Wayne Watson's blog

The Adams Family

2011-02-02T10:11:00.002-06:00

Just over a week ago, I was in Ruston, LA doing a benefit concert at Louisiana Tech for the Baptist Collegiate Ministry. I wrote a piece about it but left out an important part of one special thing that happened that night.

There was a very distinguished couple sitting in reserved seats on the front row. And it was a special occasion for them. They were celebrating their anniversary. I don’t remember the exact number but it was somewhere a few clicks north of 60 years!

Mr. and Mrs. Adams lived two houses down from us on School Street in our hometown of Wisner, LA. Guess what was across the street? I couldn’t make up horror stories about walking to school if I tried.

I went to school with a couple of the Adams Family. And I played in a band with Dennis and Gary Adams, my brother, Mike and another guy named Connie Moran. I was younger than all of them, so I was pretty jazzed when they invited me to join. I had a bent for lead guitar back then and I guess that’s what they were lacking. I remember overhearing my brother and the other guys talking, “Now we can have lead on Louie Louie!”

You remember Louie? If you didn’t hear it in the 60s, you probably heard it being belted out by a high school marching band under the Friday night lights somewhere in America. Nobody really remembers the words to Louie Louie but the melody was hard to forget. If it’s playing in your head right now, uh, sorry.

The Adams Family was one of two Catholic families in our little neck of the woods. Their church was in Winnsboro, a little larger town than ours fourteen miles to the north. I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t know much about the faith of this family and I probably didn’t give it much thought. I just knew that it was different. And I knew this – the dances our band played for at the Catholic Church would have never happened (that’s to say, they never did happen) at the First Baptist Church. Odd – I couldn’t go to dances but I could go play for other people to dance. Confusing.

Well, like I was saying, Mr. and Mrs. Adams were at the concert celebrating their anniversary. When I got word, via Facebook, that they wanted to come, I was surprised. I had no idea they would be interested. I can’t remember the last time I saw them or anyone from their family.

I found out the kids (all now grown with families of their own) had set it all up. They had gotten the tickets and the special seating secured, they arranged for the hotel and the restaurant. It was their way of making sure their parent’s anniversary was memorable.

It struck me as a huge display of genuine thoughtfulness. Talk about honoring your parents. It’s one of the best gifts you can give your folks.

Thoughtfulness is becoming a lost art. We find ourselves in an era of self-absorbed thoughtlessness. Not so much a mean spirited, aggressive neglect. Rather more a, “Huh? wow . . . the thought never crossed my mind” kind of culture.

All the techno luxuries were supposed to free us up. To do what?? To have more time to ourselves for ourselves?

I don’t want this to turn into one of those stories that throws rocks at modern advancements, but let’s face it. Most of them aren’t driving us toward each other. They’re driving us toward a more isolated existence that’s empty of real intimacy, real giving, sharing and real sacrifice.

I know some of you don’t agree with that and you put these tools to good use. I’ve gotten lots of email praising social media that’s helped you re-connect with old friends or schoolmates. That’s great! Just try to resist letting it replace real face time with those in your house, your family or your community.

I talked with Mr. and Mrs. Adams after the concert. They felt so blessed that their kids would plan such a thing. Mr. Adams is a quiet, dignified gentleman. That night in particular, he reminded me of my dad - dignity and humility. He told me how much he enjoyed the music. “Thank you for “Amazing Grace” he said.

I say that every day.

Thank You.

Wayne

Concert at Louisiana Tech

2011-02-02T10:10:00.002-06:00

Wouldn’t you expect me to say this after every event, every concert? “It went great!”

When I ask my peers, “So how did it go last night?” it would be nice to hear, sometimes, “Ya know what? It just stunk! I stunk! I sounded bad. Nobody showed up. The sound was terrible. The air conditioning was out. Wild monkeys were running around the stage. Just not a very good night.”

But most times in answer to the question, we reply, “It went great!”

Monday night, at Louisiana Tech was . . . Uh . . . GREAT! And I mean it! No monkeys, great sound and lighting for the venue, a room that was full of college friends from years past, lots of family and friends from my hometown, an hour of pre-show reception with great food and refreshments. The only down side . . . just too little time to visit and catch up with everybody there.

The event was the grand opening of the new BCM building on the Tech campus. When I was there, it was called the BSU but I guess somebody finally got enough of all the acronym cracks and decided to re-name it the BCM (Baptist Collegiate Ministries). I don’t know why. Heck, you can still get a BS degree from most any university in America. I know a lot of people that have them! And some that don’t but should be granted and honorary!

Anyway, even though the weather outside was frightful – cold and rainy – the spirit inside was tremendous. When the MC got up to introduce me, he changed course and asked a few people to stand up and tell a quick WW story. Thankfully, all that chose to stand and deliver, came up with good stories.

Man, talk about evidence of time flying! The people facing me were testimonies of God’s grace and mercy, testimonies of His blessing. I think we all relived a little bit of our college days on Monday night.

I started out telling the audience there would be some “Acknowledgements and Apologies” throughout the night.

A few acknowledgements . . .

To my friend and, during my college days, as close to a mentor as I’d ever have, Dr. Ferrington. “Doc” we called him then and still do. Interesting, I’ve met lots of “Drs” over the years. Some earned their degrees and others were given honorary degrees. Funny, lots of the earned “Drs” couldn’t care less what you call them and lots of the honoraries really prefer, and sometimes firmly suggest that you address them as . . . Dr. Hmm. Well, with all due respect, I guess. What do I know? I’m not a doctor . . . but I’ve been to the doctor!!

Anyway, Doc and wife, Dottie (also a Dr! Geez, talk about a hard envelope to address) were in the audience Monday night. When a band in California offered me a position to play with them in my second year at Tech, it was Doc that talked me into staying in school. I’m so glad I did. Not just for the book stuff but the life stuff that college offered.

There were other acknowledgements and some that were, regrettably, left out. Mr. and Mrs. Ray Young from Wisner (and their children and grandchildren) were there. Dorothy Young takes care of my mom’s business affairs and lots of other stuff. I don’t know what we’d do without her. Mr. Ray was my first guitar hero. He had this beautiful Yamaha FG 300 acoustic that I loved! I eventually saved up and bought one and I wish I still had it. It was my first really good guitar.

And the list could go on and on.

Some apologies (some in fun and others . . . well). The most sincere apology was to no one in particular and to lots of people in general. “I was tight in college” I began. “Not tight as in cheap . . . heck, I’d spring for a pizza now and then, but tight as in tightly wound.” It embarrasses me to think of the people I probably turned off to a faith in Christ with my hyper spirituality and self-righteous, legalistic attitude. I wish I’d known a better definition of grace and mercy in those days. I received it well enough but just wasn’t real good at extending it. And it would be a long time, through some tough times ‘till I would learn that lesson. Oh well, we’re all being created in His image. Some of us are just on day 2 or 3 out of the 7 it’s gonna take to make us.

Many thanks to Lisa Trussel and everyone that made this event happen. I hope it was just the first of many good things that take place under the new roof.

Hope to see you on the road somewhere. 2011 is looking busy and I’m thankful to have so many doors opening. Thank you for your prayers!

Blessings

Wayne

Please . . .

2011-01-12T23:35:00.000-06:00

Hi Everyone....and thanks for checking in here.

I've moved most of my entries, my time and attention to the new waynewatson.com so consider this your invitation to visit there. There are blogs, concert schedules, news, photos, videos, a discography, a bio and I freshen it often.

Blessings

Wayne

something good

2010-11-16T09:58:00.000-06:00

I was reading a devotional writing by Soren Kierkegaard this morning and this one paragraph was something I wanted to share with you.

From "Prayers . . ."

You are not like us; if we are to preserve only some degree of constancy, we must not permit ourselves too much to be moved, nor by too many things. You on the contrary are moved, and moved in infinite love, by all things. Even that which we human beings call an insignificant trifle, and pass by unmoved, the need of a sparrow, even this moves You; and what we so often scarcely notice, a human sigh, this moves You, You who are unchangeable!

"Where Ya Been?"

2010-10-29T09:15:00.000-05:00

Wow...it's been a while and I won't bore you with all the details, but it's been a busy fall season.

We just moved into a new house two weeks ago, so things have been a little on the disorderly side for a while. But I found my computer and some wires and another doohicky that makes it all work and here I am! How are Ya?

But over the past couple of months, I've been doing some concert dates, leading worship at Chapelwood here in Houston, and I produced a new record for an artist in Dallas. He contacted me via facebook and from there we struck up an arrangement for me to work with him on his new project. It's been a while since I've been on the arranger/producer side of the glass but it was great fun.

Wesley Putnam has been around music ministry for a long time. He spends a couple of hundred days a year on the road with his wife, Felicia so it was nice to get to know them and to have the opportunity to help with his new recording. Beautiful songs, beautiful voice and heart!

So the final mix process took me to Nashville to put the finishing touches on the recording. And, heck since I was there anyway, I spent a couple of nights with my son, Neal, his wife, Lindsay and their three boys. Both nights I was there, we all went to the ballpark, played catch, took a few swings and ran some bases.

When we first got to the field, we just started tossing the ball around and that alone was enough to fill me up to the brim. I remember playing ball with Neal and Adam as little guys and loving those special times with my sons. Now, with grandsons, it's no less sweet than before. Sam is almost 8, Gabe 5 and Luke will be 3 in January. Sam asked me to throw him some pop flies so he could work on his glove skills.

When I woke up the next morning and couldn't lift my right arm, I wondered "What the heck?" and then remembered the pop flies.

It's good to be getting settled in the new place and I hope to be more in touch more regularly. Thanks for your continued prayers and support.

Next week, on November 4th, I'll be in Boise, ID doing an anniversary concert for KTSY Radio. Then flying to Phoenix for an event with evangelist, Luis Palau. Tuesday, November 9, I'll drive up to Lufkin, TX to play for an event for a pregnancy center there.
On November 17, I'll be taping a new Christmas special for Daystar Television here in the Houston area. I'll let you know when it'll show.

From top to bottom . . . Me, Luke, and Sam
then Luke in a close-up . . . . then Me with Gabe . . . then with Sam

Blessings....Wayne

update

2010-10-19T10:59:00.003-05:00

Good Day to you all.

I have lots of email messages from a lot of you - thank you for writing.

I will get back to you asap!!! We recently moved and, at this very moment, there is some kind of machine running in the hallway! I don't know what they're doing but it's making a lot of racket! Anyway, please forgive me for not responding right away. I"ll unpack the stuff and get back to work soon!

Blessings!

Wayne

Sunday October 10th

2010-10-04T17:17:00.000-05:00

Hi! I'll be in the morning service at Heights Church in Richardson, TX this coming Sunday!

Come see us.

201 W. Renner Rd. Richardson, TX 75080 972.238.7243

201 W. Renner Rd. Richardson, TX 75080

972.238.7243

Sandi and Friends

2010-08-23T17:04:00.000-05:00

Last night in Anderson Indiana was tremendous. A large crowd gathered early to get into Madison Park Church and the place was buzzing.

I have to say, it's fun to gather with other artists - in this case we were guests and friends of Sandi Patty. Anderson was Sandi's home for years before moving to Oklahoma. And Madison Park was her home church.

Larnelle Harris and Heather Payne (of Point of Grace) were on the bill for the night, too.

Larnelle can bring it like few others I've ever heard. He's a dear friend, a gentlemen of the first order and really tells a story when he sings. Almost every song had 'em standing to their feet.

I first met Heather Payne when Point of Grace was first forming. I remember sitting at home one night, getting a call from my manager, who was helping them get started. They were gathered at his house and he told them they couldn't leave until they came up with a name for the group. In college, the girls had gone by "Say So" but that was taken. They decided on "Point of Grace" and the rest, well, you know the rest.

Heather has just recorded her first solo project. Can't wait to hear it. The texture and purity of her vocals is stellar and she's just sweet on the platform.

Sandi continues to thrill her audiences. I mean, it's really incredible!

As I looked around last night, it occurred to me that all of us have had our bumps. Some more public than others, but the songs and the Truth therein always reach people whose ears are open.

I'm awed that God still lets me open my mouth and sing these songs. I'm overwhelmed that I've done this for thirty years and have opportunities to continue by His mercy and grace.

Hope to come to your town soon!

Blessings.

Wayne

FYI . . . you can still purchase CDs and such at lots of places online! Here's one.

2010-07-22T13:45:00.000-05:00

You really have to want to get to the cottage.

It's been in my wife's family since 1944. Story goes that the place was a "kit" bought with logs already cut and ready for assembly. The logs and all the fittings were dropped on the property on the shoreline of Lake Huron in the northern part of the Canadian province of Ontario. Over the years, it's been expanded and refreshed, brought up to date in some senses of the word, but still has it's original charm and is a simple, restful retreat.

Where I came from, we'd probably have called it a cabin, but it's not a cabin. It's a cottage. Don't make me have to tell you again. :) Cottage.

As I said, it's a hike to get to the cabi....cottage.

We flew from Houston to Newark, changed planes and flew to Buffalo, NY then drove the five and a half hours to our destination. We got there about 8:30 PM and there was still an hour of daylight left!

The cottage getaway is all about rest.

I've taken many a vacation and come back more weary than before but not a the cottage. The cool nights were a great relief from the brutal summer we're having in Houston. It's not hard to sleep 8 or 9 hours every night.

We fell into the cottage routine pretty fast. Get up, coffee on the patio, watch the water, watch the wind (yes, I said we watched the wind), quiet time of reading and praying or just meditation on the simple things and the peace of a little slower pace. Sweet conversation, gratitude, breakfast, walks by the water, lunch, nap, repeat.

The last couple of times I've been there, I've been challenged by the cool clear waters of Lake Huron knowing there had to be some great fishing somewhere within the reach of the little v hull boat with a 9 horsepower motor.

Just off the dock, you can see the rocky bottom of the lake. The water is clear and fresh. If you ever work up a sweat around there, all you have to do is walk out, knee-deep into Huron and cool off. To completely submerge takes a few minutes of ramping up your nerve knowing it's gonna be a painful cold at first, then a great refreshment.

At first, I just used minnows for bait, cast off the dock and caught a handful of perch that were only a little bigger than the minnows. Still fun.

I used to be into bass fishing. Had the rig, the tournament boat with the capacity to run 70 mph across these southern lakes. Serious fishing entertainment. But when my kids lost interest or were distracted by other things and the boat would sit for weeks without touching the water, I let it go. And yes, it's true what they say about boat owners - the two best days are the day you buy it and the day you sell.

So this "perch jerking" wasn't really doing it for me. But it was still great to be on the water making the play. In my boating period, I could go out and throw all day and it didn't matter how many fish I caught.

Finally, I fell on the formula and caught some good fish. It's been 40 years since I caught, cleaned and ate the catch. I had to go on youtube and refresh my memory on how to fillet a fish without leaving bones everywhere in the meat. Geez.

But out of this beautiful water, the fresh catch was amazing.

The trip home took 14 hours. It seemed like a clip from "Trains, Planes and Automobiles" but we rolled back in to Houston about midnight. Even at that hour, walking off the plane into the jetway, the thick, humid air smothered us.

Re-entry into real life took a few days.

The cell phone that really didn't work at the cottage was full of "important" messages. The mail was stacked up. Urgent! Urgent!

It's amazing how quickly you can be overwhelmed by minutia. I'm thankful to have had some time to be quiet, be still, enjoy the simple things of life and God's rich blessing.

And I hope wherever you are and whatever is going on in your life, you'll be able to grab some down time, even if it's in your own back yard or sitting on a park bench. And remember there are people alive and breathing all over the planet this very moment that have chosen to live simple lives. Some of them have no real choice. Their options are limited but in all corners, people are happy and at peace.

My prayer for you is that, with much or with little, you'll be at peace.

Blessings.

Wayne

Perspective

2010-06-07T19:12:00.000-05:00

My very best - my favorite guitar - fell off it’s stand yesterday. Most times, I’ve astutely observed when marble and wood go to battle, it’s usually “scoreboard – marble.” Unfortunately, this was no exception.

Several people on the platform pointed out what was happening. As I turned and saw the guitar toppling from the stand, everything went into slow motion and feet, in spite of being instructed by brain to “run,” did practically nothing at all. I knew even if I made a mad dash – and made in scene in the dashing – I would be too late to save the beautiful instrument.

As it fell down two steps, with more than a few people in the seats watching and wondering what my response would be, my first thought was, “Well, maybe it’s ok.”

It reminds me of the scene from the Bill Murray movie “Groundhog Day” where Phil (Bill’s character) drives over a cliff in a pickup truck and crashes violently into the ground below. Another character remarks “He might be OK.” Then the truck explodes into a giant fireball and the character says “Well, probably not now.”

As I picked up the guitar, I couldn’t see any immediate physical scars. But when I strummed the strings I knew it was bad. They sounded like they’d been tuned ready for a international flight.

When I looked closer, there was a chunk about the size of two fifty cent pieces out of the base of the neck. I got a little nauseous. And still, all those eyes on me, wondering “Is he gonna lose it?”

Now I hope you don’t misunderstand this but I’ve been doing this long enough to realize there’s a time and a place to lose it . . . and this was neither the time nor the place. So, I just stood there holding the wounded piece of spruce and mahogany then slowly walked off the platform and took a deep breath.

I had an overload of thoughts. “Who’s at fault here?” You know, you always want to affix blame as soon as possible. No one to blame. “Could this have been avoided?” Well, duh…of course but that’s what accidents are. “It’s just a thing . . . a really NICE thing!” But a thing, none the less. Blah Blah Blah . . . the voice with all the questions goes on and on.

I had work to do, so I couldn’t afford a wake at that particular time.

I’ve had other guitar crashes over the years, but relatively few when you count up the number of times I’ve pulled each one out of the case. Some time ago, I figured I’d played in over 4200 venues, so with the few accidents that have occurred, I’m pretty fortunate that the occasions don’t add up to much at all.

One night, years ago at a large church in Houston, back in the day when I would play a yearly concert with KSBJ radio, while walking toward the hallway off stage for intermission, I stepped into an unmarked stairwell. With all my weight put into that fateful, though normal step – and I’ve been walking for years . . . and I mean years – To fall a couple of feet felt like a long, long way. I was holding my guitar in my right hand and as I fell, I ski-poled the guitar into the floor (which was, by the way, again, made of marble. So far, marble 2 / guitars 0). When the lights came up for the crowd to mingle during intermission, the first thing 5000 sets of eyes saw was me lying on my back. I scrambled to my feet, back aching, knee twisted with as much of a “no problamo” look on my face as I could muster. As I walked back stage, I noticed there was an eight inch crack on the face of my beloved Lowden guitar. That, along with other structural compromises rendered it unusable for a long time. But, it was repaired, sounds great, but still bears that jagged scar. Hmm. Kind of gives it character. You know, like the world famous hole in Willie’s axe.

Other guitars have been stolen, stepped on or banged up by air travel. Once, while living in Baton Rouge, Louisiana and therefore, flying in and out of the Baton Rouge airport, I arrived, gathered my bags only to realize one of the two guitars I’d checked was a no show. I went through the airline red tape only to get a mysterious phone call a year later from “someone who knew the whereabouts of my lost guitar.” He wouldn’t give a name and merely stated that the “person” responsible felt guilty and would like to get it back to me. I’d already gotten a settlement from the airline and never pursued it further. So far, in all my years, I’ve never reverted to a back-ally meeting . . . for anything!

The McPherson Guitar people are fantastic and they’ll fix the guitar that was broken yesterday. They’ve been very generous and very good to me. It’s a work of art but it’s still, in essence, just a thing.

(The names in the rest of this story are changed)

My friend, Sam, has cancer. He’s been in treatment for several months now and still shows up at church with the same big smile and a countenance that just makes you, in my wife’s words, “want to hug him.” He and his wife have been married for sixty years. Now, he’s concerned about her and her memory loss. They are sweet, sweet people facing some of the effects of long years on the planet.

And my guitar is broken.

I know this might sound corny, but simple, life events have all been working together to show me God’s mercy and grace. There are times I wonder(doubt) if He’s concerned or at all interested in the trivial aspects of my daily breathing in and out and then, a guitar hits the deck and I continue to be reminded that there’s big stuff and little stuff. I always thought I’d outgrow the need for such reminders and maybe I will . . .just not yet.

Wayne Watson

Concert @ Dosey Doe, The Woodlands, TX

2010-05-25T14:45:00.003-05:00

ATTENTION HOUSTON:

Be sure to join me on July 20 at Dosey Doe in The Woodlands (Houston area) for a great night of dinner and a concert. To secure the best seats, you need purchase your ticket on-line...and early. Visit www.doseydoe.com for ticket information and directions.

Chickens on the Highway and other travel stories

2010-05-20T14:26:00.000-05:00

I just got home from a trip that took me to Dallas on Sunday to do Celebration on the Daystar Network. Joni and Marcus Lamb are the hosts for the show and it's broadcast was live Monday morning. Great bunch of folks with facilities that are first rate. Great band and singers, too! The tech crew is terrific and it was just a lot of fun.

I drove from there to visit a relatively new radio station in Dallas. KVVT is billing itself as Classic Christian from the 70s, 80s, and 90s!!! Finally, somebody is re-introducing the huge body of work from the early and middle days of Christian music. They're hoping this is a trend that catches on . . . so am I!!

L B, Bryan, and Doug and the entire staff made me feel right at home. We recorded several spots for them to use in the future and talked about some of the old songs that were popular in the day . . . Home Free, Friend of a Wounded Heart, Almighty, When God's People Pray, Field of Souls and others. I still play a lot of them every night because people want to hear them and I think they're still relevant lyrically.

Monday afternoon, I drove towards Louisiana and stopped to see some friends in Ruston. Got to play an early Tuesday round of golf on a spectacular course then went on to visit my Mom and brother.

Missed seeing Mom on Mother's Day because, like so many Mother's Day Sundays in my life, I was playing a concert and just couldn't get there.

On the way from Dallas to Louisiana, on I-20, a couple of interesting things happened.

I was passing through Minden, LA and thought about a long-time friend that used to live there. I wondered what he was up to. He and I almost went into the recording studio business in the late 70s. A move that, we have agreed on all these years, would have ruined us both - we'd still be paying for that mistake! Anyway, Jerome has been president over several different financial institutions in Louisiana, Alabama and now lives in northeast Louisiana as the head of a local bank.

As I was driving, I was fighting fatigue, flipping between CDs, AM radio, FM radio, XM and so on. At the very minute Jerome came to mind, I hit the AM button and within 2 seconds heard, "This is Jerome . . ." and then proceeded to finish the 30 second commercial for their bank.

If I'd gone by that particular local AM station 10 seconds earlier, odds are, I would have moved right on. If I'd tuned in 10 seconds later, I wouldn't have known it was my old friend doing the commercial. Strange.

So I called him, told him about what had just happened. He was amused - then told me a story of him and his wife on a trip to a bank convention in Austin. One night during the convention, he and wife had gone to a restaurant where they had outdoor seating and some games. One young couple, he told me, was playing shuffle board and he and his wife went over to watch. The young couple started up a conversation, asked them to join in. He told me her name was Dottie. Dottie and her husband, Kevin, are friends of ours from Houston! So they had more than a casual connection immediately.

Small world??? It's microscopic!

It set me to wondering if God gives us these moments in life for some specific reason or just for our (or His) amusement. Do they happen out of the blue? Some unfathomable orchestration of time and space just to show us how little control we have? Or just to make us smile for a minute or two and realize how sweet life is? I don't know.

What do you think?

At any rate, I was seriously entertained by it all on my long drive across the interstate.

And a few other random thoughts and observations . . .

For some reason on this drive, I set the cruise control around 65 and was perfectly content to let the world fly by! And man, did they fly! When you're the one taking the leisurely pace, you always ask yourself, "Why are these people in such a hurry?" When you're the one in a hurry, it's more likely, "Get outta my way tortoise!!!" Anyway, thankful to be in no hurry at all, I passed a dozen Louisiana State Police doing their duty in the grassy median of the ancient Interstate 20. Even though I was 5 mph under the limit, I still tapped the brakes.

Geez.

And, for a few miles, I got stuck behind an 18-wheeler loaded with live chickens. I kept my distance because feathers and all kinds of, uh . . . well, feathers were flying out of the cages! I couldn't help but wonder what these chickens must have been thinking as their cages were being stacked up on the back of the trailer. "Hmmm . . . cluck . . . this can't be good."

Thanks to all of you who write so often. Stay in touch and God's rich blessings to you all.

Wayne

DAYSTAR TELEVISION

2010-05-16T14:29:00.002-05:00

HI EVERYBODY.....

JUST A WORD TO LET YOU KNOW THAT I'LL BE ON THE "CELEBRATION" PROGRAM WITH MARCUS AND JONI LAMB . . .

MONDAY - MAY 17, 2010 AT 11 AM CENTRAL TIME.

PLEASE WATCH AND EMAIL FRIENDS AROUND THE COUNTRY THAT MIGHT WANT TO TUNE IN!

THANKS

WAYNE

The Bosque River Stage in Waco, Texas

2010-05-10T13:59:00.002-05:00

We had a beautiful weekend in Waco TX. I saw parts of this town I’d never seen and the campus of McClellan Community College is tremendous.. . a hill country setting full of spectacular old oaks and rolling grassy hills.

The Bosque River Stage is right on the river (duhh) and the concert started at 8 PM on Saturday night.

We had a good turnout on this cool spring evening. Whenever the temp dips below 70 in May . . . well, we’re all just fine with that.

I’m thankful to Dick Gimble and all the folks that made the evening run so smoothly.

I still get this statement a lot, “We didn’t know you were still playing and singing.”

Well, as a matter of fact, “Yes.”

And I’m always overwhelmed at the people that come out for the evening and more thankful than I can say to still feel the fire to sing these songs and share the stories of God’s grace and mercy in my life.

As a kid, I never had ambitions to make this a life’s work. But these last thirty years have blown by . . . a few turns I never expected and a whole bunch of immeasurable good stuff that can only be described as real blessings.

I’m off to Columbus GA for a concert there on May 23. The venue is Brookwood Baptist Church. I’ll be with them Sunday morning and evening. Check out . . .

www.brookwoodbaptist.net

www.brookwoodworship.net

Hope to see some of you on the road soon.

Wayne

Golf trip and more

2010-05-05T13:48:00.000-05:00

I just got back from a golf trip to Pinehurst, NC. Can't remember the last time I got away with a bunch of guys . . . most of whom, I didn't know until last Friday.

The group has been taking a trip to some part of the US for 17 years and three or four of the eight have been on most of the trips. So, it was an honor to be invited to be a part of this illustrious band.

We played a practice round on Friday before the real tournament competition began on Saturday morning.

I put up the second best score of my life . . . 77. In a practice round at Pinehurst No. 5.

Then proceeded to stink the rest of the weekend. When people ask, after these kinds of rounds, "Well, did you at least have fun????", usually the answer is civil but inside I'm thinking, "NO, I don't enjoy doing anything this poorly!"

But as the years pass, more important things rise to the top and reality reminds me that I'm glad I don't have to do this for a living . . . me and mine would be really hungry!

But what a solid, good group of men. It's rare to find eight guys that can be relaxed, poke fun, laugh at and with each other, know when to say something and know when to shut up. Know when to pray and know when to tell a joke. A bunch with great reverence for God and irreverence toward the silly things we once pursued so passionately and held to so tightly.

It was incredibly refreshing though physically exhausting. We played 36 holes every day and I don't think I've ever played 36 holes in one day . . . ever! The hills of NC proved to be a real test and I slept like a teenager and woke up like a senior citizen . . . in pain!

I'm playing tomorrow on a Houston affiliate of TBN for their annual telethon then going to play at the Bosque River Stage on the campus of McLennan Community College in Waco, TX at 8 PM on Saturday. If you're in the Waco area, we'd love to see you there!

Blessings.

Wayne

Daystar Television

2010-04-12T20:10:00.000-05:00

I'll be on the Daystar Network here in Houston tomorrow, April 13 at Noon (central). Hope you'll tune in if your in the area. Thanks.

2010-04-08T10:19:00.002-05:00

I'm home today. In Houston. Where the spring just keeps on hanging around. It's uncharacteristic for April - heck, by now, we're usually in the 80s.

Things are good. Life is sweet, my health is probably better than it's been for years, living more simply than ever, free of some of the stuff of life that just exhausted me without me even knowing the cause. Grace and mercy show their faces every single day. After more than half a century on the planet, it occurs to me more often than ever that God is not mad at me. Feelings of unworthiness to not turn into morbid pity . . . just thanksgiving that "unworthy" makes it easier for me to see God.

Tonight I'm playing at a men's event here in town for a ministry called Waking the Passion. The organizers want me to tell some stories about the journey, the highs but certainly not avoiding the lows, play some songs,etc. And they specifically asked me to try and avoid "the lingo" - the hyper-spiritual language that we use sometimes to display our holiness in front of others to be praise and highly regarded by them. You know?

So that's the challenge for the day...to gather my thoughts, pick out some relevant stories that might mean something to a bunch of guys (some of whom feel very uncomfortable in church). So for your prayers this day, I'm grateful.

Easter 2010

2010-04-05T10:31:00.002-05:00

I called my mom yesterday to wish her a happy Easter. She's living in a nursing home in my hometown . . . and happy there for the most part. She went to the funeral of the man who was the pastor of our church when I was a kid. He was a gentle, sweet man of God. Mom said she did ok during the service - and you have to know these get tougher and tougher for her in that she's outliving most of her peers. And not many people would have taken that bet. She's been physically frail for years with a long list of troubles. But mentally, watch out! Anyway, she said she made it through the service without getting too emotional, then as they walked past the casket, they played "Home Free" over the sound system and she broke down.

One great thing among a long list of great things our pastor said at Easter services yesterday was this - Eternal Life does not begin with your last breath. The life and light of Christ in us pushes that button when we open up to Him. Rebirth, regeneration, the Spark . . . now!

As I was getting ready yesterday morning in the wee hours of the day, I found myself overwhelmed with gratitude that I was going to get to do what I do on Easter 2010. There have been years in the past, up to do some sunrise service, that I was probably not so thankful, probably grumbled internally that I was gonna have to sing at 6 AM! What a punk.

Over the past 5 or 6 years, there have been a few years where I wasn't singing anywhere and I felt a sense of loss. That's ok. Now, for you and me both, forget what has happened and look toward what God will do for, with, in you today and enjoy it! Most of all say "thank You."

Great quote from a Jeremy Taylor excerpt in my devotional reading today . . .

"Remember, no one can undervalue you if you know that you are unworthy."

Not to walk around debasing yourself; that's just morbid. But to know of my unworthyness in so many things keeps me from always trying to remind myself and others that "Hey, I'm OK." And I am . . . and You are . . . for one Reason!

Wayne

An Old Friend

2010-03-21T22:47:00.002-05:00

Well, I’m finally getting around to writing about my trip to Chicago last week. I guess I’m always reluctant to put the minutia on paper because a lot of it just sounds so very uninteresting. It’s the same reason I have trouble making frequent posts on Twitter.

This would be a sample of Tweets that would repeat over and over almost every day when I’m not on the road.

“Just got up.”

“Having breakfast.”

“Watching Sportscenter while I eat breakfast.”

“Closing the door to my office and reading from Devotional Classics, The Word, going down the prayer list.”

“Answering Emails from several different sites because I tell people I will respond and I do.”

“Lunch”

(Isn’t this riveting!!)

“Going to get mail”

“Going to the gym….”

Wow, even I’m bored reading this stuff and I’m the one doing it!

For most people, I think life carries on with a steady stream of necessary yet ordinary events interspersed with an occasional burst of unbelievable, awesome, outrageous and exciting. Not everything is newsworthy.

I landed in Chicago last Saturday night - leaving Houston on what was a brilliant spring day to arrive at O’Hare Airport in a cold, misty rain. I love Chicago and I have to tip my hat to the those that tough it out through the long, grey cold days of winter in the land where the leaves come late to the trees. Ah, but then you’ve got the Cubs and the Sox, Wrigley, Da Bears!

Sunday night, I played a concert at Palos Park Presbyterian Community Church or as I call it PPPCC. It just rolls off the tongue. These sweet people opened their doors to host this event that was sponsored by my friends at Bible League International. Sue Olsen, from Bible League, and her husband took good care of me while I was there.

I went to the Philippines last fall with the folks from BLI and have come to love their work. I encourage you to look further into the things they’re doing all over the world.

Before the concert, I was just waiting and going through the routine of preparing for the concert. Sue knocks on the door and says, “I think there is someone here you’re gonna want to see.” Following her was my long-time friend, Tim Burke and a friend of his – from the Chicago Wolves hockey team - Noah Welch. I couldn’t believe it! I haven’t seen Tim in almost five years.

I guess I should give a little background but believe me, I could go way beyond just a little. I could write volumes about my friendship with Tim and the adventures we’ve shared – some very high highs and some very low lows … on both sides.

I first met Tim when he was a star relief pitcher for the Montreal Expos. He and his teammates were in Houston to play the Astros. Tim was talking about Christian music with some of the Astros players and mentioned my name. When he found out I lived in Houston, we arranged to go out to dinner with a few other players after their next game in Houston.

We just hit it off. It’s really hard to explain how some people cross your path and have such an immediate impact. But that was the way it was between Tim and me.

I really don’t have the time or space to recount the stories. But even now, they’re racing through my head – every one screaming “tell me, tell me!!!”

I was in Montreal when Tim and Christine’s youngest daughter, Nicole, had open-heart surgery at nine months old. The Burkes had adopted Nicole from Korea. Nicole was born without a right hand and with a very serious heart problem. Several of the 5 children they adopted had life-threatening medical issues. Due to his baseball insurance coverage, Tim and Christine felt moved to seek out these children to change their lives.

I arrived at the airport in Montreal and Tim was there waiting for me. When I first saw him, my blood kind of ran cold. I was sure, by the look on his face, something terrible had happened. Of course, I assumed that Nicole had taken a bad turn or worse.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. I certainly didn’t expect the answer I got.

“I got traded to the Mets today . . . the Mets!” he said.

Well, here’s a curve (pardon the pun) we didn’t see coming. He was supposed to report to New York the next day, the day of Nicole’s surgery. After some negotiations and I’m sure some candid discussions between Tim, his agent and the powers at the New York Mets, they gave him a few extra days.

I’ll have to leave out a lot of this story – it could go on and on. But I will tell you that Nicole survived the surgery but not without severe consequences. Because of her age (nine months) and the seriousness of the heart problem, as I understand it, she had to be put into a medically induced coma for some time. It resulted in brain damage that has left her in a seriously handicapped state to this day. She’s nineteen now.

I’ve seen first hand how Tim and Christine have dealt with this twist. Sometimes unbelievably great and other times, near the end of their wits, just barely hanging on. They have some of the biggest and most loving hearts of anyone I’ve ever known and they have endured much, much more than most of us could ever stand. And not just endured, in many ways, they’ve triumphed.

We’ve gone on motorcycle trips, had motorcycle accidents, gone fishing in Alaska, seen a Super Bowl, played golf, goofed off and enjoyed a friendship that rivals blood relations.

And I’ve missed his fellowship. When I last saw Tim, I was at the lowest low of my life.

Today Tim is a chaplain with HMI – Hockey Ministries International – and travels all over the USA to befriend young Christian men in professional hockey. It’s a mission field and one that Tim loves. I know he’d love to hear from you and share more about his mission and his calling. I hope you’ll look him up.

So life has thrown curves, sliders, wild pitches . . . OK, enough with the baseball references. Life, for neither Tim nor me, has turned out as we once thought. Things that we once held dear and valued, things that we once took for granted are far from the reality of our day-to-day lives. But through it all, God has redefined Grace – redefined Mercy.

Maybe “redefined” isn’t the right word. The depths of real meanings of these beautiful words have been constant, as constant and unchanging as the Father Himself. For some of us, it just takes a little longer to get it.

And I’m not sure I get it just yet.

But I heard a great line from my Pastor during the message today. He was telling a story of a colleague who’d gone through great personal tragedy and loss, only to come out the other side with proof of God’s faithfulness and blessing. When the man was asked, “How did you make it through?” he responded saying ….

“God never promised we’d be leading at halftime.”

Wherever you are, whatever you’re going through . . . the games not over yet.

Blessings.

Wayne Watson
March 21, 2010

Knock Knock

2010-03-08T10:18:00.001-06:00

Almost every morning, before any significant thought or mental clarity sets in, it starts. The taps on the door of the mind. First they seem to start as faint as a far away knock, but then, as a few minutes pass, they grow louder and more unrelenting.

“Hello . . .knock, knock . . . this is not a joke . . . Hello? Tap . . . tap . . . tap.” Jiggling on the door handle into my head.

Sometimes I can turn it off, roll over and go back to sleep, the emergency of the urgent postponed for a while. More times than not, the urgency is of my own making. More times than not, in the light of all things, the urgent is really not so.

All these years, I’ve struggled with the AM hours. Sometimes justifying the lethargy with the “musician” excuse. It’s worked for a long, long time! But now days, I have as close to a routine as I’ve ever had when I’m not traveling and I like it. Still, if I take too much time with breakfast or coffee or take in a little too much SportsCenter during the aforementioned, it’s hard to draw a line around my mind and keep the knocking from becoming so loud that nothing else can be heard.

So, today I opened a well-used devotional book I’ve been in all this year and read a selection from E. Stanley Jones. It reminded me that I’m fooling myself if I think I can walk this Walk without some discipline.

I know God allows for our differences, our unique makeup, temperament, character and personality, but I’m also convinced there are some absolutes that, while they may not fit our “style”, will help the days pass with a more productive outcome and a more clear view of what we’re supposed to be about.

In this devotional, Jones tells a story of a man who showed up 15 minutes early for an appointment with President Abraham Lincoln. He heard a voice in the next room and asked the attendant: “Who is in the next room? Someone with the President?” “No, he is reading the Bible and praying.” “Is that his habit so early in the morning?” “Yes sir, he spends each morning from four to five in reading the Scriptures and praying.”

Greatness can be thrust on you but the maintenance and the stewardship of that greatness is your choice.

So God help us to be diligent, to not just float. To tune our minds toward Your voice, the whisper, the Word that sometimes comes from a stranger, a thought. And to say no to some of the unwelcome guests that knock on my head all through the day.

Blessings.

Wayne

P.S. Say hello to Will and Annabelle. Born to Adam and Laura on Feb. 22!

"The Blood of Jesus" -- Wayne in Concert

2010-02-23T21:00:00.001-06:00

2010-02-23T12:03:00.001-06:00

Version:1.0 StartHTML:0000000105 EndHTML:0000005185 StartFragment:0000002343 EndFragment:0000005149

February 22, 2010 was a banner day!

I got a call from my son, Adam, telling me that he and his wife were on the way to the hospital after their regular doctor visit. Apparently the doctor said, “Let’s go now.”

So after nine months of watching a little boy and girl grow to ready size, February 22 was the day.

They were born late in the afternoon and everything was flawless. There was some talk that the babies might have to spend some time in NICU – not unusual for twins that are so tiny. But these two weighed in around five pounds each. When I got to the hospital, they were in the room with the family being passed around like footballs. I’m sure the little newborn brains were thinking, “What the heck is going on???? Just a little while ago, I was warm and cozy! Where am I?”

But barely a peep was heard. Will did let the nurse know about it when she poured water on him for his bath. I let Adam and know that those cute little, barely audible sounds would get louder in short order. Wait for it.

Annabelle is my first granddaughter. Neal and Lindsay have three boys – Sam, Gabe and Luke. Now William is born to Adam and Laura along with his sister, Annabelle.

We’re so thankful and joyful that all is well. God has overwhelmed us . . . again.

Blessings.

Wayne

Great Day Houston

2010-02-11T17:38:00.001-06:00

I'm going to be on a show here in Houston, on the CBS affiliate KHOU, tomorrow morning! Check show times if you're in the Houston area.

I'll let you know if they put the episodes on their website for viewing . . . khou.com

Thanks, too, for your prayers that God will use this for His purpose.

Wayne

2010-02-08T09:27:00.000-06:00

Hey Everyone....

My friend, Jeremy Good, who produced my last Christmas project with me and has played keys for me lots of times, has a new website that serves as a resource for Churches, worship teams, bands, etc. The link is .https://goodworshipmusic.com/store/music.php?request=details&id=newMusic18

And TODAY you can get a free mp3 download of an arrangement for churches of my song "Glorify Your Name" from the "Living Room" album.

I hope you'll check it out!

Wayne

A Confession

2010-01-26T17:27:00.003-06:00

I have a confession to make.

Sometimes, in the morning, when I’m still not thinking clearly (which is most days….in the morning!), I pour a hot cup of coffee and sit down to watch something on TV. Some days, it’s Sportscenter and sometimes it’s Regis and Kelly. There – I said it. Yeah, Regis and Kelly.

And I’ll tell you something else. I’m actually annoyed when Regis is not on! When they try to pacify me with some guest co-host, well, it’s usually not good. And when I see these little words printed at the bottom of the screen “previously recorded” . . . well, no good either.

Today Martin Short was co-hosting with Ms. Rippa and he said something that struck a chord with me. They were talking about current trends in nighttime television and Mr. Short made this remark: “I’m tired of the celebration of ignorance.”

Amen.

And of mediocrity.

We’re slowly being lulled to sleep. It’s the old frog-in-the-boiling-water syndrome. You remember . . . put him in the boiling water, he hops out right away, but put him in cool water and slowly bring it to a boil and you’ve got cooked frog. Tastes like chicken.

I guess, if I had to try and explain it, we watch some of this mindless stuff because the rest of life is so stressful and we just want to retreat for a few minutes. But a few minutes turns into a few hours.

Some people explain that watching someone else make a fool of themselves makes us feel less the fool ourselves. It comes from the Jerry Springer attitude. Watching people try and figure out who the father is or “how many times you slept with my sister!!!” supposedly makes us feel better about us. If that’s what it takes to make people feel better, that’s frightening.

There’s a difference in feeling good about ourselves and less bad about ourselves.

Why would I want to compare myself to the lowest common denominator? It’s not hard to win a gold medal in those kinds of comparisons. But in the end, I still don’t feel like a winner and I sure don’t feel like the saint the Bible says I am.

In a devotional piece I read today, written by John Chrysostom (don’t bother trying to find him on YouTube, he died at the age of 62 in 407 AD) he came to this tremendous conclusion. You may or may not agree but I like the premise.

God is not so well pleased with being our Master as He is with being our Father; He is not so pleased with our being His slaves as He is with our being His children. This is what God truly wants. (John Chrysostom from the sermon “Dead to Sin”)

So why do I continually compare myself to the worst image of man and the example of the most failed. I won’t say “most flawed” because we’re all flawed.

But our old adversary is still at his old schemes. And we have to be careful and aware. The water is getting hot.

I guess it’s ok to check out and watch something mindless from time to time, but I have to be on guard that I don’t label some of this mediocre and ignorant stuff as “normal.”

See yourself as a child of the Father and stop comparing yourself to other mere mortals - The good or the not so. It’s just exhausting. Take a deep breath and thank God for life, for your life and for His purpose for you.

Wayne

P.S. We saw Extraordinary Measures the other night and highly recommend it.

News Flash!!

2010-01-26T11:25:00.000-06:00

BREAKING NEWS - Single Show Tickets now available for SANDI PATTY & FRIENDS Concerts!

FEBRUARY 5th and 6th - Nashville TN

Due to high local demand, Single show tickets have been made available for the SANDI PATTY & FRIENDS concerts at the beautiful Gaylord Opryland Hotel in Nashville TN. Tickets are now on sale for both Friday, February 5th at 8pm and Saturday, February 6th at 2pm. Ticket prices are only $20.00 for Main Floor and just $30.00 for VIP seating.The SANDI PATTY & FRIENDS Concert will feature memorable performances by Sandi Patty and her special guest LARNELLE HARRIS, WAYNE WATSON, BEN UTECHT and PASTOR JIM LYON in an intimate concert and worship experience. For tickets and more information call 1.866.972.6779 or visitwww.getgaylordtickets.com

BY THE WAY....IF YOU REALLY WANT A TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE
LOOK AT THIS!!! YIKES...WHAT'S THE DEAL WITH THE HAIR??? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BqiwjlNr-Io

Oh Yeah???

2010-01-12T10:53:00.008-06:00

Oh yeah!?!

I almost got into a fight in the locker room at the gym the other day.

I’ve decided, after years of trying everything else – biking, stairs, elliptical machines, rowing - to try and fall in love with Running this year.

Right now, Running and I are casually dating. Really, Running has quite a few personality things that, frankly, I just hate. Like you know how Running sort of mocks and looks down on everybody that doesn’t run. I just think that’s rude and the other night, over dinner, I told Running just that. Running looked back at me with this look that was a mixture of puzzlement and smugness. That smugness is another thing I’m gonna have trouble getting over. It might keep this relationship from going to the next level. I hate smugness. It’s not a good quality.

And I hate anybody being judgmental. Oh yeah, and I hate intolerance! Can’t stand intolerant people.

Breathe.
(to read the entire piece...click on the post title above)

The other thing about Running that bugs me is that Running is painful. I know all relationships have their painful sides, but almost every time Running and I spend time together, I get hurt. It would be one thing if Running hurt me in different places – in different ways, but with R (I’ll refer to R from now on . . . it’s my pet name for . . .well, . . .) it’s almost always the knees that hurt. Come on . . . can’t you spread the pain around?

And R is picky about what I wear. Geez. I like my old comfortable Solomon sneaks with the cool lacing system. One pull, all done! R says they’re ok for walking but not good enough for this relationship. See, I already feel like R is trying to change me! So you don’t want to be seen out with me wearing these?? Huh? Huh? So, after lunch the other day, my wife takes me to a store to pick out some new shoes that are appropriate for this relationship.

Megan knows a thing or two about shoes. And I’m not just talking about Tori Birch, I’m talking about running shoes. She’s got a years of coaching under her belt – major high school track programs and more. She’s spent time running clinics at the Olympic Training Center in California. So when she helps me pick out the right shoes for my new thing, she knows of what she speaks. “Too small.” “But they feel good to me.” “Your toes will fall off.” (That’s an actual quote) “Well, I certainly don’t want my toes to fall off.” “OK, you’ll need the next size up.” “Thanks for saving my toes, babe.”

I don’t know what’s going on but it seems like, either my feet are still growing or shoe makers are fiddling around with sizes just to mess with me.

So I leave with my new sneaks and my wife says they’re the best. And sure enough, on the first date with R, they do make a major difference. I’m ok with this. As long as the fashion changes stop with shoes, I’m really ok with it. If R starts making subtle suggestions about some of my old T-shirts, I’ll have to reconsider the whole thing.

But as it stands now, we’re getting along fine.

So back to the almost fight.

I’d just finished a painful date with R (this was before the new shoes) and I was a little sore anyway and probably a little irritated. There were these two guys talking loud and being tough guys in the locker room. They don’t call it “locker room language” for no reason. Dropping F bombs all over the place. I have to say, they were creative. They used the word in all forms of their sentences. Verbs, Nouns, adjectives, first syllables, middle syllables.

Finally, I said in a very temperate, calm voice,

“Hey, guys could you watch your language?”

“Who said that?”

The guy next to me sells me out without flinching!

“It was this guy.”

Thanks, pal. Hey, maybe we could be friends and hang out.

“There are kids coming in and out of here and they don’t need to hear this,” I said.

“There ain’t no kids in here . . .we’re grown men.”

“OK,” I said “then how about this . . . I don’t want to hear it. How about that?”

“I don’t care what you want, man.”

I shook my head and left without injury. But with my heart rate elevated to a level I usually achieve only when dating R.

I get so tired of the dirt out there and I know there’s little any of us can do about it. It’s hard to think. It’s hard to have a pure heart these days. Billboards, radio, television. Junk.

“Finally brethren whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things.” Philippians 4: 8

I’m going to try and further my relationship with Pure Heart this year, too.

Amen.

Wayne

Elvis and the King

2010-01-09T14:01:00.003-06:00

Elvis Presley would have been 75 years old on January 8, 2010.

We walked into one of our favorite Mexican restaurants last night and they were throwing him a party. There were buttons, t-shirts and a special menu for the occasion. From the entrance, we heard what sounded like live music . . . it was . . . it was
. . . it WAS HIM!!!!

Well, just a tiny many dressed up as him - singing his songs. I'm guessing it was a banner day for Elvis impersonators everywhere. Jumpsuit rentals went through the roof! Try finding a decent cape anywhere!

They were even serving twinkies for desert. Had to be some peanut butter in the place somewhere.

We ate our dinner and hurried to the car for a reality check. "Are you OK?" "Yeah, Are You?"

It's unbelievable. The King, reportedly, has sold even more albums, CDs or whatever since his death than before. His movies are still popular with Blockbuster customers and on Netflix. I never really got it but I can't ignore the phenomenon. It's undeniable and it's fascinating. This many people can't be wrong can they?

But, apparently, Elvis still hasn't reached that extra special plateau. We'll know he's jumped to the next level when we start giving each other gifts on his birthday. Right now, as far as I can tell, a loyal few million simply celebrate the day Elvis Arron was born with the playing of music and other mild twinky festivities.

So far, I'm not aware of parades or any species of greenery being amputated and set up in living rooms. What would that have to do with Elvis anyway? And by the way, I didn't receive a single Elvis card in the mail. As a matter of fact, I didn't even see any Elvis greeting cards. The Valentines are already out, but no Elvis. Elvis ornaments are probably on the sale aisle - 50% off.

Somebody's really missing out here. There are fortunes to be made . . . Uh . . . I mean, a life to be celebrated. Sure, it would further commercialize E, but hey, he won't mind. He's dead! Or is he? There are sightings all over the world and maybe he could go on living if you simply think of him every now and then.

But who would believe that? He died and they buried him! Hundreds visit his grave at Graceland every day. Still people hang on - they want to believe. Maybe we should all help out. Print some Elvis tracks, pass them out and see what happens. You never know. Soon more and more would begin to question what they've been told as truth and then, maybe, more and more would have the faith.

Ridiculous.

That would never happen. Even if it did, why would we give each other presents on someone else's birthday?

Ridiculous.

Happy Birthday, King.

wayne watson

Sandi Patty at Opryland Hotel

2010-01-08T15:16:00.005-06:00

Just a quick word....hope you'll consider being at this event in Nashville. Yes, it's Superbowl weekend!! They have televisions in Nashville and you can break the monotony of all the pre-game hype by hearing some great music!!!

Check it out here and here.

Thanks!

Wayne

Where Were You?

2010-01-08T14:10:00.004-06:00

HERE'S SOMETHING SOME OF YOU MIGHT BE INTERESTED IN! HEY, COME JOIN US FOR THE WEEKEND!

Where were you when you first heard Sandi Patty and Larnelle Harris sing
“I’ve Just Seen Jesus” or “More Than Wonderful”
or what about Sandi Patty and Wayne Watson sing
"Another Time, Another Place?"

Special moments stay with us throughout the years,
so don't miss out on a weekend full of special moments with
Sandi and Friends February 5 - 7, 2010 at the beautiful
Gaylord Opryland Resort in Nashville, TN!

Register today for an unforgettable weekend with Sandi and Friends in Nashville.

Highlights of the weekend include:

* Special performances by LARNELLE HARRIS, WAYNE WATSON, and BEN UTECHT
* Multiple MEET & GREET opportunities
* Devotion and Message from PASTOR JIM LYON, Anderson Indiana.
* Each Package includes:
o 2 nights stay in double room at Opryland Hotel
o 4 Special Sandi and Friends Concert events including a Morning Worship event
o Ticket to the GRAND OLE OPRY which includes a performance by Sandi!
* VIP PACKAGE - Includes Special Lunch with Sandi event and VIP seating for concerts.

Pretty, Floating God

2010-01-08T10:50:00.004-06:00

Saw the blockbuster movie, Avatar, last night. Yes, during the BCS Championship Game. Yes, I had the DVR going so I could watch the game when I got home. But, like so many other games I've recorded with the intent of watching from start to finish, I folded and watched the last 5 minutes . . . just enough time to watch Texas almost win the thing and then see Alabama put it away without question.

I really have no connection to either team. I live in Texas. There! And an old friend, Mark Harris, is a big Tide fan, so I'm happy for him when they win. It seems to mean so much to him. When the Longhorns win, the Texas alums are insufferable around here, so, I guess all turned out as it should.

I was impressed with the Texas quarterback, Colt McCoy, in his post-game statement. (He was injured on the first offensive series and out for the rest of the game.) He's calm, and states "God is in Control...I'm standing on the Rock and He knows what's best." Great statement of Faith. The sports broadcaster talking head types said this game would be a critical moment in Colt's future . . . his performance would dictate his NFL prospects. I'm guessing Colt isn't too worried about it . . . or maybe he is . . . maybe he's just like all the rest of us that have been to the Cross. We have our good days of faith and our not so good days.

So, back to Avatar. The James Cameron movie is reported to have cost a half a billion dollars. And it looks like it!

But you can't miss the story line of the evil human beings, the oppressed, noble and inherently more spiritual natives of Pandora, and the deity worshiped by the citizens of the planet.

Why is it so much easier for Hollywood and so many others to embrace the fluffy, special effect deity than One that took on human flesh and walked among us? Maybe, in the eyes of the human bashers, the fact that Jesus lowered Himself to be a human, puts Him in rather bad company. Uh, I didn't need Hollywood to tell me that! Bad company indeed, Born in sin, bent toward sin, in great need of a Redeemer . . . that's me.

But on the movie screen, the floating, glowing, fragile representation of some god is supposed to be so fascinating and compelling. And I guess it could be. Unless you've tasted the real thing, unless your trust is in a God that has broken the barrier by sending His Only to the earth because He simply loves me and you. The story really doesn't make sense does it? And that's what's so fascinating about the real story of God's love for us miserable humans.

All I can say is Whew and Thank You!

Blessings.

Wayne Watson

The New House

2010-01-02T11:49:00.004-06:00

One day between Christmas and our departure for Mexico. One day to catch our breath from the busyness of the Birthday (why so busy??). Wouldn’t the Baby Celebrant, future carpenter, Savior of the World appreciate our fellowship more than our busyness?

On Sunday morning, the 27th, we flew to San
Diego to join the others for this three-day project.I was just invited along to lead worship, teach a little at a couple of devotional moments and do some hammering.

We were there to build, in total, three houses in Ensenada. Our team would be in charge of building just one.

After playing a few songs at the orientation on Sunday evening and then, leading devotions on Monday morning, we set out for the home site. When we arrived, we saw a concrete foundation already poured and cured . . . ready for the new walls and roof.

The family we were building for was living in a makeshift shed with a tarp roof and dirt floor. Their little girl was seriously allergic to the dirt and dust.

I don’t know for sure how YWAM and YPO qualify a family for a house but that’s out of my hands. All I know is, they were very appreciative for the gift about to be presented to them.

Our group was full of capable men and women and more than a few of teenage years. The place was buzzing from the get go.

I’ve never done much building. OK, I’ve never done any building! Yes, I helped my kids build a tree house in the woods behind our house but that mostly involved me buying the materials and turning them loose. And I don’t, nor does my wife, consider myself “handy” in particular. Once, in the late seventies, I tried to tune up our car. It was never the same.

But hey, I’m not gonna tell those stories to my fellow builders! What they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em, will it? Well, not unless I drop a hammer, nail somebody to a wall or fill their boots with caulk.

You’ll be pleased to know that there were 0 safety violations throughout the entire event! We actually appointed a safety officer for the site. With people walking around carrying boards and tools, it is amazing no one got tagged in the forehead with a two by six!

We got remarkably far on the first day. All the walls standing and nailed in place, the roof trusses built and secured. Most of the dry wall installed and trim painted.

This little two room house, about 12 x 12, would be a serious upgrade for this family. Protection. From the elements and from intruders of all kinds. And quite possibly, a change for their family for generations to come. Something they could hand down to the next generation.

We started early the next day and saw the project completed by mid-afternoon.

At the finish, we made a circle around the family, prayed and dedicated their new home to God. Then everyone in the circle made a brief comment about what it had meant to them to build this house. Emotions were a bit high. When we got to the last of the circle, I presented them a picture of the group in front of their home, told them we’d never forget them and asked that, when they see that picture, they remember us and pray for us as well.

A family Bible was presented signed by all the team. Then our foreman, a YWAM staffer named Josway (at least that was how it was pronounced), Spanish for Joseph, led both the husband and wife in a prayer to invite Christ into their lives! What a finale!

Then we handed them the keys to their new home. They were overwhelmed. In a matter of two days, they were now the owners of this little house of their own. A new stove in the corner, a new bed and mattress. A table and chairs for their meals. And a clean concrete floor.

As you drive through Mexico, you see thousands of unfinished houses everywhere. Some are built of stone or concrete cinder blocks - Others built from whatever materials they can find. I never really understood this but learned the reason on this trip. There is really no such thing as a mortgage or a home loan. The private citizen simply has to wait until they can afford more materials, pay cash, then build some more on their house. This can go on for years. Where many earn less than $100 a month, some much less, it can take forever to build a home. The cycle is almost impossible to break.

But groups like Youth With A Mission (YWAM) in partnership with other organizations (like yours maybe??) can, for about $5000 build a new house for a needy family in Mexico - a new house that will change a family for years to come - A new home that will speak the love of Christ and show that Love in action.

Many of the families on our trip have been making this journey for years. It’s become an after-Christmas tradition. Their grown children choose this over ski trips or other vacations without even thinking. It has become the most anticipated part of their year as a family. Beautiful.

We were so honored to be a part of this!

Hope you and yours are well and that 2010 is off to a good start.

Blessings.

Wayne Watson

The Tiger

2009-12-17T10:24:00.001-06:00

My father was a thoughtful gentleman. Not so much thoughtful as in, “Oh, that was thoughtful of you” but more thoughtful as in pondering, reflecting. I don’t think he would have ever called it meditating – that’s too close to something he’d consider borderline un-Christian or more likely, un-Baptist. In his mind and in his world there was little, if any, difference.

But as he aged, I saw him become even more reflective and quiet. There was a time I would have thought that impossible.

Two times, in particular, I saw his heart grow heavy and sad at the state of the world and the condition of his fallen heroes.

He used to lie on his bed on Saturday afternoons and listen to the LSU Tigers on the radio. I still see the scene. There was a Zenith radio beside the bed, the size of a small microwave oven. The sound was rich and full even from an AM broadcast of college football. I don’t ever remember hearing music come from that radio, come to think of it, only talk.

One of his football heroes from those LSU days was a guy named Billy Cannon. You can google his name and find out the details of his life, but it will suffice for the sake of this writing to tell you that Billy Cannon, after his days as a college football star, went on to enjoy a successful professional career as a dentist. In those days, as is the case for so many retired athletes today, their on-field prowess helped provide financial security for them and their families as their celebrity followed them into the real world.

Somewhere in the early 80s, Dr. Cannon found himself in debt and decided the best way out was to take to counterfeiting. Found buried in the back yard of a home he owned was an ice chest filled with fake $100 bills. The total was 50 Million dollars. Dr. Cannon went away for a while.

My father was devastated.

Dad wasn’t the type to go on some verbal tirade to further berate one already publicly shamed. But I could tell, and I remember this vividly all these years later, he was so very saddened and disappointed that someone he admired had turned so dark.

The same thing happened in 1988 when evangelist Jimmy Swaggart, after being so zealous to point out the flaws and failures of fellow ministers of the Faith, fell under investigation for solicitation of prostitutes in New Orleans. The charge was, at first, denied but later, Rev. Swaggart confessed to his deeds from a pulpit drenched in his own television tears.

Mr. Swaggart, along with his cousins, Jerry Lee Lewis of Rock and Roll fame from the 50s, Mickey Gilley of Urban Cowboy fame, grew up around Ferriday, Louisiana – not 30 miles from our back door. I guess the proximity alone put us in some strange alignment with the Swaggart/Lewis/Gilly clan. I can’t think of anything else we really had in common. We were staunch southern Baptist and the Swaggarts, to us at least, were outrageous Pentecostals.

Still, my father admired the sacred and eternal work of one Jimmy Swaggart. And I think he kind of liked the music, too. So, again, my father’s heart grew a little sadder at the public humiliation and failure of another he held in high esteem.

So here I am . . . at a point in my own life where, no matter how I stretch or define it, I can no longer consider myself young. Young at heart, maybe. Feeling better than I’ve felt in a long, long time with, what I think is, a pretty good outlook on the future. Here I am with a short list of people I admire - some for their ethics and their moral constitution, some for their strong convictions, some for their generosity in trying to make the world a better place with the money they’ve made.

And a few that have athletic ability I can only imagine. Some, with ability that is so over the top, my mortal imagination fails in trying to grasp it.

I play golf. So, yes, I’m awed by what I see Tiger Woods do on the golf course. I’ve seen it on television and I’ve watched him from a few feet away. Unless you’ve tried to play the game with any degree of expertise, only to see your skills come and go like a hurricane wind, it’s hard to appreciate the talent it takes to play well. I do appreciate it.

I, like most of the watching world, the hoards of voyeurs that wait for mankind to fall to the lowest common denominator, am saddened by what’s taken place in the life of this talented golfer. But surprised, no - and not inclined to wax theological at this point. There are plenty of on-line religious orators waiting to pounce with their most elementary and extremely obvious observations - looking for a voice or more important, a reader, a listener to satisfy a need for their own fifteen minutes of internet fame.

While the world keeps showing its darker side the more we learn of each other, the more difficult it is to keep a compassionate heart. Taking sides might seem valiant but it doesn’t seed gentleness of heart. Yes, I’m incensed by the flagrant disregard for values, for one’s family andfor the future of their two small children. I don’t know how Mrs. Woods could ever live in that environment with anything remotely resembling trust. Decisions have their own inherent rewards and very specific consequences. We do, indeed, finally reap what we sow. The secrets will come out. .

But my desire to see justice served out to others stops short when the finger is pointed at me. I don’t want justice for myself. I want mercy. Don’t get me wrong. I like justice. I just don’t like it for me.

And so we pray always for a more tender heart and a tougher skin. That our hearts will break at the same things that break His and that our proverbial skin will protect us from the stings that are nothing more than annoying blips on life’s radar. That we’ll let mountains be mountains and molehills be molehills. Choose carefully your battles my friends and love with a love that is beyond human. We have that inside us.

Blessings to you all this Christmas!

Wayne Watson

The Late Show

2009-11-25T21:44:00.000-06:00

We spent a few days in NYC last week. I always enjoy being there but don’t enjoy the trip to or from. Once on the ground, though, it’s an overwhelming buffet of things to do and see and places to go.

The week before we went, we got a call from the David Letterman show saying that our ticket request would be granted if I could answer one Late Show trivia question. It was a simple question “Dave’s announcer, Alan Colter . . . what color is his hair?” Easy – flaming red! So we were granted the two tickets for the show on Wednesday night.

Some of you are asking “Why would you want to see Letterman after the turkey-like revelations about his personal life and his reckless disregard for his wife - the mother of his son? I don’t know. I just wanted to see the show in person, wanted to hear Paul Schaffer and the CBS Orchestra and I wanted to see the Ed Sullivan Theater.

Just fyi….I remember seeing the show the night he confessed his DWI - dalliances with interns. He was criticized because the audience laughed during this very serious monologue about the attempted blackmail scheme and the indiscretions of his personal life. It was obvious that he was uncomfortable but made even more so by the laughter from the audience. The staff goes to unbelievable lengths two hours before hand to drive home this point…laugh at everything! There are no applause signs . . . you’re just instructed to laugh all the time and clap at any opportunity. They said this to us “If you’re on the fence about whether or not something is funny, laugh anyway.” I’m guessing the prep was the same night after night. The staff prepped the audience as usual, I’m sure, unaware that Mr. Letterman was going to come clean that particular night.

I remember watching the Ed Sullivan show when I was a kid. I was blown away the first time The Beatles performed in the USA on that show. I still remember Ed Sullivan saying, in a way that only he could . . . “The Beatles” which was followed by screaming from the audience that, pretty much, drowned out the music.

So I was particularly pumped that, somehow, we found ourselves sitting on the front row – literally propping our feet up on the stage during commercial breaks.

I’m not going to say what I’m about to say because it’s what you expect from me or because of the kind of things recently revealed about Mr. Letterman - Not so those that count themselves in the Christian Always Right (and never wrong about much of anything) can point their well-rehearsed fingers of condemnation at some poor soul.

(Poor Soul? When David Letterman signed on with CBS to do his show years ago, his salary was somewhere in the neighborhood of $14 million dollars a year! Alert the media – making a lot of money doesn’t mean you’re going to be happy. I really don’t know how many more times I’m going to have to hear that, see examples of it, experience it before I really get it!)

Getting, finally, to the point – I suppose I’ve seen sadder people in my lifetime. They’re everywhere and it’s heartbreaking. But the most vivid and intense feeling we got from being a few feet from this show business legend is that he’s so very broken and sad. I’m very much aware, however, that I don’t know a whole lot about David Letterman and I want to point out how careful any of us should be at drawing conclusions with little bits of information. Lest any of us revert to the “Good, he’s getting what he deserves” scenario, let me remind you (and me….AGAIN), I don’t want what I deserve!!

We were told that Dave would come out a few minutes before the show and, if time allowed, he might take a question or two. Of course, that set us to asking each other, “What would you ask?” My first impulses were pretty dumb. But my wife said she would simply ask “Are you ok?” That says a lot about her for which, on this day in particular, I find myself extremely grateful.

During commercial breaks on the show we attended, Dave would take off his jacket and walk around the stage alone. Whatever energies he had to harness to interview the guests and keep the show going were put on pause. Then, when back on the air, “showtime.” I have to say, he’s brilliant at it!

There were so many things about the evening we enjoyed. The music was tremendous.

But it was another reminder of the beauty and simplicity of taking my faults and my failures to the Cross and leaving them there. This is why we want people to come to Christ. Not just for fire insurance, not just for eternal life, but for abundance, real joy and peace that passes understanding. I have a few new people on my prayer list.

And now for something completely different (or at least on a completely different subject).

Thanksgiving! Find a way to do it.

Sure, there are things I wish were better, things about the past I’d rather forget that, during the Thanksgiving and Christmas seasons seem to get amplified beyond a normal mental volume. But I pray you’ll all find a reason to say “thank You.”

My son, Neal and his wife and three sons spent the last few days in Louisiana with my brother, his children and my mom. I wanted to get there to simply be in the room with the representatives of four generations of Watson people but could not.

It did make me think about this though – for me and for you. How many more of these will we get? What if this were the last Thanksgiving? It’s time to set aside some of those pet grievances you’ve been feeding all your life, get over it, say “forgive me” or “I forgive you.” Or Something like that. You know what to say.

Let me tell you without burdening you with details – I almost didn’t make it to Thanksgiving this year and now that I understand how real and possible that is for all of us, it makes me want to embrace all things good - all the blessings and scream out loud “THANK YOU!”

Without being fatalistic or morbid, remember how brief life is, how easily it’s taken away and how precious is every moment. I know there’s heaviness in lots of hearts right now - economic pressures, job stress, family stress, political unrest, world hunger and poverty. On a more personal scale, we have friends that are wrestling with all kinds of sadness and disappointments.

And with all gentleness and all the compassion I can muster, I want to say I’m thankful for you all, for the troubles you’ve endured this year, the great victories and, most of all, the great hope for eternity that’s in us all.

Christ in me, the hope of Glory.

Blessings.

Wayne Watson

U2

2009-10-22T16:12:00.000-05:00

It’s been over a week since the show, so I guess I should say something about the U2 concert here in Houston. The emails I’ve gotten range from way far out to something similar to logical and mature in scope of opinion, etc.

It was an amazing spectacle! I’d never seen a stadium concert like this and I figured the chances of seeing a band this big wouldn’t go on forever. There’re only a couple other acts I would throw down cold hard $$$ to see.

Can you guess who they would be?

Reliant Stadium in Houston was packed! Out walks Mullin with his drum sticks in hand, major applause erupts – he starts to play. Adam Clayton strolls out toting his bass, audience roars as he joins the groove. Out walks The Edge. (Mr. Edge . . .I don’t know)
Must lead to some interesting conversations.

“Hello, I’d like to make a reservation for two for dinner.”

“Yes, what’s the name?”

“Edge.”

“Excuse me, did you say “Reg?”

“No, Edge.”

“Did you say you’re a vegetarian?”

“Never mind.”

or

“I need to see the doctor.”

“Are you a regular patient?”

“Yes, the name’s Edge.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have an Edge in our files.”

“Try, The Edge.”

“Got it.” “What time can you come in, Mr. Edge . . . or should I call you The?”

The Edge starts to play then a few seconds pass before Bono walks onto the platform. The place goes nuts! I was getting my hair cut today and there were two ladies speaking Spanish, talking about the concert. One that really wasn’t that into U2 (so, why the heck was she there???) was very confused when eighty thousand plus started chanting “Bono…Bono…Bono.” Seems “Bono” in Spanish means something akin to “Bonus.”

Over the years, I’ve watched Bono as he’s fronted this undeniably gigantic rock success story. I’ve heard lots of commentary. Opinions are like noses . . . most people have one. “He’s arrogant and cocky.” So on and so on. I don’t know about you, but if I walked onto a stage in front of eighty thousand - give or take a few thousand – every night, I’d probably be a little cocky, too.

Anyway, I didn’t sense that. But what difference does it make what I “sense.”

One comment that was sent to me – and I want to be respectful of everyone’s opinion and their right to have it – mentioned that they were under the impression that U2 was made up of Christians “until a member of the family went to the show and got drunk on the alcohol being served.” Listen, this is not a Sunday evening concert at your local church.
This is big time rock business. I would guess the powers that be at Reliant Stadium and U2 didn’t have late night negotiations over whether beer would be sold during the show. Everybody wants to make their money at these things. Heck, I paid $20 just to park! Like I said, I don’t do this often.

From what little I know about it, three of the four testify to being followers of Jesus.

So let’s just assume the best for a few.

Back to the alcohol thing. I’m assuming the people in question purchased their drinks because, during the little time I spent in line to buy a five-dollar bottle of H2O,
I didn’t see a single person get anything for free. So somebody’s got to take responsibility for their own decisions here. But in this culture, we’re always looking for somebody to blame. “Somebody’s got to be the bad guy, ‘cause it sure ain’t me!”

The Book says there are none righteous, not one . . . and a whole bunch of other stuff along those lines that you probably don’t need me to point out.

Some others I’ve heard from were blown away by the fact that, late in the show, Bono (you know, the “bonus” guy) sang a verse of “Amazing Grace.” It was a nice rendition of the classic and a tremendous testimony. To hear eighty thousand singing along was cool, but they also sang at the top of their lungs to “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Lookin’ For” and “It’s A Beautiful Day.”

It’s interesting to see the reaction of believers when some popular icon makes a proclamation of what we identify as Christian faith. “Oh,” we pine “he’s one of US.” That happened years ago when Bob Dylan made a couple of albums built around Christian lyrical content. “Saved” and “Slow Train Comin’” were interesting but nobody would claim them to be Dylan’s best work. But oh man, how we ran to claim Bob Dylan. BJ Thomas was another, back in the day, that had an experience with Christ only to be overwhelmed (and a little bewildered) by the faithful clamoring over his citizenship in the “us” culture of Jesus people.

If we’d been able to further identify or confirm the sincerity of their faith, we’d probably have drawn blood from one another over the question of whether they were charismatic, spirit-filled, conservative, fundamentalist, etc.

We all remember the fever pitch that surrounded Mel Gibson when he produced and released “The Passion of The Christ.” Not too long after the great success of this amazing film, too many of us cleared our proverbial spiritual throats as he was (and maybe still is) caught up in all kinds of personal firestorms. I just hope there’re some grownup Jesus people loving on Mel, BJ and Bob right now. Truth is, most of us are on the lookout for the next rock idol or movie star to sink our spiritual claws into and claim as our own.

The way I read It, we’re not our own . . . but were bought with a Price.

Why do you think we’re so bent in this direction? Is there not enough value in our own remarkable redemption that we have to validate it with the lives of others we declare to be on a higher level of human nobility?

Eternity will be the great equalizer so we might as well start practicing.

How can we get past this recurring behavior? How can we grow up?

Amazing Grace? It is sweet. It is timeless and indescribable. It has taken on a new, deeper definition to me in the last 5 years. And my deep thought of the day – “Get over yourself.”

Give Thanks.

Wayne Watson

P.S. Please pass this along to anyone you know that might like to read it, really, anyone you like. Anyone you don't like, anyone that you feel might benefit from reading it. thanks.....

The Last Word?

2009-10-13T13:55:00.000-05:00

Great responses to yesterdays post about Worship.

It’s a hot topic and I guess that’s good. But, wow, it’s emotional for a lot of you. I’ve gotten stories that range from peoples tremendous worship experiences to some who’ve been burned, cornered, verbally assaulted, hurt so much they’ve left the fellowship of church. All of us probably have heard stories of churches splitting over controversies concerning worship. So sad.

This forum is interesting and this web culture gives everyone a voice. But just because I’m writing something doesn’t mean it’s the final answer. I’m just sharing some of what I believe. I’m not able, and in some part unwilling, to expose all of my thoughts and beliefs on anything here in this very public vehicle.

I’m trying to refine an art in me that gets lost too easily . . . keeping my mouth shut and my opinions to myself.

The post I wrote about Andrew Jackson drew some interesting emails as well. Again, some readers conclude that I’ve poured out all of my opinions, all my conclusions and convictions about the subject of abuse of power in the presidency, the greatness of a particular official, the mistreatment of indigenous groups, or the taking of American lands. That’s simply not true. I know there’re many sides to a story. Does it make you feel better to embrace your side with no thought, no credence to the other? Me either. It makes me feel selfish and narrow. Lots of times, I feel strongly both ways! I trust in the power of the Spirit of God to guard my heart without letting me be overwhelmed or blindsided. He does it very well.

Truth is, my heart, on any number of subjects, gets tweaked everyday by the Spirit into, what I can only pray is His perspective. The older I get, the one prayer I pray most constantly is “Lord, help me get over this need to always be right.”

Someone mentioned, in a response to the worship subject that one of our problems is that we don’t want to be told what to do. That’s true in worship and in life. One of the obstacles all of us have to overcome when we read God’s Word is the objection to being told what to do. That’s what the Bible does . . . for our best . . . for our good. And because we’re flawed mortals, it’s tough to hear and sometimes tough to do.

So maybe the best move, this moment, is to breathe out. Say to God, “I’m sorry I rebel against what I know is your best for me and mine. Forgive me for being selfish and arrogant, for always wanting the last word, for always wanting my way.” “Oh, and one more thing….”

My way has some serious problems. There’s proof. But strangely, I don’t feel obligated to share all of it.

As a matter of fact, some of what I’m writing right now is a veiled attempt to “get the last word” in response to some emails and posts of yesterday. Good Grief.

So, I’ll just step away from this for a few, come back and read it later and see if it’s more
nonsense than necessary.

…….. hmm…….hmmm……oh, cookies…… hmmm...

Ok, back now.

Blessings.

Wayne Watson

Did You Worship?

2009-10-12T11:28:00.001-05:00

“I always feel for you when you’re up there singing your heart out, trying to get people to join in, and some of them . . . just won’t!”

A friend of mine said this to me the other day. When I’m not on the road, I lead worship at a church about ten minutes from my home. They’re the most gracious people - from the staff to the membership. They aren’t so much concerned with the insignificant stuff, you know, the stuff that nobody will remember next week much less a year from now. They like doing church to bathe in God’s presence as a corporate body once a week, to gather to worship, to learn and have great fellowship.

Worship has become a production. While I admire the quality of all the elements as much as anyone (Heck, maybe more than most . . . because I know what it takes to pull it all together, and I know what kind of gear it takes to produce such great audio and video and lighting effects.) sometimes, it tires me.

The spiritual pendulum swings pretty fast. While one day, I’m energized by the production, on another, I’m deeply, deeply moved by singing an old hymn in a small gathering of ordinary folks with no particular musical expertise.

So, does it bother me when people don’t always join me when I’m leading? Used to.
Not so much anymore. I realize that the hundreds of people in the room are coming from a great variety of life experiences.

I don’t know too many of them intimately, but, as we’re not that different from any other gathering of spiritually hungry humanity, there’s probably any number of issues being dealt with on any Sunday AM.

There were arguments at home about being late for church. Love that one. Some parents stood in the door and denied exit by some teenager daring to show up at Sunday School in some inappropriate something. “Too much makeup,” says another. “You can’t go to church in those shoes, son.” Then there are, inevitably, the couples that are on the verge of calling it quits. “One more church service and if God doesn’t do something big – and I mean BIG, I’m outta here.” “What am I going to do with my life?” a single, young adult asks in quiet. “Am I ever going to meet somebody to love? I don’t fit in here with all these families.” Then, there’re those with aging parents thinking about how to care for them, pushing back guilt for not visiting more, pondering how the estate will be split between siblings, what to do with the house.

Add your own personal drama.

It’s no wonder that it’s difficult to pull aside for an hour our so to be quiet, to pray, to sing, to listen and be taught or at least comforted.

I don’t take it personally when people don’t sing with me in worship. I worship and I hope my demeanor, my heart and voice can gently plead with them to join me, but honestly, I don’t know what each one needs or what they have to offer. That’s out of my hands and none of my business. I do know this – I’ve had some incredibly intense worship experiences listening to others sing, listening to someone speaking, keeping my own mouth shut for a few. My built-in southern Baptist guilt mechanism does kick in from time to time. It rears its head with loud piety. “Your not singing. What are people going to think?” “Nod your head like your agreeing. No, no, no that looks more like you’re falling asleep!” “Say “Amen” or something . . . not too loud or they’ll think you’re trying to be, well, you know.” “Smile….no….look serious.”

Yikes.

Here it is….and this probably doesn’t need to be said but I’ll say it anyway. Don’t wait for Sunday to worship. Live your life in an attitude of worship. If you pay attention to God’s moving in your life, you’ll have a worship experience every day. And in worshiping Him, you’ll live in a spiritual posture that will cause you to be humbly thankful for all He’s done and for all He’s doing.

Then every once in a while, show up at church and sing your heart out!

I’d love to hear how you’re doing with all this. Let me know.

Blessings.

Wayne Watson
October 12, 2009

PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN?

2009-10-07T18:58:00.000-05:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OgHg0w5DFp4

Not always.

I just finished a tremendous book about Andrew Jackson. Fascinating man with such a wide scope of opinion and views on people, life, spirituality and a host of other issues.

An orphan at fourteen, the revolutionary war took the lives of his brothers and mother. He saw little distinction between family and nation. In his eyes, they melded together into one formation and one loving devotion. He was passionate in his pursuit to defend and preserve both.

He is said by some to have been the president most like you and me. During his presidency, the culture was absorbed in fascination with politics, patriotism and religion. “My Country Tis of Thee” and “Amazing Grace” were products of this era and culture.

“He could be incredibly violent toward Indians and decidedly generous. Still there was nothing redemptive about his Indian policy.” There was conflict that is more than obvious in hindsight of nearly two hundred years. The way the United States acquired much of it’s property is downright scandalous. The wrongs and injustices perpetrated on the Native American can never be undone. Simple apologies from a generation far removed from the original offenses are almost meaningless.

One of the most poignant quotes from this book “Andrew Jackson: American Lion” by Jon Meacham . . .

Not all great presidents were always good, and neither individuals nor nations are without evil.

Andrew Jackson was blinded by the prejudices of his age and owned at least 150 slaves. It’s easy, in the year nearly 2010, to judge.

While I find this all very interesting and love to read the history of the world and particularly of the United States, there are so many undeniable facts that cause me to reflect with some degree of what I can only call shame and recoil that God hasn’t called us into judgment over the public escapades of our past, much more so over the things done in secret “in the best interest of the Nation.”

I won’t go on about the embarrassing episodes in our country’s history. Most of us are painfully aware. We proceed to live with bowed heads, thankful for God’s Grace and Mercy over us as a people – praying for forgiveness as individuals and as a nation for the missteps and intentional offenses we’ve committed. Thankful that none of us gets what we deserve. Justice is for another time. His mercies are new every morning.

So with that said, there are times when I’m proud to be an American. Let’s make this clear though - I find the word “pride” has few applications in the life of one trying to walk in the steps of Christ. And in the light of all the public observations of those we celebrate as “famous” I have to say, I don’t know why we expect people who’ve never been to the Cross to behave as if they have been, when it’s hard enough for those of us who have been there to behave as if we have been there! I’m embarrassed at my own judgmental attitude when I’m aware of my own life and it’s twists, turns and failures.

While I was in the Philippines in September, I was able to visit the Manila American Cemetery and Memorial. We were able to pass slowly through this beautiful memorial to the more than twenty thousand who died in the islands during the second world war. Those who live in the Philippines are thankful for the United States of America and the part our service men and women played in securing their nation.

The cemetery and memorial are beautifully maintained by the United States. It is a quiet, humbling place. A place that honors many whose bodies were never recovered. Their families were simply and respectfully informed of the loss of one they loved.

As I walked this memorial, looking at the names on the wall, watching the landscape pass filled with white crosses marking the life of some young soldier, marine or sailor, I found myself thankful for those that made the decision to stand at the door of these beautiful islands, these sweet people, and hold off the oppressive forces that wanted to overrun and dominate them.

Each marker in this memorial represents a person, a body, a soul. One who was born on that one day to a family that eagerly awaited the arrival. “It’s a boy” or “It’s a girl” they said that day. They celebrated birthdays with their friends, that first day of school, they went to ballgames, had dates, made their folks proud when they announced they were going into the service. Moms cried when they got letters from the South Pacific. Moms and Dads worried and prayed over each of these children grown into grownups. Then they let go into the Eternal Hands when there was nothing else they could do.

Yes, we’ve made some monumental mistakes as a nation but we’ve done some wonderful good, too. Just like you and just like me.

Stay Thankful always. Do good.

I welcome your comments, questions and discussions.

Wayne

My friend James

2009-10-07T10:04:00.000-05:00

A few days ago, I talked with a dear old friend.

James played guitar and other instruments with me on the road for 10 years. They were some of the best musical days of my career. Every night, he added so much to the evening. People would come up after the concert and ask all kinds of questions about “how did all of that music come from two people?”

James was tender and gentle. Always gracious and kind.

I’ve lost count of how many years ago we stopped traveling and playing together. But it’s been, probably, another ten years. I tried to stay in touch, called every long once in a while to a phone that I thought was his home, but got no answer. I let it go. We’ve both move far, far along.

But the other night, I got a voicemail and it was James. His voice was the same gentle voice I’d known all those years. He said he was sorry that he’d not been more in touch, that he was sorry to hear of the struggles and troubles of my past 5 years, etc.

I called him the next day because in his message, he mentioned that he was facing some “stuff” of his own. Of course, the mind takes over and starts to write an imaginary script of all the worst things you can think of….illness, failed marriage, death of a family member, accidents, whatever.

His wife answered the phone so that was a good sign and, for the moment, eliminated one looming question. She put him on the phone and we talked for 10 or 15 minutes.

After exchanging pleasantries and apologies for not being more in touch, he asked questions that I answered, followed by mutual expressions of our collective appreciation for fresh definitions of old words. Words like grace and mercy. While “God is good” can, sometimes, come off trite and flippant, it certainly didn’t in the course of this conversation with James.

James told me (and I don’t think he’ll mind me telling you . . . he’s asked for prayer from everyone. Please do!) that he was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma three or four weeks ago. He thinks the prognosis is good and that there’s a good chance they’ll be able to beat it.

My breathing stopped for a moment.

This isn’t the first phone conversation I’ve had like this. But you’re never prepared and it’s never easy to know how to respond.

And I find, even as I write these words, I have little if anything, profound or exceptionally spiritual to say. I’m just a little deflated and tired of what happens to this body.

I’ve felt bad this whole year. But my stuff is minor compared to this. My stuff is done and fixed and I’m thankful every moment of every single day.

I’m concerned for James and praying for James and his wife. But as in all things, I know and am more convinced than ever that we just don’t know everything that God is up to.

He is a Mystery and will always be. Faith requires that we trust what we cannot see or understand. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be faith at all.

Whatever you’re facing today. Trust God with the unknown and the unknowable. Smile in the face of Mystery and enjoy the fact that so much of all of this is out of our hands – and safely in the Palm of His.

Wayne Watson
October 7, 2009

Walking Over Water

2009-10-01T10:18:00.000-05:00

I met a young man as I walked into the village. I asked his name. “My name is Allen” he said. “My first name is Allan,” I told him. It doesn’t take much to have some kind of a bond, does it?

The chapel in this little river village was set deep into the dwellings that were built on poles sticking out of the water. As our conspicuous band of American males started to walk toward the chapel, we were intensely aware that the walkway wasn’t made for our kind.

The first 20 feet took us over boards laid out like a ladder over the water. When I say the water was dirty, well . . . let’s just say, I had the feeling if you fell into it with any kind of open cut, you’d be really sick very quick. The first section had hand rails to hold onto, then it suddenly became two boards side by side with nothing to hold onto. Then one board . . . that bent dramatically under our weight.

At that, we all turned around and went back to the shoreline to visit with some of the children that were mildly entertained by our presence.

Allen sat and talked with me. You can see and hear him in the accompanying video.

He’s been a Christian for a little over a year, speaks pretty good English, and sells jewelry that he makes himself. I asked about his family – he pointed them out and they waved from the open window above. When I asked more about how they lived, etc., he told me he most often slept in the chapel. Again, I’ll remind you that our mental snapshots of churches and chapels have to be redefined. Their chapel was simply a small dwelling among the others over the river. Maybe 8 by 10 feet. I asked why he slept there and he told me he liked to have “devotion” when he first woke up. “They have Bible there” he said.

“Do you have a Bible of your own?” I asked.

“No” he answered.

I told him I would do everything I could to get him a Bible. He had told me that he wanted to be a pastor to help all the people of the world know Jesus.

A few hours later, we visited another church a few miles away from Allen’s village. He walked up to me as we were about to leave – it surprised me to see him again.

“Mr. Allan, where is my Bible?” he asked.

Uhh…..

I ran inside this little church and asked the pastor if there was one copy of the Bible he could spare for me to give to a young man from the river village. He found a single copy and handed it to me.

Right here, let me emphasize that we were there with Bible League International observing their work, evaluating the great need for copies of the Word of God in the local language. So this was not to be taken lightly. I knew I held something precious in my hands.

Bible League International is very focused on their methods of sharing God’s Word and what I was doing was outside the lines of that focus. The pastors and laypeople that work with Bible League share Scripture through a small workbook called The Answer. It takes the reader through the book of John and guides them through the Gospel with questions and answers. After someone completes this study and is placed in a regular study group and church, that’s when they are able to have a complete Bible of their own.

When I gave the Bible to Allen, he looked like I had just handed him a pot of gold. I suspect he knew the value was way beyond mere gold – even as young as he was in his walk with God.

What will this simple, paperback copy of the Holy Scripture do for his world? How many people, young and old, family, friends, strangers will have their lives changed by the discovery of the Truth of Christ, His great love and grace for them all, for US all, simply because Allen has a Bible. He will tell them. He will go where I cannot go.

This is not writing a check to ease my conscience. This is not throwing pocket change at a beggar to gain a few seconds peace at a traffic light. This is time and energy well spent – invested in eternity.

We can’t do everything. But we can all do something.

If you listen, whether you’re in the Philippines or in Houston, God will talk to you. He will whisper. He will tell you which way to turn, when to speak, when to hear, when to watch and when to close your eyes. Obedience will bring joy to Him that made us and could quite possibly change the world.

Listen.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6pZqGylLNrc

Wayne

Church in the Middle

2009-09-25T12:10:00.001-05:00

This short video today is taken at the foot of a place called “Smokey Mountain.” It’s well known to all in the area. Thousands of people have made their homes all around it. It’s an old garbage dump site.

As you will see in the video, life goes on. That’s the theme of this country, I think. They live, laugh, buy and sell and go on despite their circumstances. I could learn a thing or two.

There is a little church in the video that is smack in the middle of a little neighborhood. On one side, there is a well known drug dealer and on the other, not 8 feet away, is a brothel.

The church stands.

How powerful is the Truth of Christ. How life changing it is!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C3Wba-wC1PY

Leaving You Hanging . . . Day Three

2009-09-24T11:27:00.001-05:00

Leave you hanging.

I realize the last note / bog / article I posted might have left you hanging a bit. I mean, it was a pretty harsh and realistic piece about a particularly tough part of the Philippines. To leave you with the impression that most of this wonderful country is in this condition is completely untrue and is certainly not representative of most of what we witnessed.

However, after leaving the cemetery we proceeded to visit with ministers and those whose mission it is to go face to face with the people of Manila, share the Gospel with them (no matter their circumstances or living conditions) and commit to stay with them as they learn the Truth.

After that, we drove (in the driving rain) to another part of the city of Manila known as Smokey Mountain. They say it’s so big and puts off such smoke that it can be seen from space. It’s the main garbage dump for the city.

One thousand tons of garbage arrive each day. And yes, you guessed it, there are people living in the garbage dump. This is not some Sanford and Son recreation. If it were possible, it’s as dark – literally and figuratively as the cemetery slum. People build makeshift dwellings among the piles of filth and garbage. The mud and whatever else was on the ground was ankle deep. When new trucks arrive, the people of the dump run to claim sacks of garbage, then start to rummage through to see what treasures they can find.

We didn’t get out of the truck to have a closer look. And I didn’t shoot any video. Honestly, by that point, after the cemetery, it was all just, well, just too much. I don’t know when I’ve ever felt so sad and helpless. I remember thinking, “Just get me out of here and back to the hotel.” It wasn’t so much a spoiled, western cultural attack - “Ok, I’ve seen enough of this pain and I want my clean sheets and shower and wash all this off me.” It was more of a need to get somewhere safe where I could be alone. If you’d asked how it all affected me at that moment, I don’t think I could have answered.

But can I tell you how focused these men and women are that work for Bible League International in the Philippines? I mean, they’re not distracted or put off by anything. They keep their eyes on the one thing that means something. And they are committed to telling their countrymen about Christ.

The next day was to be our “hike into the mountains and visit a remote village” day. We were all told about this before we left the states. We were told to buy serious bug juice – I think the stuff I got at REI really was called Bug Juice. We were told to bring some kind of mat or inflatable pad to sleep on. We would be sleeping in the village – on the floor – or at least that’s what we were told!

We boarded a ferry - yes, the old tubs that you hear about turning over in the Philippines and other parts of the world. The ride on the ferry was a little over two hours. Our destination was the island of Mindoro. After we disembarked, we loaded onto two vehicles that would drive us as far as they could. On the way, several sections of road were washed out from the heavy, seasonal rains. Finally, the trucks pulled over, drivers got out and said to the interpreters something akin to, “This is as far as we can go.”

There was only a light mist falling at this point, so with healthy, hearty attitudes and adventure in our bones . . .

OK, can I say here that I’m not a camper kind of guy. I’m not really a hiker either. I do like to ride my motorcycle and have been on some long trips on two wheels, but at the end of the day, adventure, to me is pulling into some new town without a hotel reservation. Edgy!! I slept on the ground one time, I think, when I was a kid in Boy Scouts. I think I nabbed my camping merit badge and resigned the next day. OK, so there you have it. Take your best shots!

….we set out up the mountain toward the village of DubDub (spelling is only a guess).
Of course, the rain began to get heavier, the incline more steep and the mud more deep. Geez, that sounds like a song! Several in our troop lost shoes in the mud. There was a trail maybe a foot wide in places but deeply grooved by the constant rainfall. In lots of places, we had to take to the grass to progress. There was falling, tumbling, laughing, mild grumbling (hmm…another rhyme…I’ll get a song out of this yet.) and somewhere between hours one and two, someone shouted “village in site.”

Another “camping” note from the expert. I was doing the last minute shopping and prep for the trip at our local Academy store when I came to the aisle stocked with parkas. The prices ranged from about a buck to ten or fifteen. I don’t know what came over me, but I picked up this tiny pack that said there was a rain parka inside. It was light and wouldn’t take up much room. The price was $2.99. Just a word here. Don’t skimp on the parka when you’re going to be in a rain forest! Mine was little more than a Glad Bag with arm holes and a hood.

Darkness was falling at a pretty raid pace. The reality that we were going to spend the night in a place with no electricity, no running water, that we would sleep, who knows where and eat who knows what, began to sink in. But we were soaked through with rain and perspiration and weren’t too concerned about much of anything but stopping.

We found out that some of the 70 citizens of this tiny village had TB. That spoke volumes to the food preparation issue and we feasted on bread and water that night.

Evaluating the sleeping options, I chose to roll out my mat (it automatically inflated to, oh, about two inches of buoyant luxury right before my eyes) in the chapel. I was told there was more room there.

The chapel was occupied, when I walked in, by two pigs, a goat and several chickens or members of the chicken family. I bet they all tasted like chicken. Never got a chance to find out.

The chapel was a grass-roofed hut with a dirt floor with several boards nailed to posts in the floor for seating. The size of the entire place was probably 10 x 15 feet. The hosts began pulling up the boards and placing them three across to provide some place for us to lay our mats. Their hospitality was awesome. They would do anything to accommodate us – even rearrange their chapel “pews.” I’ve been in a lot of churches that require a committee meeting to move a piano.

About 40 of the 70 that lived in this village were believers and followers of Christ. The others, we were told, were Muslim.

The believers gathered in the chapel as the deep darkness settled in. We sang with them and listened to their leader speak to them from God’s Word. It was beautiful. I played a couple of songs for them myself.

We found out later they’d never seen a white man. We were the first in their village.

After the great fellowship and worship, everyone retired for the evening.

No Sportscenter for you!

I think we laid our heads down about 8:30. There was to be a bell at 4 AM calling everyone back to the chapel for prayer. This was not a special service for our benefit – they gather every single morning at 4 – for an hour and a half of prayer. Humbling.

I guess the leader was a little excited. I saw him creep in the chapel and ring the bell. Assuming it was 4 AM and time to rise and try to shine, I hopped up. Looking at my watch that said 12:30 AM, I softly announced to the others that it was a tad early to be getting up. I rolled back over and caught a few more minutes of sleep. Where are those ear plugs?

The other alarm that shook me was the bleating of a goat a few inches from my head. Say, have you ever heard a goat in the middle of the night a few inches from your head? They should capture that sound for some alarm clock. . . . you’d never oversleep!

At the real 4AM, the bell was rung again and the little chapel soon filled with children and young adults ready to sing and hear the Word. I was overwhelmed at their innocence and their zeal for Jesus. It wasn’t complicated with what kind of church building, what version of the Bible, what one was wearing or anything of the sort. They simply gathered to revel in the common love they shared – the common redemption by Grace they’d been offered. It was truly sweet in the finest sense of the word.

You’ll want to read the next installment about the trip back down the mountain!

Blessings…..Wayne

A Cemetery in Manila

2009-09-20T19:59:00.000-05:00

DAY TWO

Leaving the hotel on this the second full day in Manila, I remembered reading in some of the materials that we were going to visit a cemetery of some sort. It is the rainy season in the Philippines, so for most of our trip, there was a cloudy sky and everything from a light mist to heavy rainfall.

This day was no exception.

I had somehow come to the conclusion that we were going to visit a military cemetery. A final resting place, perhaps, of some lost American soldiers that gave their lives in the service of their country and, well, this country, too.

As we drove from the hotel, we passed by different scenes in the city. Some that were visual reminders of the extremes in this country. Here, like in so many places all over the world, there are the obvious “haves” and “have nots.” It just seems like the differences are so much more pronounced here. In the city of Manila, we pass startling images of children running in and out of traffic, approaching vehicles asking for money or food, dangerously close calls between the thousands of motor scooters and cars and trucks.

There is very little road rage that I can see. They tell me it’s because everyone understands the rules. You own where you are – not where you’re going. In Houston, we drivers claim where we are and where we’re going, thank you very much and out of my way!

There are beautiful homes just a few yards from lean-to shelters made of tin and cardboard. While we were driving past these flimsy shelters, I was thinking of how unfortunate it all is and why something can’t be done to improve the station in life of these people. “How did it come to this” I asked myself. What I was about to see would make the people living on the streets seem like some kind of third world middle class.

The cemetery was not a memorial site. Nothing of the kind. We slowly drove down the muddy side road, suddenly finding ourselves surrounded by burial vaults. Stacked 8 or 9 high like bookshelves, these vaults are the final resting places of the departed from this city. At least that's the intent. It seems that family of the deceased pays a fee to bury their dead, then have to continue to pay a fee each year. If the fee isn’t paid, the grave is not only not maintained, the bones are put in a sack, thrown to the side and the vault is used for someone or something else. In some cases, as you can see from the pictures and the video, the vaults remain open – containing several sacks of bones and debris. Some are empty but are used as sleeping quarters for people that live in this cemetery among the dead.

By the way, to see the video, go to youtube and search under Wayne Watson in a Cemetery in Manila. There's another video shot by a radio talk show host from New Zeland as well.

It’s beyond anything I’ve ever seen or heard of. The odor is beyond description. The thought of what we’re walking on and walking through is horrifying. All you have to do is look down, if you can bring yourself to look.

A couple of weeks before we were there, a typhoon had flooded parts of the city – of course, this part of the city, and washed up even more trash and debris into the aisles of the cemetery.

This sight and this experience struck me like a brick to the forehead. It’s one thing to see poverty . . . most of us have seen it to some degree or another. But the poverty mixed with people living among the dead was almost too much.

Still, there was the laughter of little children. They’ve known no other life and, most likely will not. There were bands of teenagers – you could tell that the life they lived was getting a hold on them. They were growing cold - their eyes steely and ferocious. The few adults, and it seems there aren’t too may that grow old here for obvious reasons, have eyes that are distant and hopeless – angry, resigned.

We talked to a few of the people that spent their days and dark nights there in this horrible place. One woman that came walking past, dressed in her black jeans, white t-shirt and Coca-Cola cap said she’d lived there for 45 years. 45 years! She spent her days as a maid then at the end of the workday, took the bus back to “her home” in the cemetery. I don’t think she imagines ever leaving.

Still, there were others that were different. Something had changed their hearts and lives.
They still lived among the dead bones of their ancestors, strangers and kin, but there was liberty and a lightness in hearts. Someone had shared the Truth of God’s Love through the scripture with them. The unstoppable Love of Christ had come to dwell in their hearts, releasing their souls from a bondage even more dark and despicable than the place they laid their heads every night. For these, the horrors of poverty took a back seat to the hope they have in Christ. The vulnerability of their dwelling was overwhelmed by the security and safety they find in the Father’s Hand.

As a westerner, my thoughts are, “How can we change this?” And again I ask, “How does it come to this?” I thought of farms with pastures and lakes and trees where animals live better than these human beings. “What the heck is going on????” The term Godforsaken takes on a new meaning. “Who Is Responsible?!?” “I want an answer!”

The depths of sorrow and tragedy have fallen to a new low for me. The wages of sin take on a new meaning. While my occasional infractions seem to have little consequence on the world, the collective depravity and our regular dabbling in dark places will certainly lead mankind further into this nothingness, this deep pit, but for the redemptive work of Grace done at the cross by our Savior.

To say this experience makes me grateful simply for what I have sounds petty even as I write it. “There but for the grace of God” doesn’t work either. I know what I deserve. And I don’t want it. I’m thankful that God doesn’t give it.

I cannot change what I’ve seen. I can’t. But I can do something. And I will.

Day One In the Philippines

2009-09-16T23:37:00.000-05:00

After getting off the plane, a filled to the brim, somewhat ancient 747, we stormed the Hong Kong airport in search of something….uh…western, I guess. In other words, only away from our home shores for a dozen hours or so, the urge for a friendly sign or a recognizable something was strong.

Starbucks to the rescue. I paid for it in Hong Kong dollars on my debit card, and honestly, have no idea if it cost the equivalent of two American dollars or twenty. Frankly, I didn’t care. Just pour the stuff down my throat!

We made a quick walk to our connecting flight to Manila, coffee cups in hand. Comforted in the fact that (watch out for the ear worm to come!) “it’s a small world after all!” ARRRRGGGGHHHH.

After landing in Manila, we met the first two people from Bible League International. All smiles, they were so friendly and glad to see us. We went straight to the hotel to check in, spend a few minutes freshening up from the trip, then off to the Bible League headquarters. In the video below, you'll see some of the staff, hear a wonderful testimony from Linda and see the storage facilities that need to be filled up with Bibles for them to share with their fellow countrymen.

The staff spent time making us feel welcome and sharing insights to the ministry in the Philippines. I was impressed by their passion for their work and the depth of love they have for their people.

From a purely educational standpoint, it only took a few minutes to open my eyes to the scope of the need in those thousands of islands. Yes, I said thousands. Before our orientation, I suppose I thought of the Philippines as a handful of islands in the far western Pacific. There are over 7100 islands that make up this country and over half of them are inhabited! Amazing. Immediately, you realize the need to get the Word of God in to their hands, introduce them to the Liberating Christ. And the need for copies of scripture is tremendous. That’s why we’re here.

Bible League International is represented in 60 countries. First, let me tell you what their mission is NOT. It is not to fly over a country or even a village and drop Bibles on their heads. It is not to knock on the door of a hut, put a Bible on the ground and run! It is not to leave boxes of scripture on the ground in the village square and hope they are found.

What they DO is this. Utilize local pastors and other believers that can share the Word with others. When the connection is made, the individual stays with the new prospective student of the Word, meets with them regularly, teaches, shows them answers to questions about life in God’s Word – first through a little book called “The Answer.” When that is complete, they are included in a small group study, included in a local body, then they become owners of their own Bible.

Now look, I can’t speak for you, but I have, oh, at least 10 Bibles of various and sundry translations. These folks value and treasure this one copy like no other earthly thing they possess. It’s beyond special to them.

Makes me want to re-assess my property and the value I place on certain things that are really no more than just that . . . things. Let the appraisals begin!

Wayne

Across the Big Pond

2009-09-15T21:25:00.000-05:00

Across the big pond.

I have to admit, when the Brits or anyone from Europe uses the term “across the pond” from now on, I’ll think of crossing the Atlantic in a whole different light. It seems like a commuter flight compared to crossing “the other pond.”

I remember the first time I went to Hawaii. In my head, I just thought “off the coast of California, a few miles over water, then you’re there.” Right? Wrong. It’s another five hours of flying time from LA to Paradise. You just have to hope the plane is in good mechanical order. I mean, in case of any failure, you would hope for that gentle approach to the water, lightly kissing off the waves then coming to a floating halt among the whales, but really, what are the chances?

So when it came time to start thinking of flying to Hong Kong, then on to Manila, my little brain, again, started to calculate and envision this flight. “OK, so I’ll fly Houston to San Francisco, then from San Francisco to Hong Kong (I know it’s way past Hawaii!), then Hong Kong to Manila. No sweat.

When you pull up google earth and start spinning the globe around from San Fran to Hong Kong, well, let’s just say, it’s a big spin . . . “Yep, there’s Hawaii and . . . and . . . and. . .OK, there’s China! Gulp. Where are my floaties?

I departed Houston on the 1st of September and arrived in San Francisco around noon. I checked into the hotel for a few hours before our flight left for Hong Kong at 1:30 AM on the 2nd. It’s noon on the west coast, so I took off on foot to find a quick lunch before trying to catch a few hours of sleep in the quiet, still environment of my hotel room. I would check out around 11 PM and go back to the airport.

Walking from a hotel in a place where you’re unfamiliar is an adventure. At least I called it that. After what took place in the Philippines and China, I’ll be careful what I label “adventure” from now on.

So, you walk a few hundred yards, then a few hundred more with no food in sight. Then you rationalize the failure with “Well, at least I’m getting some exercise.” Then you reverse direction thinking “There’s got to be something out there.” Of course you’re looking for something good. Something that says San Francisco. But as the minutes and miles tick by, Wendy’s sounds pretty good. Arby’s. Chick-Fil-A?

Nothing.

Starbucks! But not a real Starbucks. One of those that you find in a gas station alongside the wall of coolers and STP products, spare fuses and duct tape. Pass.

I ended up settling for chicken fingers in the hotel. And thankful for that.

Thankful is the key, isn’t it? Ridiculous irritations over petty nuisances all get put into perspective over the next 8 days as we find ourselves face to face with indescribable poverty and darkness offset by Godly servants and the Christ-like hearts in the Philippines.

More to come.

Wayne

news....

2009-08-25T23:51:00.000-05:00

A week ago (Sunday August 16), I was at Chapelwood in Houston to lead worship. My friend Sarah Fuselier was there to sing with me and it’s always so good to sing with her. She’s a pro that knows how to sing with her heart and knows how to worship.

Right after the service was over, I drove east on I-10 on my way to DeQuincy,LA for a concert there. We all met at the high school theater/auditorium, proceeded to get everything set for a 5 PM door (6 PM start time) when, at about 4:50, the sound system called in sick (i.e. shut down, nothing, bupkus). I can’t say enough about how proactive and positive everyone was! The pastor made the call to load everything up, head to the church and set up there. So many questions – so little time.

The sound crew and all the volunteers did their thing to perfection and I was actually ready to go, sitting in the green room at 5:40 having some fruit and hot tea! Amazing!

We started on time and it was a tremendous evening. Many thanks to First Baptist Church of DeQuincy, Mel Yorks and all the staff for having me there.

I drove home on Monday morning just in time to have a couple of hours to throw things together for the flight that evening to Chicago. Meg with me, we got to the airport in time for a 3:45 flight to O’Hare.

Sue Olsen met us there and drove us to the hotel. Sue is on the development team for Bible League (Soon to be known as Bible League International . . . they work in over 60 countries) and she set up the week’s activities.

Tuesday morning at 7, we were in the lobby to meet Sue for the ride to the Bible League headquarters. We had several meetings with different folks from the staff of over 100 and then, at noon, I shared some songs at their focus meeting of all the staff.

Bible League is well known around Illinois and especially Chicago land but not so well known around the rest of the USA. Let me encourage you to get to know them and their work. Bibleleague.org is there home website. They’re constantly updating and are in the throes of some major changes. I’m thankful to be able to represent them from time to time in concerts.

The two concerts in the Chicago area were well planned, well executed and well attended. I’m thankful for these opportunities.

Bible League is not a Bible distributor. I could go into detail about their incredible ministry but my wife had the best example of what they do and how I could describe how they do what they do.

Which would you choose? If I asked you if you could play the guitar and you said, “No, but I would like to learn” which scenario would you prefer? (A) I hand you a guitar, wish you well and leave you with it (good luck, Godspeed,etc.) OR (B) I hand you a guitar and tell you “I’m going to stay right here with you, teach you how to play, meet you every week until you can play so well that you could teach someone else to play.”

Well?

Which would be the best method? Which would be the best use of our time? Which would produce the finest player and the best results?

That’s what Bible League does. They put over 19 million copies of the Scriptures in the hands of people all over the world last year alone. Also, in 2008, they trained (through local churches around the globe) over a quarter of a million people to teach God’s Word.
Churches and Church fellowships grow from the Bible study groups. That, my friends, is follow-up!

We flew home to Houston on Saturday afternoon. And yesterday, Sunday August 23, I spent the day with South Main Baptist Church in Pasadena, TX. Two morning services starting at 8:15! I could tell, as people started arriving for that first service that this church was alive and well! The energy of the people was tremendous.

Last night, I asked my friends Jeremy Good and Rankin Peters to join me along with Nathan Wells running the sound. It was a blast to play with these guys again – the second time this month. After doing hundreds, and maybe into the thousands, of concerts solo, I really enjoy having musicians of this caliber on the platform beside me.

So now, I’m on a track to prepare for departure on Tuesday, Sept. 1, for the Philippines. I don’t ask this casually and I know and trust that many of you will actually do this with me and for me.

I need your prayers for this trip. I would ask you to pray for health and strength, for protection and safety, for joy in the middle of it all, that my eyes will be open (both physical eyes and spiritual eyes). Pray for my wife while I'm traveling, for her peace and safety. I’ll try to keep you apprised of all the action as time and foreign time zones and access will permit.

I’m thankful to all who read these notes.

Blessings to you

Wayne

2009-08-22T17:29:00.000-05:00

When do people think anymore?

I could say I’m worried about the next generation but I know that would probably induce a yawn from you followed by a couple of keystrokes taking you on to the next item on your surfing agenda. Wait! Wait!!!!

I’m not worried about the next generation so much. First of all, I try to NOT worry these days about much of anything. Read it in a Book somewhere.

I guess the reason some people worry about young people is that the media has such a presence in their (our?) lives and such pointed impact on everything they think and do. I’m not worried about the music they listen to. I hear songs now that I listened to back then. I had no clue as to the meaning of most of it. I just liked how it sounded much to the quiet dismay of my parents (See, this is nothing new at all). I do get a little concerned about the free access to visuals that weren’t there before. The lines of propriety were crossed a long, long time ago. Parents have to step up, step in and use the “off” button.

I’m not worried about fashion trends or how short shorts are or how mini the dresses are. Ever fly Southwest Airlines in it’s early days . . .yikes! Again, parents have to stand between boy/girl of the house and say in their best King Jimmy English “No wayeth as long as thou dwelleth under my roof (roofeth?)”

And I’m not so much worried about this as much as I simply wonder where it will end up. Well, that followed by lots of prayer.

The heat index in Houston was over 100 again today. Welcome to our summer. The heat has forced most of us to abandon a lot of outdoor activities lately. The AC has been pulling overtime most of the season.

But today, I vowed to take on the sunshine and spend a few hours on two wheels. No, not the pedaling kind of two wheels, the motorized version. My bike has been sitting a lot this year. With two surgeries that took a toll on my core strength and power (the doc wasn’t crazy about me trying to manhandle an 800 pound motorcycle), my ride has mostly been idle.

This morning, after breakfast, I pulled down the basket of car/bike wash towels, ventured into the dark recesses of the storage room outside to find the right soaps and waxes, etc, pulled out the hose and began the pre-ride ritual.

People ask me, “Why do you always wash your bike before you ride?” Well, first of all, I don’t want to ride around on a bike caked with dust and grime, and second, it’s kind of hard to wash it after the ride. Exposed engine parts tend to get a tad warm after a few hours. A cool spray of water on a hot engine . . . well, why tempt fate? So to answer the question, it’s a strange mixture of vanity and wisdom.

After the washing and the drying and the waxing, I hit the starter, thankful that the weeks off and the summer heat hadn’t done a number on my battery, and off I went. Yes, it was hot! But, man, I love to ride. It does something to me – for me. I’ve written more than a few lines of lyric and melody on the back of my bike.

Back in 2003, Harley Davidson celebrated their 100^th Anniversary. That was the year I bought this black Electro Glide Ultra Classic. It’s one of those big daddies that has a radio, CB (wow, remember those????), CD player and all the other goodies. Sometimes, I touch the power button on the radio and tune to a classic oldies station. There’s something about riding and listening to CCR or Foreigner.

But today, the audio system stayed off for the whole ride. No talk stations arguing about who’s gonna win the Superbowl (oh, sorry – do I have to pay to write “Superb…?) or what’s gonna happen if the Astros don’t do something fast, or some public radio car care comedians messing around with the heads of their listeners.

Just good time to think, to pray, and to watch and listen.

If you’re thinking something profound came from today’s trip, I’m sorry to disappoint you. It didn’t. Nothing long forgotten came back to me. There was no George Costanza moment, “I just remembered where I left my retainer in second grade!”

I just rode and thought and prayed. Not the kind of prayer you’re taught in Sunday School. Just a conversation with the Father. A line or two here and there followed by the silence and the waiting. It was like spending the day with your best friend – some talking some listening, some just being together. The thoughts that came during the waiting were sweet. There was an innocence that doesn’t often show itself in this culture of noise and busyness.

So when do you take the time to just think?

When my kids were young, boredom would sneak up on them like a summer cold. Out of nowhere, in the middle of what you would otherwise think was a good day, one of them would declare, “I’m bored.” I don’t know when I first resorted to this tactic, but I remember using it often – even through those difficult high school years. Whenever one of the boys would declare boredome, I would make them go to their rooms – not out of punishment – sit on the bed (no sleeping, no listening to music, no talking on the phone) and just – think.

Without fail, within a half hour, sometimes less, they would emerge, ready to tackle some project, something they’d wanted to do but had forgotten all about. It just took some time to remember and reclaim the passion for that treehouse, that game deep in the closet, that model that never got assembled, that . . . whatever it was. It just took some down time – some time to think.

I’m concerned (evangelical-speak for “worry”) about the creative void that will almost certainly occur in the near future because people aren’t thinking, they aren’t dreaming and using their imaginations. While I was riding today, I passed dozens of runners in all parts of the city. None of them were running without headphones. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad people listen to music! Duh. And I certainly don’t know what goes on every minute of everyone’s day. But everywhere we go, people are occupied with their cell phones, their ipods, their blackberries,etc. It’s not only that we’re missing interaction with each other, we’re not taking time to watch what’s going on around us, we’re not listening. Sometimes there’s need right beside me and if I’m not careful, I get so occupied with my stuff, I miss it. Who’s to know what direction a day might take – for that matter a week or a lifetime – if we just pay attention to something outside our own realm.

Wow….this soapbox is beginning to wobble.

Turn something off today. Walk away, even if it’s just an hour or so, from your iPhone, your blackberry, your cell phone. (It bothers me to feel the way I do if I happen to get in the car only to find myself a whole MILE from home with out my phone!!! Wimp. Take on the world sans phone once in a while.) Resist the urge to enter the family room, the kitchen, the bedroom, that hotel room, and automatically turn on he tv set.

Maybe someone should figure out how to charge for quiet. Then we might consider it a prize to be treasured. But ‘till then, try a free moment of solitude and silence and enjoy.

Wayne

Losses

2009-08-12T09:45:00.000-05:00

I miss some things.

For forty-five years, I had perfect eyesight. I could see road signs and read them, sometimes, before anyone else in the car even realized there was a sign. I could read small street signs in neighborhoods – even at night and, therefore, always appeared to know where I was going and seldom got lost. I could read the fine print in menus even in darkened restaurants – you know, what else comes with the dish you’re ordering, the “automatic 18% tip added to parties of six or more” or “some of our dishes are cooked in peanut oil” (a warning that, if not heeded during my youngest son’s early years, could have spelled disaster) or “pipe and cigar smoking prohibited.” You know, stuff like that.

Now, unless the lighting in a restaurant is something akin to a tanning salon or a futuristic space vehicle approaching the surface of the sun, reading glasses are absolutely required as I enter eating establishments – unless I want the menu read to me like a child. “Whoa, go back. What was the third thing you said . . . the tilapia?”

It usually takes me mere seconds, usually after I sigh a heavy sigh - mourning the loss of perfect sight, for me to realize how blessed I was to have all those years unfettered by glasses or contact lenses (I still don’t see how you can touch something to your eyeball!!). I’m aware that the minor inconvenience of having to remember glasses is absolutely nothing compared with some of the obstacles millions of people face every day – those that have lost their sight completely, those who are losing their sight noticeably every single day. It’s petty to complain.

But we all have to launch from our own pad - with our own experiences, good and bad, as a foundation. Our memories, our assets and liabilities are unique and, frankly, it really doesn’t help much to lessen the impact of our own loss to constantly try to walk in someone else’s shoes. It’s a good reminder and a good journey-correction device to do so, though. Keeps you in touch with reality and gives you some big-picture perspective.

A man at my church lost his wife a couple of weeks ago after a nine year battle with that horrible disease, that intruder, that malicious perpetrator that, if it doesn’t kill, often the treatment does. Cancer. She was in her 50s. I asked him how he was doing Sunday after church. “One day at a time,” he said.

I still miss my father. He died over 12 years ago and not only do I miss him, nobody and nothing can ever take his place. His presence is lost to me.

I’ve had to put a couple of dogs down over the years and the subsequent quiet and physical void that’s undeniable and immediate is stunning. But it’s nothing like losing a family member. Or is it? To people that keep humans at arms length because of some pain inflicted upon them by said humans, the loss of a pet can be devastating.
Again, we all launch from a different pad.

Some of my friends have lost the innocence of their early years. The ugly side of life, the disappointment that inevitably comes with relationships, the loss of focus on a career or a noble ambition that seemed so clear a couple of decades back. We’ve all lost some of that.

Wow. So you just wanted to read something uplifting, huh? Some “Tweet” of inspiration in 140 characters or less?

Well, if you’re reading this, you’re breathing and God is not done with you.

And here’s a real “guy” bit of advice on how to get over it.

Get over it. Stop dwelling on the past. It’s gone.

How do you do that? When your mind starts to drift toward some morbid memorial of things lost, put something else on the screen. Like shuffling photographs when they come off the printer, look at something else.

“Wow, that’s a bad picture. Let’s put that in the back of the pile – or maybe in the shredder!” OK, here’s a good one. Look at those colors!”

Here’s the point. You have to learn from your loss. Learn to deal with it in a healthy manner. Learn to trust that God is real and that He’s got His eye on you. And that anything we hold to in this life has an expiration date on it.

Is it possible that daily reminders of loss are just ways of telling us not to get too attached (or at least to keep our attachments within some eternal perspective) – to anything! To keep a light grip? Even on the wonderful blessed stuff - like love and those that come with love? To remember that we are passing through and that eternity won’t be cluttered with things that die? To not be overwhelmed with the piles of things that were supposed to make our lives easier and are just making us more anxious?

Our vacation time at the cottage this year was the most peaceful, simple pleasure. The cell phone didn’t work much at all. The only internet connection was a dial-up service that forced you to just . . . sit . . . there . . . and . . . . . . wait. It was beautiful. And, remarkably, the sun just kept coming up and when we returned to the busy life of the city, everything was still churning as if we’d never left. In a lot of ways, we weren’t missed at all.

Sometimes, I have to remind myself to breathe. I find myself, literally, holding my breath, getting done with the things that must be done! I don’t want to live this way. And I pray everyday for the wisdom to pursue things that matter, things that are eternal, while surrounded by the noise of things that don’t. I pray that I’ll revel every day in the love God has poured all over me – with Himself, with family and friends.

Ahh…..

Catching up

2009-08-10T17:45:00.000-05:00

Well, where did we leave off?

Sorry it’s been a while since I’ve written. What was a lazy summer suddenly got very busy.

Most recently and most memorable – we spent a very relaxing 8 days in Canada in July. I was four weeks past the final round of surgery (which was textbook, thank God – most literally). Retreating to the cottage that’s been in Meg’s family since the early forties is a real vacation. Not like those trips where every minute of every day is filled with activities. You know the kind – a vacation where you come home needing a vacation. Yeah.

We flew to Buffalo then took the scenic 5 hour drive north to the shore of Lake Huron. The alarm had gone off in Houston at 3:30 AM so by the time we arrived at the cottage, we were spent. I think I slept about ten hours that night. The temp in Houston this summer has been brutal! We started having 100 degree-plus days in June and it’s kept up for most of the summer. So the high 50s of the Canada nights, the piles of blankets and the general easy, laid back vibe of the place, put me into a beautiful coma-like state of sleep I rarely get at home.

By the way and as an aside, the home office, while convenient, can be a nagging pest. It never goes away and it’s difficult to get away from. Computers, musical instruments, studio gear calling out “Touch me, use me!!!!”

Ahh….back to the cottage..

Our schedule, if you want to call it that, was something like this . . .

*Get up whenever you feel like it
*Coffee whenever you want, wherever you want – patio by the water
or in house.
*Read by the lake
*Talk by the lake
*Fish in the lake
*Stare at the lake
*Walk (exercise) if you feel like it
*Or ride bikes (pedaling – no motors)
*Lunch by Joanne (always beautiful, simple great food)
*Nap
*More patio time – Repeat steps three through six
*Dinner
*Whatever . . . read, tv, talk, laugh, quiet . . .
*Bed

Repeat daily

We got back to Houston feeling refreshed and thankful to have such a tremendous getaway.

Last night, I played a concert at our home church here in Houston. It was part of a concert series they started a few years back. On the stage with me were three of Houston’s finest musicians. Over the years, since I play most of my dates solo, adding other players to the mix has been a little stressful, but not last night.

Jeremy Good is a tremendous jazz pianist/keyboard dude. I hired Jeremy to come to Houston years ago when I was on staff at a church here – he was my main accompanist and has been here ever since. He played vintage Fender Rhodes and synth. Rankin Peters played upright and electric bass. So musical, Rankin drops it right in the pocket and goes with the flow like few others I’ve seen.

And finally, my longtime friend Sarah Fuselier sang backup. I can’t tell you how talented she is in a forum like this. You’d have to hear her! And if you get the chance, hear her!!!

After the events of this year, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude to be able to stand on a platform and have a voice to sing these truths about the grace, the mercy, the unstoppable love of our Father. My voice is tired today. When I ran into my friend Tom at church a few minutes ago, he asked me how I was doing after last night. “Voice is really tired,” I said. “Well,” he replied, “You weren’t . . . . shy.” I still want to sing like I’ll never get another chance.

This is a busy month. This weekend (August 16th) I’ll leave after church and drive to DeQuincy, LA for a concert there Sunday night. I’ll get back on Monday and we’ll leave Monday night for the rest of the week in Chicago.

Bible League is a ministry based in Chicago and I’m doing three concerts for them to raise awareness of their work. You can check the calendar at the website for more details.

On September 1, I’ll leave to fly to San Francisco and from there, will go to the Philippines until September 10. This is a radio promotional trip with the folks from Bible League. We’ll all appreciate your prayers for this long journey.

Right after I get back from the Philippines, I’ll be in Colorado Springs for the weekend for Compassion International and their gathering of international partners and leadership.

After that….who knows . . . stay tuned.

Blessings

Wayne

2009-06-15T12:09:00.000-05:00

I could tell you that I’ve been working on this book, “Turning Into Dad” for 7 or 8 years. Truth is, I’ve been working on it since the day my father passed away. And beyond that, I suppose, I’ve been observing and collecting these thoughts and observations for my entire life.

As Father’s Day approaches, I hope you’ll take some time this week to reflect on your father, the man he is (if he is still around) or the man he was (if he’s passed). Reflect on his better self and his faults. Thank God for the good things he gave you and thank the Father for the flaws that you recognize and vow to abandon as you live out your life.

Be grateful.

I share this excerpt from the book that I finally finished just a short time ago. I’ve made it available in soft cover form or as an audio book on waynewatson.com

Blessings.

Wayne

From the Chapter entitled ….

“The Phone Call”

The phone call came a few days before Labor Day in 1996. There were no
warnings, and no premonitions gave me any idea that this wasn’t going to be a
normal day. Those kinds of calls come from out of the blue. They simply intrude,
blowing their way into the normal routines we follow and stopping us cold. Things
that seemed so important five minutes ago are quickly moved to the back of the stove.
Sometimes, you have to turn the stove off for a while.

I had a concert to play on Saturday of that Labor Day weekend and decided
to drive up to see my folks the day after. While we were all concerned, my father
insisted that it wasn’t urgent and there was no need for me to come right away. The
call was a typical “The doctors have found something they’re concerned about
but it’s probably nothing” kind of call.

On the way to Wisner, I drove a little slower than normal, thinking
the longer it took me to get home, the better the chance that bad news would just
pack up and leave. With some degree of dread, and with a fear that only shows its face in the unknown, I rode through the east Texas piney woods to the town where
I had spent my entire life prior to going off to college, the years where I began to
notice I was being molded into a man who was part me, but part him and part his
father before him.

On the way, I had an uneasy feeling I wasn’t being told the whole story. But
that was my father’s way: Save the really hard stuff for face to face. Some things
were not meant to be discussed over the phone. When I pulled into the driveway, I
knew I was about to experience a defining moment in my life.

I had pulled into that driveway hundreds, maybe thousands of times. Along the
way, there were some significant markers and memories as I moved toward becoming an adult. I remember the time I parked the car after my first solo trip around town - probably to buy groceries or something since new teenage drivers are always more than willing to
run errands for their moms. Or it might have just been a ride. In a town of 1500
people, going riding was near the top of a teenage driver’s cool-things-to-do list.
For me, it was about as edgy and adventurous as I would get for most of my teenage
years. Thank God. I was spared a lot of heartache and guilt by walking pretty close to the center of the line my parents had drawn for my brother and me.

We would ride from one end of town to the other - about a five-minute trip if
you hit the light just right. Yes, I said light, ‘cause there was just the one. You could
turn a five-minute drive into a half hour if you stopped and hung out at the Texaco
station on the south side of town.

But as you can probably imagine, the senior Mr. Watson was not a big fan of
of his sons hanging out, though it was a harmless, small-town activity that made us feel like men. Don’t ask me why. It wasn’t like we were sitting on the hoods of hotrods
or anything. We weren’t huddled up with packs of cigarettes rolled up in our t-shirt
sleeves. We didn’t tell off-color stories or try and sully the reputations of the girls in town. And these weren’t show cars with chrome pipes like you saw on Happy Days in the parking lot at Arnold’s Drive-In. They more resembled the late sixties version of Howard Cunningham’s Desoto - real chick magnets.

The car fate assigned to me during those first months with a license was my
mom’s Buick Electra 225. Look about thirty feet in front of where you are right
now and imagine a car stretching from you to that point - it was that big or at least
seemed like it. If it got real lucky and wanted to lean toward something a little more sporty, I drove Dad’s Buick La Sabre. Cool. I really can’t put my finger on why driving is such a primal pleasure for me. Even now, I’d rather get behind the wheel and drive to visit the kids in Nashville than drive to the airport and catch a plane. The road trip from Houston to
Nashville by car is about sixteen hours. It’s less than a two-hour flight. Go figure.

It’s called “windshield time” by guys who pound the road selling and making
calls on clients. I just like it. And I’d rather take the back roads than the interstate
highways. You see more color and more of the character of the country that way.
You meet some real nice people and can find some killer restaurants and dives that you’d never see on the interstate. Look for the full parking lot and take a chance.

It’s just one of those simple pleasures that reminds me of the early lessons and
examples lay down by my dad. I don’t really know how old I was when this started but I can see it, feel it and remember the excitement and the anticipation like it was yesterday. Nothing, at the age of nine or ten, got me so excited as dad saying “Boys, let’s go for a drive.” He would take my brother and me to the high-school track and let us drive the car. For cryin’ out loud, I was nine! I can’t tell you how much fun it was.

The track we drove around was nothing fancy. It was just a simple quarter-
mile oval that rimmed the football field. There was no fence to keep us out of the
school property, and it never occurred to me that the coaches might not have been
too crazy about our road trips around their sacred turf. The track was covered with
black cinders of some sort that crunched under the weight of the tires. There we’d
go - around and around at a lightning pace of oh, what, ten or fifteen miles per
hour? We took turns at the wheel.

I’d watched my dad drive for years and was spellbound at his expertise. I guess
it was one of the first things I used to worry about: that I would never learn when
to turn the wheel inches to the left and right at just the right moment. I guess I’ve
always been sort of a worrier. Even driving in what looked like a straight line, my
dad would be nudging the wheel back and forth dozens of times a minute.

“How will I ever figure out that move?” I asked myself. It never occurred to me
that he was just making small corrections to keep the car on a straight path.

It seems like a great bit of wisdom to me now. Making lots of small corrections saves you from having to make major ones - whatever the road you’re on or whatever you’re doing. That’ll preach, as they say.

The Long Way Home

I took one step away
I thought, “Hey, what’s the harm?
Still feel the heat from here
Still see the light
Still feel the warm
What’s another step or two
That wouldn’t be so wrong would it?”
Then when I looked for truth
My eye for truth was gone

In a desperation mercy plea
A spell of wisdom just came over me

I took the long way home
Back to what I believe
I took the long way home
You were waiting there for me
You were always faithful even when
My faith was not so strong
It’s been a long way home

You know I never intended to
Get off the track so far
The lights that turned my head
They’re looking so bizarre
It takes so little time
For me to be deceived
But just a simple truth
Can bring me to my knees

There are some stones
Better left unturned
There are some bridges never crossed
Still better off burned
I took the long way home
Back to what I believe
I took the long way home
You were waiting there for me
You were always faithful even when
My faith was not so strong
It’s been a long way home

Words and music by Wayne Watson
ASCAP Material Music 1997

My brother, Mike, always got first crack at the wheel. Being the first-
born had its perks. Early on, when my turn finally came, and don’t think I wasn’t
counting how many laps my big brother got before I took the driver’s seat, I had to sit in
Dad’s lap. He, of course, worked the mysterious pedals down in the dark recesses of
the floorboard while I worked the wheel. This was the coolest thing I’d ever done.
To be in control of the steel behemoth from Detroit was a real rush for a nine year old.

As time passed, I graduated from Dad’s lap to sitting on top of phone books or pillows,
and eventually, added the working of the brake and accelerator to my repertoire.

The most memorable moment on those Sunday afternoon trips around
the track was the time my brother was in the driver’s seat with Dad in the front
passenger seat - me in the back. Dad was looking to his right out the passenger
side, watching nothing in particular, when my brother caught my eye in the rearview
mirror. Giving me the hey-watch-this look, he took his hand off the wheel for a
split second.

Without ever turning his head, my Dad spoke in the low, emotionless tone that
was so familiar.

“None of that monkey business.”

Enough said. Lesson over.

We’d suspected that Dad had eyes in the back of his head and now we were sure.
Fact is, he probably just saw the reflection of the ill-timed stunt in the window.
Mike and I still laugh about that drive. Dad didn’t over-react and go all
dramatic on us. His few, carefully chosen words got the message across loud and clear.

There were times when I barely made it home inside curfew, although
Charles Watson seldom, if ever, used the word “curfew” - you just knew when to be off the mean streets of Wisner.

I had turned into that driveway on weekends, home from college with bags of laundry, hair too long that tested my father’s tolerance, weekends when I arrived with a monstrous hunger for Mom’s Sunday-after-church roast beef and rice and gravy. A little later, there were those early trips home with the first grandchildren in the family - trips that
brought such joy to my mom and dad.

This day, as I walked toward the side door of my parents’ house, I walked with more than a little bit of fear.

Knots

2009-05-25T12:06:00.000-05:00

There’s a knot in my shoe lace – one of my favorite, most comfortable shoes. It’s been there for a few days and I’ve just ignored it - not a big deal, just a little irritating every time I lace up. I thought about getting it out, but the last few days, it’s seemed that I’m always in a bit of a rush to get out the door and I’ve just let it go.

It gets tighter every time I ignore it. The longer it stays there, the more difficult it’s going to be to get out.

Maybe later.

It’s not like the tangles I used to get when I first learned how to fish with that open-face bait casting reel I was so proud of.

I was in the eighth grade, I think, when a family friend started taking me fishing. Our families took vacations together from the time I remember starting to take vacations. His sister was my age – my first crush and my first kiss. I still remember her birthday and every year when it rolls around, I think about their family and what a great friendship we all shared.

On those first fishing trips, a few miles drive from my hometown, I felt like the luckiest kid in the world. We’d load up the car, hook up the boat to the trailer hitch and take off.

We ate horrible food on the lake before anyone really thought too much about what was actually in Deviled Ham or Vienna Sausages. Didn’t seem to do a great deal of harm. But this was back before the politically correct ( and what now seems to be the more sporting action ) behavior of throwing your catch back in the water. We’d catch our limit, take them to the shore of the little lake house our families owned together and fry up the best tasting meal I’d ever eaten.

I started fishing with a plastic icon of the fishing tackle world known as a Zebco 202. If you were really getting serious, you might step up to the metal version – the Zebco 303. I suppose if you went on up the chain of precious metals, you might eventually get to the 505. Don’t know what that would be made of or if there actually was such a thing.

But I digress.

One of my first precious possessions was the sparkling, deep red bait casting reel made by Abu Garcia – the Ambassador 5000. It came in a saddle brown leather case with its own tools and everything I’d need to keep it spiffy. Learning to throw accurately was a challenge and didn’t come to me quickly. But with time, I was able to navigate the branches and obstacles and get into those pocktes holding the big fish.

But man, those backlashes. I’m not so much into the scientific explanations of why a backlash would happen – basically, the spool would spin faster than the bait would fly through the air – but it was a mess. I’d sit down and slowly and as patiently as I could – for me, at least – pick out the knots. There. Lesson learned for now. Inevitably, it would happen again followed by more picking and further demands on my patience. Again and again. While I would sit there working my way to the source of the problem, I probably, without realizing it, thought about how I’d gotten into this mess. Probably made some minor, mental corrections hoping it wouldn’t happen again.

Once, when I’d graduated to using two different rods, I set down the one resembling a birds nest, and picked up the fresh one. Funny thing, when I picked up the fouled rod and reel, uh, it was still a birds nest. It didn’t go away by itself. Interesting.

Knots are stubborn. If you ignore them, at best, they’ll stay like you left them, and at worst, they’ll just get tighter. When you finally do get around to them, they’ll demand more of your time and attention.

Some of those knots in your gut are getting tighter every day. You tell yourself that you’ll deal with them eventually. Will you? When? Sure, God could miraculously remove them and free you, but it doesn’t always happen that way. Frankly, I don’t see it happen that way very often. God gives us wisdom, guidance and strength, insight and reason to work our way through our knots. Why? Because the experience and the lessons learned will be a big help down the road… maybe helping you or somebody else whose life is in the ditch.

Pay attention to the knots. Before they get so tight you have to get out the proverbial scissors, spend a little time picking through the problems. You might not get them untangled in one sitting, or two or three. Take a deep breath, pray a prayer of thanksgiving for God’s faithfulness and His patience with all our stuff. He is watching. He is helping.

You are loved.

Wayne Watson

For Grads and Parents

2009-05-22T16:12:00.001-05:00

Every year, as the month of May comes to an end, I think back on school days. Those were good times and I remember the simple innocence of elementary school, moving up into junior high and then the discoveries of high school and the intensity of teenage years.

The long time that’s past since serves as a reminder of the realities of life for all grown- ups and, frankly, sometimes, it stinks. There’s no summer break when you’re a grown-up. Work, whatever that might mean to you, treks on with no real acknowledgement of the change of season. The schedule, for the most part, remains the same. Except for moms that are left to figure out what to do with those school kids that suddenly find themselves at home all day, quickly bored and looking for entertainment.

When I was living at home with my parents and going through the first 12 years of my education, we lived on School Street. You guessed right – across the street, not more than a hundred yards or so from my front door, was the high school. At least it gave credibility to my stories for my grandchildren and for generations to come, “Yep, I used to walk to school! Up Hill both ways!”

Can you remember the feeling of looking at the clock on the wall of the classroom, watching it tick down toward that final bell? Remember the sound of it and the feelings of relief ? Wow. It’s as clear as a, well, as clear as a bell in my memory.

We’d literally run from the classroom out the door. Those that boarded the buses would toss, what had, in an instant become, irrelevant papers out the bus windows. Lots of them landed in our front yard for me to clean up. I held the term papers with grades that simply didn’t matter for the next few months. Tests that show the progress of the past nine months weren’t the least bit significant now. Summer was here.

Those days, I didn’t think ahead too much. All that mattered was the moment.

I spent my summer days playing baseball. Most summers, our family would take a week’s vacation and then, put the suitcases back in the closet for another year. Most vacations were spent in the same place – Panama City, Florida. We stayed in the same motel by the beach every summer for years. It was comfortable and familiar. To be away from our little home town, alone with mom and dad for a week, with their undivided attention was the best.

After high school, for some reason that I’ve never really been able to explain, I went straight off to college. Louisiana Tech University was only an hour and a half from home but the permanence of moving out of my father’s house was a startling, harsh reality. Still, I couldn’t wait to go.

I don’t think I ever gave much thought to the feelings and emotions my folks were experiencing as their youngest bird flew the coop. And I regret that. When my own boys left for college – and really, once you leave, it’s difficult to go back – I remember hoping and praying that I’d given them what they would need to live. By the grace of God, they’ve done well and for that, I’m extremely thankful.

Many of you reading this are going through an ocean of feelings right now. Some of you are sending your first born off to school for the summer. Some have the summer months to prepare and college will start in the fall.

How are you?

Are you in a mild panic?

It’s time to take stock of God’s mercy, His Grace and His faithfulness. Where we fall short, He is sufficient. When we fail, He uses those failures to produce His good will. Where our families are wounded and broken, He is the Healer.

There may be scars from your past. There may be scars on your children. Acknowledge them, give thanks and move on.

Let go of the bitterness of the past. Some of the bruises may be from recent battles, but let me encourage you to take a deep, deep breath. Forgive those that have wronged you. Forgive those things that were said in anger. Don’t let them rob your family of another day of peace.

And while you’re forgiving others, forgive yourself. Give yourself a break. Lots of times, this is the hardest thing to do. Time is passing and life is short. None of the rest of the world is impressed with our ability to hang on to a grudge. “Oh, what a fine person you are to keep that anger for so many generations. Way to go!” The rest of the world is wrestling with their own problems and they’re not real concerned with ours. So, it’s up to you. Let it go and get on with your life.

Tell that son or that daughter how much you love them. Tell them how proud you are of them . . . even if it’s a stretch! You might be surprised how hard they’ll work to try and meet your expectations if they know you’re on their side right now.

I pray that as the grad season comes and goes again, you’ll put good words, truth and wisdom into the ears of those you love. Be a light. Be the salt of the earth. Make those around you thirst for Him who gave His life so that we might have life abundantly.

And may He bless us all in the days ahead.

Wayne Watson

Seeing the Ground

2009-05-04T10:51:00.001-05:00

I flew to Washington Reagan Airport last Saturday and drove to Gainesville, Virginia to spend the night. I was playing at Old Dominion Baptist Church on Sunday morning for a special Compassion International emphasis.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a church so invested in Compassion. The pastor’s spoke about their experiences on the field, seeing the work first hand. Two men gave testimonies and read letters from their sponsored children. The first guy was obviously nervous speaking in front of a thousand people – his hands were shaking. I thought “poor guy’s nervous” then the pastor leaned over to me and told me he was an F-16 pilot that “scrambles” out of the base near DC. Ok. Ok.

I played about 45 minutes and shared the story of my involvement with Compassion. At the end of the service, the pastor asked all of those who sponsor children to stand. It would have been easier to count those that didn’t stand! Amazing. Almost everyone there was a sponsor.

I run into too many churches that are too protective of their people and their people’s money. They’re terrified to open their hearts and wallets to outside ministries – scared that the local funds will dry up. Sad. The pastor was honest enough to tell his congregation that there would need to be sacrifice to sponsor a child in a desperately needy part of the world – “We can’t afford to have you stop giving and tithing to the church” he said. That’s just bringing it. And telling the truth and letting God work out the details with individuals. I loved it.

And these people were so kind. Over and over they were asking me, “How can we pray for you?” Grace permeated their lives and their church. I was led to believe it hadn’t always been that way. But something good happened through crisis – crisis in people’s lives that forced them to put away religious pride and fear and to live, to bathe, in the grace of our Lord. It was completely refreshing.

I can’t help but believe that their open arms and hearts further cultivate this life of real grace. Protectionism doesn’t lead to peace. Territorialism screams fear and panic. Fear doesn’t allow new, mysterious seeds to be planted. A vice grip of total control can stifle new growth and deny you the joy of the unexpected return. The predictable “same ole’ same ole’” might plow on but God is a God of surprises as well as constancy.

Breathe deep and see what surprises your Father has in store.

Speaking of Control….

When my plane was on final approach to Houston last night, it was a bumpy ride through the clouds. I kept looking out the window. Couldn’t see the ground. I felt my shoulders and a few other parts of me clinch.

I am not a pilot. Wanted to be at one time in my life and wanted to fly my own plane to concerts etc. I thought it would allow me more flexibility and freedom as well as allowing me to be home a lot more. I was always aware of the long ( and growing ) list of musicians snuffed out on their own planes.

But that’s not what stopped this dream. It was a lot more practical than that. Simply put, the dangers couldn’t be ignored. There was too much temptation to have to be somewhere. “No, I have to be there.” And then you put yourself in a compromised position, things can go terribly wrong. Then, you’re a headline on a webpage for a few days and a sad story for a generation.

So sitting in the back of the plane, letting the professional handle things, I feel safer. I know they’re pros (and I always feel a little better when my pilot for the day has a few grey hairs on his head) and they know what they’re doing. They read instruments and could do their jobs without ever seeing the ground. But I like to see the ground! I know, I know, the instruments tell them everything. But I like to see the ground! Did I say that I like to see the ground??

Why does that make me feel better?

Lack of complete trust. Desire for some degree of control even though I’m more than a few steps from the cockpit (and frankly, wouldn’t have a clue what to do if I got in there).

My spiritual life has some of those elements too. I know God is God and I am not. I know He is in control even when it doesn’t seem like it. Even when I don’t get it or don’t understand it. But man, I sure breathe easier when I do get it a little or when I do see it.

Guess there’s still work today. I was so looking forward to taking the day off!

Blessings.

Wayne

By the way, the pic at the top of this page is my first sight of ground last night!

Easter and Beyond

2009-04-28T08:52:00.000-05:00

Time is still flying! Easter comes and goes. The solemnity of the event – the days of Holy Week and the attention and sharp focus on the reality that Christ really did live, really did walk the earth as a human while still wholly Divine, that He was brutalized and still offered no resistance – is real but passes quickly.

We watched the film “The Passion of the Christ” days before Easter. I was going to play a guitar instrumental version of the old hymn “O Sacred Head Now Wounded” during the service at church and planned to pull together some short video clips from the movie to show. I’d forgotten the graphic depiction of the punishment meant for me - inflicted upon Him. Before this movie came out, I met Jim Caviezel who played the part of Jesus. He showed me an early trailer from the movie on his MacBook. I was speechless. The consensus among those who made the movie, it was said, was that the real punishment was far worse than they could ever show on a movie screen.

And I ask “How could that be possible?”

It’s no wonder that we came up with the Easter Bunny. All soft and cute. So far removed from the blood and reality of innocent sacrifice that makes little, if any, logical sense to those who’ve never tasted. Easier to eat chocolate filled with marshmallow cream than to humble oneself and accept the Sacrifice – to take of His flesh and blood to wash away my sin and guilt.

Our church was packed on Easter for all the services. There were overflow rooms with video feeds to accommodate the latecomers – groggy from parties the night before – overwhelmed with cocoa hangovers. I hear the comments every year from the regulars that point out the masses that only show up on Christmas and Easter. And I think, “Hey, better then than never.” And you never know which particular Christmas or Easter their hearts will be especially open and ready to know the Truth – to feast on the bounty of Christ. We can hope, can’t we?

I was backstage (for lack of a better term) waiting to sing an old song that was on my third album. Songwriter Phil McHugh wrote “Love Found A Way” back in the early 80s. I heard it at a songwriter showcase that year at Gospel Music Week. It was a chance for writers to play unrecorded songs for a small audience of artists and record execs. When I heard the song, I leaned forward to a friend and cast my vote to cut it myself. I hadn’t thought of it until the week before Easter and decided it would be perfect. Different from other Easter Sundays where I had lots for which to be responsible, lots to do, this Easter, I simply sang one song in three services. I waited each time and simply thanked God that I had this opportunity to use what He has given me. There is peace in gratitude.

Speaking of Gospel Music Week, I was there last week for a couple of days. Mostly to present a Milestone Award to Sandi Patty for her thirty years in Gospel music. I arrived on Wednesday before the Dove Awards the next day. To say that GMA Week was different from years past would be an understatement.

In years past – and I’ve been going to GMA Week, off and on, for 29 years myself – the convention center would be buzzing, navigating the lobby at the Renaissance Hotel downtown Nashville would be a challenge, having a meaningful conversation uninterrupted – impossible, seeing lots and lots of old friends and coveys of new bands and new artists decked out in the coolest clothes with questionable hair would be very entertaining. Questionable hair?? Who am I to question anyone’s hair?? Have you seen some of those old albums? Don’t know what I was thinking.

This year, the lobby of the hotel was quiet, few radio stations sent teams to interview artists, few record companies put on lavish lunches and showcases of their lead horse artists. I don’t know if it’s the economy, or just what has nailed down the lid on this institution called GMA Week but there’s change in the air.

The business of music has radically changed. The way people listen, the way people buy has changed forever. There was a seminar held last week that was called “The Death of the CD.” Maybe these drastic changes are forcing everyone to re-evaluate how they do business – radio, sales, marketing – ministry.

But I’ll tell you, while we have to grow (change) or die, there are always those who will forge ahead, utilizing the tools before us in this new century, bent on telling the Story, focused on singing the Word. My feeling is that when we’re faithful to the call, God will take care of the details. We still have to pay attention to the work and to the details, but God looks at the heart and the motives and blesses and grants favor as He wishes. The Apostle said “Forgetting what lies behind, I press on . . .” So I press on.

The Dove Awards were fun. Saw lots of old friends and made some new ones. There were lots of smiles and some tears. Life has broadsided some families, taken children, brought trial and heartache. But people can be incredibly resilient and strong in the middle of it all. While it’s hard to sing and praise Him through trouble, He is faithful anyway.

In years past, when the award show ended, artists, fans, record company folks would scatter all around Nashville. Some would end up in restaurants rented for the night for private celebrations. Others wound up in decorated hotel ballrooms with catered feasts and live bands. One year at the Word festivities, there was even a dance floor which mildly shook and disturbed my Baptist sensibilities just a little. I’ve since recovered and reformed. My feet have been seen tapping every once in a while.

After the show ended this year, it seemed like everyone just went their own way. Some loaded on buses and took off for the next night’s concert destination. Others that call Nashville home, simply went home to sleeping children, happy to be in their own beds for another night.

All is well.

Well, maybe not. But it will be. God is in ultimate control. He seats kings and rulers. He breathes life into us, warms us with the sun, waters the earth as He sees fit. Supplies our need if not always our want. This fragile planet full of fragile mortals is in His hand.

I’m learning to love Him, not so much for what He has done, but for who He is.

Love to you all.

Wayne

2009-04-01T13:19:00.000-05:00

The Worth of One.

I watched a film last night called “The Endurance.” I’d read the book by the same title several years back. For some reason, I was on a run of reading about ships of all kinds from whalers to expeditions to “The Perfect Storm.”

I’ve always been sort of a water person. For several years, I owned a fishing boat and enjoyed being on the water even if the fish weren’t biting. They (you know who “they” are) told me that the two best days of a boat owner’s life are the day you buy it and the day you sell it. The day I sold it was a good day but also a little sad. Ultimately, it spent most of it’s life, near the end, sitting in my garage – batteries drying up and dying, gaskets and rubber molding cracking, dust covering it’s beautiful red and black paint.

This thing was fast. It looked fast sitting still in the water. There was a two hundred horsepower outboard on the back that was happy going 70 miles per hour or idling at a crawl but not much in between. I tried to pull my kids on skis once not realizing that 45 mph made the motor groan as it didn’t get the boat up out of the water where it could run as it was made to run - and that was a little too fast for teenagers skiing. Man, when they fell, they skipped like rocks on glassy water. It was really hysterica….I mean, it was horrible to watch.

I can spend hours sitting near the ocean, the gulf or, like yesterday, Lake Livingston near Houston. I don’t consider it wasted time.

In 1914, Sir Earnest Shackleton set off on an expedition with the goal of crossing Antarctica. The crew of 27 men were lured into this dramatic and exciting prospect by an ad that read:

__________________

MEN WANTED
FOR HAZARDOUS JOURNEY
SMALL WAGES. BITTER COLD.
LONG MONTHS OF COMPLETE DARKNESS
CONSTANT DANGER
SAFE RETURN DOUBTFUL
HONOUR AND RECOGNITION
IN CASE OF SUCCESS
______________

OK…Where do I sign, Ernie?

Early in their journey, the ship, The Endurance, was stranded in an inescapable ice pack. What followed was a battle for survival. As the ship was hopelessly wedged into the ice, the crew settled in for the 7 month wait for winter to pass.

At the coffee place the other day, you know the one, I was a little bothered when they told me it would take 3 or 4 minutes for them to brew some fresh decaf. THREE OR FOUR MINUTES!! OUTRAGEOUS!

Seven months? And that was without the complete assurance that all would be well after the thaw. I can’t go into the details of how these men coped with this dilemma but would recommend that you watch this movie. It’s inspiring. You might not book that vacation trip to Antarctica, but it is inspiring.

Ultimately, the crew and it’s leadership abandoned all hope of accomplishing their goal of crossing the continent. Now, the target was survival. Their leader, Sir Ernest, carefully monitored the morale of his men, instituted strict standards of rationing food and supplies and made decisions almost completely without emotion. His attitude was, “This is the hand we’re dealt.”

On one particular night, while the entire crew was camped on an ice pack, a crack developed and one man, sleeping bag and all, went into the frigid water. Knowing that within minutes he’d be dead, Shackleton pulled him out and saved his life. While the survivor was thankful and glad to be alive, his only regret was that his store of tobacco was now at the bottom of the sea.

When supplies were passed out, knowing that their only hope was to trek the ice back to civilization, lots were drawn for the limited number of fur sleeping bags. To the crews quiet amazement, Shackleton and the others in leadership all drew the wool sleeping bags, leaving the warmer fur bags for the crew.

Ernest Shackleton put himself at great risk to make sure every single one of his party got home. When, in the final weeks, Shackleton and a small portion of the party made their way in a 20 foot boat to try and find help, leaving 8 men on Elephant Island, the odds seemed insurmountable. When they finally procured a large enough ship and crew to return to the island to rescue the remaining men, they approached and saw that all 8 were still alive. They had been waiting for ten weeks to be rescued - not even knowing if their captain and comrades had survived the trip for help in one of the most dangerous oceans on the planet.

These were not necessarily important men. They were, to some degree, misfits and hardened sailors looking for adventure. Leaving home and family for, what turned out to be, almost two years, wouldn’t be an option for just anyone.

They did not know fame or glory or wealth. What did they contribute to the betterment of the world?

Yet, when all seemed lost, Shackleton risked everything to save them . . . all of them . . . every single one of them. After abandoning his dream to cross Antarctica, the thing that drove him, more than anything else, was his desire to return his men to their homes and families.

Such regard for life. Such value in every soul. Even those that seemed to be simply ordinary.

Easter is coming.

The inexplicable sacrifice of the Lamb of God, the Only Son, for, not only the gifted, the special, the noble and upright, but for the ordinary, the typical, the fallen, the hopeless.

God, finding value in every single one of us . . . in you. You were worth the search. You were worth dying for.

Not just a sacrifice of a mere mortal. The Blood of an Innocent shed for the forgiveness of sin.

Mine . . . yours.

“Thank you.”

Wayne

2009-03-16T13:14:00.001-05:00

A friend invited me to join him and another at the Big 12 Basketball tournament this past weekend. At first, I thought, “Nah” but then reconsidered. I haven’t been out of town since the day in January when all the fun started at the hospital so I guess I was a little apprehensive about traveling. Close to home has been comfortable and familiar and safe.

It was a short flight to Oklahoma City on Thursday and I took a cab to the Ford Center where the men’s games were being played. Honestly, I’m not much of a March Madness kind of guy. Don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate the level of passion in the fans of college basketball, and I guess if the round ballers from Louisiana Tech University were in the hunt for a berth at the NCAA Tournament, I might be a little more interested. But hey, it was a guys getaway weekend.

There was a game in progress when I arrived and we watched two more after that. I had asked Jim, before deciding to go, what it would be like. “Overeating” he replied. Not food – over indulging on college basketball.

I have to say I loved it. Out of all the games we watched, there was only one blowout and all the rest were really close. The most intense was between Oklahoma University and Oklahoma State. Of course, the place was packed with fans from both places and to say they were loud would be an understatement. It came down to the wire with the underdog OSU Cowboys going on to the next round.

The only personal tie I had to any school represented was to Baylor University. My youngest son Adam is an alum as is my wife. So the Bears were the pick. Again, I’ve not followed Baylor basketball at all, but in this setting, it was a lot of fun. By the way, Baylor won their way through the brackets to be in the finals only to be beaten by Missouri. No one, from what I hear, expected them to go that far. Baylor had to be on a real high after beating the mighty Texas Longhorns. I think everybody in the room, except for Longhorn fans, wanted Baylor to win. David and Goliath kind of thing, you know.

The one thing that makes college basketball so electric and draws so much interest from so many has to be the passion all around it. These young men play like they’re dying - like there’s no tomorrow. As much as I appreciate the skill it takes to play in the pro ranks of any sport, I’ve grown a little weary of the going-through-the-paces-now-pay-me attitude of many professional athletes. For a lot of these college players – most of whom won’t go on to play pro – these will be some of their finest moments. Few of them will work or play in venues where eighteen thousand people cheer their every move.

Another thing I couldn’t help but notice was that the fans were, for the most part, very civil toward one another. Alcohol sales were suspended during the entire event so maybe that helped everyone keep their heads. Mostly, there was good natured ribbing and posturing for school pride. Sitting beside me at one game was a husband and wife – one a grad from OU and the other a OSU alum. When OSU beat the favored OU team, the husband asked his wife how she was gonna get home. Hee Hee.

Every school had it’s pep band there to make a little noise and inspire their team with music. I know you can’t see it in this picture, but in the bottom corner of the band stand, there are three girls playing piccolo. In a room of thousands of cheering fans, a section of trumpets, trombones, a few tubas, and a drum set, these three played their piccolos as if they were center stage. Says something about teamwork to me. No, the contribution you make might not seem to make much of a difference. No, you might not even be able to hear it but take enough elements out of the whole that you can’t audibly distinguish and something is just missing. Everybody has a part to play.

And now let’s take the offering.

On Friday, Roy and I went to the Cowboy Museum and Hall of Fame. Roy’s dad was a real, working cowboy as were some other members of his family. He really wanted to see the museum so I went along. Like the tournament, I didn’t know how much I’d be interested in a cowboy museum.

Fascinating.

I think most of us blow things off that we’re not “into” and miss a lot as a result. Being too cool for school make you feel hip and edgy? We’re all real impressed.
Get over yourself. I’m talking to you!

OK I’m talking to me, too.

Here are some pics from the museum. What’s Honest Abe doing here? Fact is, he opened the door for the development of the Western United States with some of his presidential power.

The statue, “The End of the Trail” is the original that has been reproduced so many times in much smaller scale. It stands in the entrance of the museum.

The Duke. Enough said.

There were displays of all kinds that made me feel like (and almost wish I were) a kid again. You know, when someone would ask you, “Son, what do you want to be when you grow up?” Back in the day when the first answer that popped into your head was cowboy or fireman or astronaut.

Some of the sweetest memories I have of my father were of Sunday nights at home after church. My mom and brother stayed and had choir practice before I was old enough to join, so Dad and I went home and made BBQ beef sandwiches from the lunch leftovers. Dad had a homemade sauce recipe that just killed. Makes my mouth water just thinking about it. Once, he and I talked about bottling it. Taking into account the ingredients, we figured it would cost about $9 a bottle – and this was in 1963!

Anyway, we’d make up a batch of chopped BBQ and sit down to watch Bonanza on TV – just me and Dad. Still a great memory of a day when I dreamed, even if for a short time, of being a cowboy. They made it look so cool. I’m sure it had it’s down side and probably wasn’t as neat and tidy as the Ponderosa looked to be. Dreams of being a cowboy quickly faded into dreams of baseball stardom then on to something else.

When do dreams stop? Is there a predetermined age when you’re not allowed to dream anymore? Of course not. Dream on. Time’s flying.

Wayne

2009-03-11T11:19:00.000-05:00

OK… I’m coming clean.

There is a Seinfeld episode where Jerry and friends find themselves in a police station somewhere in the city. Kramer has a friend who’s a sketch artist and before George will go on a blind date (being arranged by Kramer) he wants to see some likeness of the woman of the hour (but with these characters, it’s really more like the woman of the half hour). Jerry, usually uninterested in anything that’s not about him, finds his mind and his eyes wandering until he spots an attractive blonde in uniform. They make small talk and the subject goes to the polygraph machine. The female sergeant makes a comment about the famous people they’ve had on the machine – “A certain member of the cast of Melrose Place. Do you watch the show?” “No – never watch it” says Jerry. For some reason, she wants to put him on the polygraph. “I think you’re lying – I think you watch it” she says.

I watch American Idol.

Not all the time but I do watch it. I know, I know, I’d come off much more hip and mysterious if I said I’d never seen it but it’s fascinating because it’s one of the most popular shows on television. That alone should make me suspicious but something like twenty-five to thirty million people watch every episode. Mind boggling – or as one of the judges said last night, “I’m mind-boggled.”

But I have to tell you it’s becoming more and more difficult to watch. The commercials alone would be enough to make me never turn the thing on if it weren’t for DVR. We usually start watching about fifteen minutes after the show starts, but more and more often, we catch up to real time in no time. Then it’s just painful.

The assortment of talent this season is above average and I’m intrigued at the song choices they make, the keys they choose to sing in, the dance steps (wow, a lot of them have to be Baptist, ‘cause the dancing is, well, it ain’t pretty and I should know!), the things they say during the interviews, etc.

These kids have to be shell-shocked to be living in relative obscurity (a couple of them are sixteen . . . and they’re some of the better singers on the show) then suddenly pushed onto a stage in front of hundreds in the live audience and millions watching on TV.

The promise of fame and fortune is a strong magnet.

I saw a piece on Van Morrison on CBS Sunday Morning this past week. Yes, I recorded it and watched it later. Yes, I was at church while it played live. OK? Anyhoo, Van Morrison is 63 years old, has sold seventy million albums, has done, almost, an album a year over his 40 year career. He’s reluctant to do interviews but is promoting a new album that was cut live at Madison Square Garden. Actually, it is a re-recording of one of his earliest works. When asked if there was anything good about fame, he replied, “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Come on Van. I like the whole semi-reclusive bit and I appreciate the shadowy artistic struggle persona and all but your fame has been pretty good to you and frankly, at 63 you can still bring it! You might want to say “Thank You” to Somebody! Maybe he does. I hate it when I jump to conclusions about people I don’t even know. He does reflect a spiritual side in some of his music so let’s hope the best, believe the best and pray that Van knows from where his gift and his blessings flow.

So do you think that any of the Idol contestants don’t want their shot? Of course they want their shot just like you do and just like I do. They’re young and have their whole lives before them. There are behind the scenes stories about these good looking kids – some are single parents (already?), others starving artists trying to make a statement. There’s one guy named Danny that obviously has a church music background (hey, he might even know the words to Watercolor Ponies or something). Last night, one of the judges commented on Danny’s joy. Hmm. Ya think?

When the contestants pick the wrong song, as happens so often, things don’t go well. I think more often, they pick the wrong key. I know when I’m sitting alone with the guitar or piano, writing something new or getting ready to lead worship, the key that feels comfortable in private is just too low for the platform. Adrenaline kicks in and most of us need to pitch things a little higher to communicate the passion and put the edge on the voice. This happens all the time on Idol. Just a thought.

And some of the songs don’t need to be touched by these relative newbies. If nothing else, it should make them and all of us appreciate the musicality, if not the lifestyle, of the original performer. Last night, they sang songs of Michael Jackson. Some great pop songs but otherwise, “No comment.”

Be wise and careful, I would say. And raise the key one step!

******

“OK mister, is there anything remotely spiritual about any of this?”

Oh, I think there’re spiritual elements to most everything. I can’t help but pull for the underdog but appreciate the greater talent. That’s a primal spiritual struggle right there. I can’t help but be a little sad that our culture praises and elevates someone yet unproven with little more to offer than cool clothes, a good voice and a firm resolve to face down Simon Cowell. But maybe they’re deeper and made of bigger stuff and just need the chance to show it. Things so unimportant and insignificant are made to seem so important and so significant. I suppose this contest is significant to those in the running because it could change their lives, the lives of their families. I just pray it will be a change for the better, for the more honorable, the more noble.

And I pray that I’ll live this day pleasing to God wherever I go and whatever I do. You too?

By the way, the picture at the top is of a house in our neighborhood. Unbelievable. Clark Griswald eat your heart out. I took it a Christmas and, well, with all that's happened since, I just forgot to share it with you. How'd ya like to be this guy's neighbor??

2009-02-28T15:27:00.000-06:00

So, I’m six weeks past this surgery. Recovering slowly but getting a little back every day. It comes in small increments. I go out to walk almost every day and usually keep going for about 30 to 40 minutes. At the beginning, I feel strong and think this is gonna be cake. The last 5 to 10 minutes, my feet feel like bricks and I notice I’m starting to slump forward a bit. Old ladies are passing me! Geez.

But I’m thankful. The position of gratitude, no matter what you’re going through, is a good one. There is always something to be thankful for. Always. Look around and say one thing – “I’m thankful for __________.”

The bags are not packed for the next trip, the next concert, yet. Heck, the bags are still in the closet on the top shelf. I had great expectations for 2009 and now, here we are beginning month 3 and most of what I’ve done this year could be summed up in short paragraphs. I’ve been on the bench for a long stretch.

I did get to go back and lead worship at my church last Sunday and will be there again tomorrow. These days, when I’m not out of town for other concerts, I’m at Chapelwood United Methodist here in Houston. They’ve been terrific through this whole recovery thing. Patient, prayerful and supportive. I’m leading the worship at the 9:45 service (one of three on Sunday mornings) so if you’re in the area, drop in!

Their perspective on worship is so refreshing. I met with some of the singers last Wednesday and some of the instrumentalists. I challenged them to pursue another level as they lead others in worship. . . . to be united, to pursue a pure motive and to sing as if they’ll never get another chance to sing (or play), to listen and to pray.

The people that walk into the sanctuary are not so concerned about perfect pitch, the perfect guitar riff, or the perfect anything. But that’s not a license to be lazy and shrug and say “hey, it’s just church music.” I hate that attitude. I want us to offer God our best.
But the people in the seats are coming from all kinds of places. Some of them fought with their spouse on the way to church, some found drugs in the kids closet, some are on the verge of ruin at work, some are about to be found out and don’t know where to turn. While some want to come and worship, others don’t really know what that means. Some simply want to be in an environment of worship for a few minutes. They don’t care what kind of guitar I’m playing or anything close to that. They want relief and refreshment at the feet of the Savior.

So we’re going to give it a go in the morning.

***

It’s getting harder and harder to be a casual news watcher anymore. I can’t leave it on for very long. Networks use fear and scare tactics keep us watching like voyeurs waiting to horrible train wreck. Why? So we can say “I saw it” or “I was there.”? It really does little, if anything to build my faith. It takes my eyes off my Provider and puts them on myself. Then the pressure builds. I have to actively refuse, almost minute by minute every day, to take part in this style of living. But we will stand. By His grace and His mercy, we will stand.

I’ve never seen a concert schedule like this. 2009 is my thirtieth year to be in this work of Christian music and ministry. To say that a lot has changed would be one of the more ridiculous statements I could make (but, hey, stand by . . . I’m sure there’ll be lots of other ridiculous statements before this is over!). Usually, the spring is a good, busy time. But I’ve got very little on the books right now. And neither do many of my colleagues and peers.

I know the economy has everyone frozen. Churches are freezing their programs and holding their collective breaths to see if the faithful are going to continue to be faithful – in their giving. I remind myself and, therefore, you that God is faithful and that we cannot outgive Him. Bring your gifts and offerings to His house. Help the church be a place where people can come to during these stressful days – a place of peace and healing from the worries of our lives.

I’ve never felt more passionate about what I’m doing and after thirty years, realize that time is flying by and I don’t want to waste any time. I pray, and would ask you to pray, for opportunities to sing and share what God has given me to share. Anywhere, anytime.

And for you, don’t buy into the fear that’s spread from the airwaves everyday. Remember, these news agencies have to fill the airtime with something. They have to make stories where there may not be a story. They have to make you think you’re out of touch if you don’t stay tuned. How many times have you heard an anchor person say, right before they go to commercial, “You won’t believe what’s coming up next.”?

The Maker of the Universe knows what’s coming up next and then some, he knows you, He loves you and He cares for you. Trust Him.

Blessings.

Wayne Watson
February 28. 2009

2009-02-04T11:59:00.000-06:00

OK, I know it’s been a long, long time since I’ve communicated through the site to you all and for that, I apologize.

Christmas came and blew by like a storm front, didn’t it. Where did it go?

Before we knew it, the new year was off and running.

On January 14, I went down hard, took an ambulance ride to the hospital with full lights and audio.

I was in a complete fog – and pain like I'd never ever experienced before. But I was conscious enough to see, and be very disappointed in the fact, that there was no team of young, energetic, skillful surgeons waiting as the ambulance pulled up to the door. Guess I’ve watched too much Grey’s Anatomy or ER ‘cause I really expected there to be a group all scrubbed up, decked out, assembled and ready to jump into my case. Instead the EMTs rolled me up to the desk like we were waiting to check into a hotel.

I spent more than a few hours in the ER. People coming and going, taking things from me, giving their educated guesses as to what the heck was causing all this pain. Whatever they gave me, finally, dialed down the hurt to manageable.

The doctor in charge of the ER said they were going to admit me. Whatever. Do something.

Hours passed, and the next morning, I found myself in prep for surgery. A tiny little curtained off section and a gurney surrounded by a couple of nurses, the doc (trying to explain what was about to happen), my dear friend John Barksdale, and my wife.

The only thing I remember was a beautiful prayer then a short ride to the operating room. Again, where were the cool lights and shadows like the OR on TV?? This place was lit up like a football field. White, bright everywhere. Thinking it over, I guess you do want them to be able to see EVERYTHING! I mean, EVERYTHING, RIGHT?

There was no “Count backwards starting with ten” or any of that stuff. Just a swift “goodnight.” Out.

I was in the hospital for a while and it took a few days before they said I was in the clear.

Again, I have no point of reference for all of this. Never really been sick that much and certainly not many hospital stays.

It makes you think. Not like missing a flight makes you think. This made me think.

And thankful doesn’t even begin to say it.

I do have to say, though, that whatever my doctor and his team earns for their skill, for all the years of training and education, all the sleepless nights while interning - they’re worth every penny and more. It was a great comfort to me to know that my surgeon is a Christian and leans on the Father to guide his mind and hands. It’s not often that you get to thank someone for literally saving your life. This was the first time for me.

So all that to say, I’ll be fine. Actually, better than fine.

I am anxious to get back to leading worship at Chapelwood UMC here in Houston on February 21st and will be all over the tour dates that are being scheduled right now.

I’ll be certain to take God’s mercy and grace more to heart than ever before. There is still a lot to do. There are new songs to sing. New experiences of God’s goodness everyday. And I’m thankful to be in a place to see Him work.

Thanks so much for your continued prayers, support and kind, encouraging words. I’ll be more in touch in the days ahead.

Wayne

Merry Christmas!

2008-12-18T15:08:00.000-06:00

Well, it’s almost Christmas again. Man, where does the time go?

Living in Houston makes for interesting Christmas weather. It changes every day from drastic ( at least to us ) cold to the mid-seventies. As I write this, it’s a balmy 76 outside on this, the 18th of December 2008.

Early this week, I was driving to the airport in Tulsa, OK to fly home. On concert day, Sunday, the temp was 75 and by concert time it was 20! Driving to the airport was a delicate skate across interstate ice with a temp of 16. I mean, almost 60 degrees in 24 hours.

Oh well, it keeps it interesting.

But the sights and sounds of Christmas are everywhere and I love it.

We were out to dinner with some friends the other night. As we were about to leave, in came a distinguished looking group of mature gentlemen. Some had to be in their 80s and there were a couple of kids that were probably new to the group – the “kids” were probably 50 or so. It was an unusual sight and they looked as if this restaurant were a frequent stop.

I couldn’t help but wonder what drew them together at this particular time and place. I mean, they looked as if they had just come from a high level board meeting or something. Coats and ties with that board member air about them.

In a few minutes, we heard singing. I looked around to find the source of this impromptu Christmas carol and was surprised to see it was coming from the table full of old, merry gentlemen. God rest ‘em. And it wasn’t just some made up, spur of the moment arrangement of a familiar carol. It was a real, rehearsed piece that, I could tell, they’d done before – maybe many times before.

I asked the waiter “So, what’s the story with those guys”? He said they were regulars – some sort of singing group. He didn’t know where they sang or where they come from.

Before we left, they had burst into song three or four times to the delight of families and other diners. They good-naturedly pointed their crooked fingers at a little boy while they belted out “…he sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awake”. Smiles and warm hearts all around.

Whether you’re warm or freezing right now, Christmas is sweet. I hope it is for you.

Some find Christmas troublesome and disturbing. It is not a season of tender memories but rather sorrows, disappointments, and sadness. Some of you can’t wait for it to be over. I know that feeling.

But I’ll go to my regular reminder to be thankful for something this Christmas. Find something for which to say “thank you”. It’ll help.

I think most people would like to keep baby Jesus right there in that manger. Snug in his little swaddling clothes (whatever they are) and all tucked in where he can’t cause any trouble. Because, let’s face it, Baby Jesus isn’t much of a threat. To some degree, I can control the Baby.

But that’s denying the innate power He was born with. The trappings of a infant body wouldn’t really do much to prohibit an exhibition of the power of God. I guess it just puts us at ease and lets us get used to the idea – God with us.

The baby in the manger doesn’t hold sin over me. He can’t speak so he can’t call me to obey and walk holy. What a sweet baby. We like the baby.

If it could only be Christmas all year long.

If he could just stay a baby I could do whatever I like. You could too.

But the baby grew to be a man. And in walking this planet with us, saw how we lived first hand, was tempted as we are yet without failure, loved his enemies, cared for the sick and poor and helpless, called sin what it is, spoke only truth but spoke it in love even if it sounded harsh to the ears of the hearer – died for the sins of the earth – reconciled us to God the Father.

What a beautiful Christmas it would be for you and yours to all acknowledge that Gift. The Gift that came wrapped as innocence and helplessness but was really all the power of the universe in one Man.

The Son of God became the Son of Man so that the sons of men could become the children of God. *

Bless you all. I hope to see and meet many more of you out there on the road in 2009! Have a wonderful Christmas!

Wayne

*I would give proper acknowledgement to the author of this quote if I knew it.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2008-11-28T11:15:00.000-06:00

A few weeks ago, I went flying to Nashville then driving a few miles north to Hendersonville, TN – the home of TBN studios. TBN was nice enough to invite me to do a half hour Christmas special for broadcast this coming season.

Their grounds were decorated to the hilt for Christmas with more lights than you could count and varying scenes from the manger to fields of Christmas trees, sleighs and Wise Men.

We set up right in front of the main house on the grounds. Just so happens it used to be the private home of country music legend, Conway Twitty. Before TBN purchased the property, it was known as Twitty City….yes, you read that right . . . Twitty City. You might have heard of Dollywood in the east Tennessee hills near Gatlinburg. The theme park opened and featuring music and the life of Dolly Parton. Well, Twitty City, on a little bit smaller scale, allowed fans of Conway Twitty a more up close and personal look at the Twitty life.

So, TBN has converted this property to their Tennessee home and run many of their programs from there. I think it’s pretty cool that there is a presence there that can afford so many Christian artists – many of whom live in the Nashville area – opportunities to be on the TBN programs.

I was thankful to be there and thankful to have some time on their upcoming Christmas schedule. Thanks to Jennye Gardner and to the entire staff – camera men, audio team and production staff for a great time.
******

I got to spend the night with my son, Neal and his boys. Man, they’re growing up so fast – and changing.

From Nashville, I went on to Ohio to play a concert in Dublin. The pastor and all the folks at Meadowbrook Christian Fellowship were so good to me.

I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying this again. While the music industry is changing as fast as little boys are growing up, I never cease to be amazed at the love and hospitality I find in churches all over the country. And churches of all sizes. At one point, we (read “I”) were so concerned with the size of the venue and how many tickets were sold. It got in the way of the simple beauty of intimate worship and fellowship. There are fewer pressures and that makes way for a peaceful time with each other and with Him.

Speaking of simple pleasures and laying back…the week before Nashville and Ohio, I was in Michigan and Indiana. I’ve seen the random Amish buggy before, but good grief, there were just about as many buggies as cars! They don’t seem worried about the price of gasoline either. I saw some out at 11:30 at night. . . with lights and ground effects! Didn’t hear any bass coming from their stereos though. And the exhaust was, uh, different.

A happy Thanksgiving season to you all. By the way, rev up to spread “Merry Christmas” to everybody for the next month. The other day, I passed a Salvation Army volunteer ringing his bell outside a drug store. As I walked by, he gave me a very warm “Happy Holidays”. I’m not really an in-your-face activist type, but I was so stunned that the Salvation Army has gone all “Happy Holidays” on us that . . . well . . .

Anyway, as always I’m thankful for all of you that read and follow and pray for me.

Blessings.

Wayne

2008-11-13T16:09:00.000-06:00

Hey Everybody....

Well, better late than never! I'm taping a Christmas special at the TBN studios in Nashville tonight - Nov. 13 2008. We're starting at 5PM central time and I'd really appreciate your prayers! Thanks.

Wayne

itunes!

2008-10-09T10:55:00.000-05:00

Hey Everyone -

Just wanted to let you know that "King of Kings" ( the newest Christmas project ) is now available on itunes. But Hey - don't ya really want the whole thing - the real thing??

Tell your friends!

And Thanks.

Wayne

simple things - september 24, 2008

2008-09-25T10:02:00.000-05:00

I went to Minute Maid Park here in Houston last night with some friends to watch the Astros play the Cincinnati Reds. Both teams are pretty much out of the playoff picture. The Astros are currently in third place in the division and the Reds in fifth. I think, and this changes daily of course, that there is still a miniscule chance for the Astros to be the wildcard team, but I’m not sure.

Still, there were probably twenty thousand people there to see the game. Twenty thousand.

This is still a city very much in recovery mode. All over town, there are lots of traffic lights out. Pretty much a NASCAR event when an intersection with three or four lanes of traffic from every direction suddenly becomes a four-way stop. People rev their engines like they’re on a drag strip. Once you’re in the intersection, you’d better just gun it and pray.

There is debris everywhere. What used to be beautiful trees shading beautiful neighborhoods are lying on the sidewalks waiting to be taken away to who knows where. Might be a good time to go into the mulching business.

But I, and twenty thousand of my closest friends, took a few hours off and made the trip downtown to see two teams that are playing for Sunday – the last day of the regular season. After Sunday, they’ll pack up their lockers, put away their gear until next February, gather their families and probably take a long vacation. Fishing, golf, Disneyland, World or whatever the new Disney thing is today. Lots of them will relocate their families back to their real homes, leaving the rented villas or townhomes or country club properties they occupy during the baseball season While some live in Houston, others spend the off season in different parts of the country. That’s where they’ll collect their thoughts and memories of the 2008 baseball season – the things they did right and the things that went wrong. That’s where they’ll begin to recharge for the next season. “Wait ‘till next year” will be on their minds in a matter of days or weeks.

They played the game last night, although it was meaningless to the playoff picture, because that’s what they’re paid to do - play ball. I went to the game because I’ve just always loved the game. In the past, out on motorcycle rides in the country as night was falling, I’d always turn my wheels toward lights in the distance in hopes of being able to sit still for a few and watch a game. It didn’t matter if it were a little league game or a high school game or even a game of softball. It was comfort. It was timeless. Living in the city now, I don’t do that much anymore. But still, when I’m traveling anywhere at night and I see the glow of lights on a ball field, I want to stop and take in a few innings.

Simple things.

My mom is settling into her new life in a great little nursing home in the town where I grew up in Louisiana. She was ready to go. The burden of my childhood home was too much for her. She lived there alone these eleven plus years since my dad passed. Now, she enjoys the security of her room, the attention and love and care of professional medical personnel and the fellowship of her neighbors. She just loves to visit and talk. That’s all. She reads, listens to classical cds (and maybe, some of mine) and watches some television though I suspect most of the stuff on the box these days is way too racy for her. I can see her gasp or sigh at the loose moral fabric on display in current popular tv shows. I shake my head at most of it myself.

Her life might not sound very exciting but the simple pleasures that happen every day bring her happiness. She still finds consolation and peace in God’s Word. She’s never strayed from that rock that’s been the touchstone of her strength her whole life. Even when she can’t reconcile what is with what ought to be, she trusts it to God and the vastness of His mercy and grace.

It’s just that simple.

Our city is getting back to normal but I’m not sure I really like everything about normal. Hurricane Ike set us on our heals and took away a lot of conveniences – things that allow us to go through our everyday lives and routines. Now, the routines have changed. Most of them have been forced slow-downs that involve more waiting. I don’t like waiting. Waiting is so . . . so simple and mindless to some degree.

I can’t imagine the conversations, the games, the forced togetherness that might expose some real needs in relationships. With the television off and the internet down, now might be a defining moment for lots of families. I’ve prayed that it will be for all of us - that we’ll take advantage of the unexpected guest of stillness to sift through some of the issues buried beneath everyday distractions.

You can, too. Wherever you are. There are “power off” buttons on just about everything! Push ‘em.

Thank You, Immovable, Unchangeable, Unflappable Father for Your Mercy and Grace and immeasurable blessing.

Wayne Watson
September 24, 2008

North to Alaska

2008-09-19T10:13:00.000-05:00

The picture at the top of the piece I wrote yesterday must have been confusing. The whole thing was about Hurricane Ike and there I was in the picture standing in a jacket and ski cap in front of a glacier! Some people must have been thinking “Hurricane, heck, it looks like another ice age!”

My website guys tell me to put pictures on the blog. “People love pictures!” So there you have it.

On August 9th, I hopped on the cruise ship Oosterdam in Seattle with some other artists and over two hundred folks from all over the country. We were a small part of the large crowd aboard the ship. I’ve done a few of these Christian Cruises in the past. This one was really appealing to me because the host/sponsors were the folks from the gigantic music festival, Spirit West Coast. I’ve known the head of Spirit West Coast, Jon Roberrson, for almost 25 years. He’s a veteran of Christian concert promotions and he invited me to go on this trip.

I played at Spirit West Coast (both festivals – one in San Diego and the other on the Monterrey Peninsula) in the summer of 2007. Jon and his staff were so kind to invite me to those events. Honestly, the festivals are filled with the strongest current artist rosters you can imagine. Everyone from Leland to Switchfoot. And me. I played these things years ago but not so much lately. But Jon appreciates heart and passion. I’m thankful to still have both for the work.

The other artists were Phil Joel, Bebo Norman (along with his long-time multi-talented sideman, Gabe Scott), Aaron Shust , Comedian - Bob Smiley and Matthew West.

(L to R) Me, Bebo Norman, Gabe Scott, Bob Smiley, Aaron Shust, Matthew West, Phil Joel.

It was a great lineup and I think the folks that came on the cruise were moved, inspired and entertained.

We took off from Seattle headed toward Alaska.

Beautiful, wild country. I think I saw Sarah Palin kill a moose one morning off in the distance.

We stopped at several ports – Juneau, Ketchikan, Sitka, and Victoria, BC. The most incredible time was the few hours spent in front of the Hubbard Glacier. These pictures are from the time near the Hubbard. When I heard that we were going to be spending the morning looking at a glacier, I was, well, less than enthusiastic. I figured it would be sort of like watching paint dry, grass grow or the ice machine in my fridge do its thing.

Wrong.

As we were still 10 or 15 miles away, I began to see this incredible work of nature come into view. Didn’t look like much at first but as we got closer, I was overwhelmed at the sight – at just the thought - of this monster wave of frozen tundra. I thought about the time it took to form, the years it took to move to its current position, the stuff caught in it, moving with it. You know, bugs, logs, fish, etc. And then, you see big slices shearing off into the sea and a few seconds later ( I’m not really up on the specific differences in the speed of light and the speed of sound. I just know they’re, uh, different.) earthquake-like rumbles that shook the entire boat. I spent most of the morning sitting bundled up on the deck staring at this thing and taking pictures.

The color was incredible. The ice picks up the blue tint of water and sky. Amazing.

I decided then and there that I would be less generous with the use of the word “awesome” from then on. A taco is not awesome, a touchdown pass isn’t either. This work of nature, the incredibly imaginative hand of God and the intricate work He performs is truly awesome. And what’s the purpose of this work of art? I mean what’s the point? We’re so driven to know “why” and “what is the reason for this or that?” I don’t know and surely don’t have to know. That’s His business.

All I know is . . . it was . . . awesome!

Wayne Watson

After Ike

2008-09-18T09:44:00.001-05:00

Well, it’s been a long, long time. I’m sorry that I’ve not been updating the blog more regularly but I’ll try to fill you all in on what’s going on here in Houston.

Our course, giving you some insight to what’s happened here in the last week could take a while. Really, without being overly dramatic, the city and the surrounding areas are just very badly shaken. It’s unnerving to drive around and see the scope of the damage to property, nature and human lives. People from all walks of life are just meandering in a sort of daze – but trying to keep their spirits up. Most of them are out on a mission. Finding a gas station with a supply and the electrical power to pump it. Finding a station where the wait is less than an hour. It seems that keeping fuel in the tank brings some sort of security to us all. It’s odd, I admit. I try to dismiss it and not analyze too much but when my gas gauge gets near the half way point, I have to say, it’s, well, it’s just weird.

There are pockets of the city – and the pockets are no respecters of class or stock portfolio - where the power has been off since last Friday evening. It’s one thing to drive past during the day and sense the stillness of a once beautiful neighborhood, but quite another to pass through at night. It’s dark and still. Most of the residences are vacant, the owners off to stay with friends or relatives or perhaps, off to a second home in the hill country.

Others that live more normal lives simply have to make do. They spend their days trying to accomplish some simple task. Finding groceries, a restaurant, another gas station.

It’s strange that a city of four million people can be brought to it’s knees by a single force of nature. It’s aftermath magnifies the size of this community. It shows the gigantic scope of it’s business and commerce. I can’t imagine anyone will ever be able to put a price on what was lost and continues to be lost today.

It’s interesting to me that we’re all quick to try and estimate the price of the loss. It’s some sort of twist in the nature of a human, I think. It might say something about what we value. It might suggest that we shift the once important, prioritized items to a lower place on our list. Material things that can be so quickly snatched from our tight hold might not be worth all the energy it takes to protect them. Just sayin’.

The broken record in me still plays “Be thankful, be thankful, be thankful.” And I am. I am unharmed, for the most part, as are all those I love. Unharmed except that my heart aches at the constant sight of tragedy. It’s literally everywhere you look in Houston.

I’ve not ventured too far from here. There is comfort in staying close to home right now. Watching things unfold around me. Lending a hand when I can. A kind word. A sympathetic question? An ear.

And there is mild humor in some of it. It’s still funny to me to watch the televison and hear them tell where relief and aid are going to be set up today. They’re doing a good job, I suppose, but the people that need most of the information they’re dispensing aren’t watching TV – no power! “Go to our website and get info on this or that.” Uh…again, I can’t go to your website if my wall plugs are dead. In 2008, it’s still a good idea to go to Radio Shack and spend ten dollars on a battery operated radio.

Humor and danger mixed together at intersections that used to be governed by traffic lights. Now, four-way stops all over this big city left to the imaginations of a dozen drivers at once trying to determine when it’s “my turn” without adding a car accident to the list of disappointments and stressors today! It’s entertaining in a sick sort of way, I suppose to observe the nature of a human hurrying through a dangerous intersection to get to – where – an open McDonalds? It just seems to be very important to keep moving – make progress toward anywhere or anything. Interesting creatures.

Then, you try to make sense of it all from a spiritual point of view. The Bible says the rain falls on the just and the unjust. So, you see one place spared and another crushed. One church untouched and another disabled. I don’t know. I’m not sure things work like that. I don’t know.

One story told of a couple that left home and took shelter with a relative only to be killed by a tree that fell on them in what they thought was a safe place. What does “safe” mean?

It will be months and maybe years before some parts of the gulf coast are back in order. Parts of it will never come back. Or at least not like before. You have to live with change and believe that change is ok. That it’s cleansing, though painful

So how do you and I pray? We prayed for God to calm the storm before it reached land on Friday. It was only a Category 1 storm but still wrecked this part of the world. What would have happened if it had been a Cat 5? We prayed for mercy and found it. We prayed for survival and did. But what about those, at last count 50, people that didn’t survive?

Fall on your knees and say “thank You” with me.

Thank You that you are Sovereign over life and death, You are still God and I am not. Thank You that I don’t have to know everything. Thank You that You are trustworthy even when I don’t see it. Thank You that nothing can separate me from the love of God. “Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution or famine or nakedness or peril or sword?” (Romans 8:35) Nothing.

So in this mess and this upheaval – in this major disturbance and inconvenience, God is unshaken and unmoved from His course of a severe mercy and unimaginable love.

Wayne Watson
September 18, 2008

Really Jazzed

2008-07-31T11:47:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, my friend Kirk Whalum, sent me a text message. (Check out his website – he’s a world-class sax player with more honors and accolades than I could list) He was booked to do a show at the Arena Theater in Houston on Friday the 25th of July and said he’d put aside a couple of tickets for me.

I was pretty whipped from the trip to Nashville, the concert and the family visit, etc. Heck, the travel alone can wear me out. If you do it often, you know what I mean.

But I got home in time and Friday afternoon Kirk sent another text. He said that he probably wouldn’t go on until 9:30 PM. So we modified the dinner plans, and worked our way to the theater at about 9:15.

The opening (of three) act was still on.

But as we took our seats and listened to Terisa Griffin, we knew this was going to be a special evening. Terisa and her band were in the middle of her set and the crowd was in the palm of her hand.

The Arena Theater is an old venue here in Houston. I played there a few times back in the late 80s. It’s been up and down, through closings and re-openings, under new management several times. This was the first time I’d been there in years. It’s unique because it’s an in-the-round setting and the stage revolves. One of the first things we heard Terisa say was something to the effect of “Wow, I look out there and see somebody and then I look again and they’re gone!”

During one of her last songs, she sat on a road case ( the band is visible front and back – you get to see all the workings of the drummer, the backs of amps, etc. It’s kinda cool).
While she was singing, she tipped over, hit the floor in all her glory and splendor, propped her elbow up on the case and just kept bringing it. The place went wild.

The next artist was Jonathan Butler. The third text I got from Kirk on Friday, after he informed me that he (the headliner) wouldn’t go on until late, was “on second thought, don’t miss Jonathan Butler!”

I didn’t know Jonathan’s music. Let me tell you right now, if you ever get a chance to see Kirk or Jonathan, you’ll be blown away. I told Kirk after the show that we expected to be entertained but never expected to be ministered to and so blessed by the evening and the music and the heart!

These guys love Jesus. In what was an absolutely no-holds-barred professional jazz show, the Name was being praised and glorified in every note. If you pay attention to the countenance of Jonathan Butler and Kirk Whalum, you’ll see Christ in them. And can they ever play!

Jonathan’s a world class singer and guitar player. Most of his set was praise music of a kind you won’t hear very often. Go and buy his CDs!!

And Kirk Whalum makes a sax speak like few others that have ever played. Both of these guys throw down and make music for the audience but it’s clear who they play for. The room could be full or not and the passion would still be there.

I saw Kirk on a promotional tour one night. He was playing at a Border’s Bookstore in Houston sponsored by the smooth jazz station here in town. He was promoting a new CD called “Roundtrip.” There were probably 40 people there and he played with the same passion and energy that was there at the Arena Theater on Friday night. That speaks.

It thrills me to see brothers in different genres of music taking a joyful stand and declaring their love and gratitude to a Merciful, Gracious Savior. The lyrics to one of Jonathan’s songs says “The greatest thing that ever happened to me was when Jesus came into my life.” Kirk told the crowd after his very first song, “Few people have had such a tremendous impact on my music and my life as Jonathan Butler.” Thank you, Kirk and Jonathan for your praise to the Master with every breath and with every note in every single place you go.

Whoever you are, whatever you do, wherever you go – work the field of souls. It takes all of us.

Wayne

2008-07-31T10:13:00.000-05:00

I was in Nashville last week to play a date at Christ Presbyterian church. In addition to getting to see these cool little Watson boys to the left, I got to reconnect with a lot of old friends and made a few new ones. They are running a summer concert series and I was honored to be asked to be a part of it. Tom Grassi is the worship pastor there and, I have to say, I felt very, very welcome.

I had lots of good conversations with Tom as the date drew near. Being in Nashville, Tom has access to tremendous players – many are members of their church and play there regularly. So, Tom offered to pull a band together for me. Given the circumstances and top-notch guys he could pull in, I told him to go for it!

Again, I was thankful for all of Tom’s work in preparing the charts, the band lineup, etc. for the concert. I showed up at the church at 3:30 in the afternoon and they were already running songs. I set up my stuff, took my place and folded into the mix with them. We got to work for an hour and a half. It’s hard to walk into an unfamiliar setting with strangers playing your music. Great bands take years to get to know each other. You can feel it and hear it.

The common bond, though, with brothers in Christ transcends a lot of the unfamiliar. And the music that directs us toward Him makes a difference, too. I felt like these new friends were familiar brothers.

It felt so good to have others on the stage with me. Most every night, I’m playing solo, unplugged. These guys were great players and it just made the night more electric for me and hopefully, for those in the audience.

Thanks, Tom.

Added to the just plain fun of playing along with these brothers on stage, was the fact that there were a couple of dozen old friends in the audience. People from record companies long past were there. Too many to name, but to get to stand around after the concert and see these friends, to know that time and distance hasn’t stifled the bond we have was a huge blessing. Some of them walked through some uncomfortable business experiences with me and now, years later, we can let what’s passed stay in the past. Love covers a multitude of sins and misunderstandings, as it’s said. So many of the issues that seemed so important and urgent don’t mean much right now. They are overshadowed by faithful friendship, love between brothers and sisters in Christ, and the wisdom that comes with passing years.

Sunday, just past, I was in Cleburne, TX with Field Street Baptist Church. Dr. John Hall and his staff were waiting when I pulled up to the church – it was a 4 hour drive from my home in Houston. I like the windshield time so driving doesn’t bother me.

We went right to work on soundcheck and started the concert at 6 PM.

Most churches are doing away with Sunday night services and events so this felt like a very special occasion and a very special place. People were excited and were so responsive.

OK, I know I could go into all kinds of details about every night. Some of the details would be interesting – others would bore you to death. So what’s the point? The point is this: I’m still just overwhelmed and more thankful than I can tell you that I still have a platform, still have opportunities, and still have a literal voice to use to sing about my Lord. When I walk out into a room full of people, whether the room is a thousand or a hundred, I still think to myself how blessed I am that people come out to hear this music. Sure, some of them want to hear stuff from 25 years ago and some nights, I play it! But really, the night is about communicating the Amazing Grace and Mercy. I know, for example, a good number in the crowd in Cleburne, TX had never heard most of the songs I played that night. Many were sweet, faithful seniors – some probably didn’t like the volume or the guitar or the jeans or whatever – but this was their church home and they were there! And afterwards, I got just as many handshakes, smiles and kind words from them as from the new teenage fans that were there.

It was just sweet.

This weekend, I’m off to Kansas City, MO to the suburb of Leawood. If you’re around, come by and see me at The Church of the Resurrection. I’m there Saturday night at 5PM for their worship service, then Sunday morning, afternoon and then, a concert at 7 PM Sunday night.

Blessings. