Be Prepared

As a child, while a third-grader at Worthington School, I spent a few months as a Cub Scout. My parents thought the program might help me with my introversion and accompanying socials challenges. Unfortunately, my time in the Scouts was cut short. An accusation by my Den Mother (Trumped up charges of consistent use of inappropriate language. I think her words were: “He cusses like a sailor”.) She was, unfortunately, believed and I unceremoniously received a dishonorable discharge from the Cub Scouts. Few boys have that on their “Permanent Record.”

Several years later the Boy Scouts and I reconnected. While a Seminary student looking for a summer job my Pastor hooked me up with a position as a summer camp Chaplain at Camp Covered Bridge in the Old Kentucky Home Council. The first person I met upon arrival at the camp was the Camp Director, Don Craig. Don was a high school history teacher and was the antipathy of a happy camper. He was busy cleaning up the mess from an overflowed toilet in the Administration Building. Our first meeting did not go well. But Don and I became life-long friends. Because of Don’s influence, as an adult, I became involved as a Boy Scout adult leader. I loved watching boys learn new skills and becoming young men.

In the process, I, too, learned many new skills: Knot tying, rappelling. Survival skills, lifesaving, teaching, identifying wildlife, distilling drinking water, advanced first aid, drinking coffee without sugar and cream, and much more. No doubt the best thing I learned was to be prepared. Up until then, I was consistently unprepared – ill-prepared – a procrastinator. I was disorganized and lacking a schedule or a calendar. I was winging it. I failed to show up for classes, often forgot I had a date, (I have no idea why girls went out with me. Maybe because I played baseball and football, dressed well, and generally didn’t smell that bad.) I forgot to go to a party at my house that I had also forgotten to tell my parents about,(My father was not amused,) in college I always pulled several all-nighters during finals week, turned in papers late after being reminded about them as the professor took them up in class, and as a student pastor, arose at 5 am on Sunday to craft my sermons. It was (I was) pitiful.

Now my sermons are finished by Wednesday noon. I rarely miss an appointment – haven’t missed one in decades. I come to meetings on time and with a printed agenda. I plan a yearly schedule of sermons. Now basically I am prepared. Thank you, BSA.

I say all of that because I have an upcoming challenge that I am not prepared for and don’t know how to get prepared for it. I sense that someone close to me is going to ask me to spend a large amount of money on them. Having seven children, such a scenario is not new to me. I have been asked for many things and often said no. Sometimes I have not handled the situation well. One day our youngest daughter asked for something goofy and I replied, “We can’t afford that.” I later learned that was the wrong thing to say. On the following Father’s Day, Jackie gave me $2.50: every penny she had to her name. When I asked her why, she said, “You said you didn’t have any money.” As my heart warmed and I fought the tears, I learned a great lesson. I should have said, “We don’t choose to spend our money that way.” I still have that $2.50. It is a treasure.

Here’s my problem, Take a look at the picture on your right. Take a good look. That is my one-year-old granddaughter. Her name is Vivian. Soon she is going to make a ridiculous request. I can hear it in my head already. It will sound something like, “Papa. Can I have a pony?” Of course, she can’t have a pony. We can’t afford one. We have no place to keep it. Who’s going to feed it? You will lose interest in it and then we are going to have to sell it. I should say, "Of course, you can’t have a pony."

Now, take another look at her picture. First look at her lips, then her nose and then spend several seconds looking deeply into her eyes, and then look back here.

We both know there is no way in the world I am going to say “No” to that face. I am much more likely to say, “Sure, honey, I’ll buy a pony, a farm to keep it on, and build a little barn for it.”

I am NOT PREPARED! I need some help here.

Copyright © 2020, William T. McConnell, All Rights Reserved

Bill McConnell is an Interim Minister, a Church Transformation consultant, and a Christian Leadership Coach. He is a frequent speaker at Church Transformation events. His latest book on church transformation is DEVELOPING A SIGNIFICANT CHURCH and is available at Westbow Press. He can be contacted @ bill45053@gmail.com. Connect with him on Facebook @ William T. McConnell or on Twitter @billmc45053 or visit his Amazon Author Page @ Amazon author page 

The Banned Concert

A friend recently posted on Facebook that her grandchild had taken up a musical instrument and was practicing in the house. It reminded me of a newspaper column I wrote several years ago when the children were still in the house. I thought my friend would enjoy reading this. This Sunday is my little musician's birthday.

