broken down instead. Anyway, I got out of the car to put the other gallon of gas in, in case I hadn’t put enough in. Done. I went back to start it again.

Blast.

I locked my keys and my phone in the car. My key has also broken off in the ignition, so I have to crank it with a flathead screwdriver. The habit of taking the keys from the ignition and placing them in my pocket is thrown off because they aren’t in the ignition – they’re just sitting in the cup holder, with the screwdriver.

Despair has now taken over. I dropped my shoulders and hung my head (further). It’s an odd feeling…what’s happening is so ironic, and so unlucky that I’m waiting to wake up from this dream – I kind of want to laugh, I kind of want to cry, and I really just want to prop up against the car and take a nap.

I went over to the lady who went inside. She wasn’t opposed to helping after all – she saw me coming and opened the door before I could knock. She smiled as if she had seen everything that had just happened. She asked if I wanted to use the phone, and I nodded. I called Emmy, and she rescued me. She laughed hysterically at my series of unfortunate events, and my desperate actions and reactions. I got some more gas from home, and it started up okay with repeated stomps on the gas pedal. I never made it to Wal-Mart.

I got to work at 4 (as scheduled). We’re so backed up because of the Medicaid-Medicare shift as well as the usual early-in-the-month rush of Medicaid recipients from the poor demogrpahic of the store’s neighborhood. Everything is way behind; the daily order didn’t come; the minimum wait for prescriptions is four hours.

By 5, we had to shut down the drive-thru and no longer accepted prescriptions for the night – everything would have to be tomorrow, or taken elsewhere. I supposed to get off at 9; I stayed until 11 (an hour after closing) to just catch up for today. Tomorrow is going to be much worse.

But I’m off tomorrow.

And going to give blood at the hospital, and to spend my Barnes and Noble gift card on the Chronicles of Narnia boxset.

My grandpa has been in ICU at the hospital for almost four weeks. He had major heart surgery in the first week of December. He has required 37 pints of blood, but for every pint of blood given in his name, a pint is subtracted from his bill. Thus, 37 pints given in his name means no charge.

I got The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe just before Christmas; started reading last night. When I finish it tomorrow or Saturday, I’ll go see the movie. I can’t wait to see it. Great book.

en það besta sem guð hefur skapaðer nýr dagur
the best thing God created was a new tomorrow

Merry Christmas!

In response to the loads of Christmas music I’ve been hearing (especially the bad), I’ve made a good Christmas compilation.

John Lennon – Happy Xmas (War is Over)
Oasis – Merry Xmas Everybody
James Taylor – In the Bleak Midwinter
Wham! – Last Christmas
Band Aid – Do They Know It’s Christmas?
Chris Rice – Welcome to Our World
Teenage Fanclub – Christmas Eve
Coldplay – 2000 Miles
U2 – Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)
David Crowder Band – Feliz Navidad
The Kinks – Father Christmas
The Flaming Lips – A Change at Christmas (Say It Isn’t So)
Rufus Wainwright – Spotlight on Christmas
The Band – Christmas Must Be Tonight
George Harrison – Give Me Love (Give Me Peace on Earth)

I have a friend at church named Morgan.  She’s one of the nicest girls you’ll ever meet (and quite pretty, smart, and talented).  She dances with my sister on the dance team featured some in our Christmas musical at church.  It’s come to be quite a fantastic night.  This past Sunday was the first night.  During dress rehearsal two hours prior, she was crying, eventually could not physically dance anymore, and left soon after.

The dancing moves had to be changed around, and another girl had to learn Morgan’s solo, but such minor setbacks so easily overcome are ultimately nothing to what had just happened.  Saturday night, her boyfriend was having trouble breathing.  He was diagnosed with leukemia and taken to Duke University Sunday morning.  He’s still there now while the hospital is trying to understand more about his condition.

He’s a good guy, very friendly.  Eighteen years old, fantastic golfer.  His birthday is the same as Morgan’s, and Emmy’s.  He was (is?) finishing his first semester in college at NC State.  He never showed any signs of being sick.  I don’t know why such things happen.

If you do any praying, please ask for his aid, and comfort to those close to him.

What can take a dying man
and raise him up to life again?
What can heal a wounded soul?
What can make us white as snow?
What can fill the emptiness?
What can mend our brokenness?

I hate when I oversleep.  Especially when I miss out on something I want to do – not just class.  Lame.

Educators are always telling kids to have goals.  Now that I’ve seen Oasis and Coldplay live, I’ve been motivationless for about a month.

I’ve been browsing Wikipedia a lot recently while putting off school work.  Somehow I started looking at animals.  I love going to the zoo, and the only television programs I ever bother watching are history, religious, and nature documentaries…ocean or land, doesn’t matter.  The ones where it’s only a guy narrating.  Yeah, the ones they rarely show now.  Discovery is too busy showing “Myth Busters” and stupid motorcycle/car modding shows.  Animal Planet is too busy showing that show with A.C. Slater checking out “America’s greatest pets” or some garbage.  National Geographic is the best choice, but hasn’t yet proved itself trustworthy.

Anyway, I don’t know how it came up…Emmy is in zoology, and I was asking her about the animals she had studying so far.  Mostly boring stuff – worms, sea sponges, clams.  Somewhere I brought up the order Artiodactyla.  That is, even-toed ungulates.  That is, hooved animals aside from horses, donkeys, zebras, and rhinos.  Camels are cool.  I “am” one – it’s our school mascot.  I like the two-humped ones.  Then it hit me.

Giraffes!

I will ride a giraffe someday.

How ’bout dem apples?

I hate when the weather changes.

I hate when time changes.

Do I like any changes?

Chord changes!