 

I was on vacation and visiting my sister in Kentucky. My daughter Jackie called to remind me that the Spring Concert, the final concert of the year, the night awards are given, would be held at 7:00 PM the next evening at the high school auditorium. “Or course,” she said, “you don’t have to come home for it.” They called it The Spring Band Concert, but I knew it should have been the Banned Concert.

Sometimes subtle works with me. Usually not. But the next evening my wife discovered me in the high school auditorium, fourth seat over about half way down on the left.  She was surprised to see me. I have no idea why. She heard the conversation. Nobody tells Jackie no. I am sending her to negotiate my next contract.

Other than Jackie’s power of persuasion, two very different things motivated me to be in the audience that Thursday evening.  First, it is the parental thing to do.  We parents have been taught it is important to support our children in their endeavors.  If the "super-father" on the television commercial can fly home early from an important business trip and take a cab in the rain through big city rush hour traffic to see his kid be a sunflower in the school play, I can get come home early to see my future Doc Sevrenson play the trumpet. So, I was principally motivated by guilt. Guilt and the desire to have my wife romantically inclined toward me for the following week.

The second motivating factor was almost as strong. Curiosity. I was just plain curious. For the past few months I had heard, emanating from my basement during practice time, what I could best describe as the sounds of an elephant in heat that was also in the process of dying. The sound was horrible, but at the same time, tantalizing. And I was interested in what a whole herd of these dying elephants would sound like. Where better to hear this than a beginner band concert? Just as I had thought, it was amazing.

The place was packed. Extra chairs had been brought in and people were standing around the walls. From the size of the crowd one would think a highly respected entertainer was going to appear on stage that evening.

Instead, it was the fifth grade first year band students in winter concert. I had been listening to my young trumpet player practicing for the past three months but had come anyway. But why had all these others come? Had their children been practicing out of ear shot? We certainly didn't come because of our love of music. We had very little chance of hearing what could honestly be defined as music.

Expectations were running high. I have no hint as to why, but they were. My child's two older brothers even showed up. The room was full of cameras and camcorders. Parents were jockeying for position to get the best camera angles. Many came early to get a "good" seat up front. What was wrong with these people? Had they not been paying attention during their young musician's practice time at home? For whatever reason, excitement filled the air.

The concert started with the fifth grade band. They were awful. They were wonderful… cuter than anyone has a right to be. Moms and dads, grandmas and grandpas had spent the final few pre-concert seconds standing and waving at their little “stars.” There was a lot of love in that room. One could almost taste it and smell it. It was so appealing. It was wonderful.

Mr. Meeks, the music teacher and band director, took his place and got the children’s attention. (Not an easy task, there was a lot of waving still going on.) The children fired up their instruments and off they went. In several different directions. It was much like taking a joy ride in a Porsche with an eleven year old at the wheel. It was a ride in a car, but you had no idea where or how it might end up.

The tunes sounded vaguely familiar. Notes came firing out at us from all directions. Some died premature deaths, lodged in the throats of the instruments. Some sadly limped to the edge of the stage, dropped over the edge and were never heard from again. Some screeched and screamed as they torturously exited the instruments, ricocheted off the walls, bounced wildly around the room and wounded several of the concert goers. Many were almost perfect.

Just as we had been playing at home, the audience played NAME THAT TUNE® during the concert. Most of us cheated and looked at the playbill that listed the names of the pieces the band would be playing. When the band started playing, it was all I could do to keep from shouting out, "I can name that tune in five notes!" Fortunately, I restrained myself. Really, my wife, who can read my mind, restrained me by giving me one of her most effective glares. Her look told me, "Go ahead, buster, and try it and see what happens next." With such powerful motivation, I managed to control myself. And I would have looked rather foolish trying to name the tune in five notes, when, in fact, it only had two notes, repeated over and over again. As a matter of fact, I really did recognize a couple of the songs.

While leaving the graciously short concert, it was interesting to listen to the concert goers' comments. Misty-eyed moms and grandmothers were gushing on about how WONDERFUL the children were. The fathers were carefully mute. They possibly didn't see it as the stellar performance the mothers did, but were kind and wise enough to just keep quiet.

I must be honest with you. The music wasn't great.  But for first year students, the band did pretty good. But my daughter, now that is a different story. She was MAGNIFICENT!

Copyright © 1992 by William T. McConnell, All Rights Reserved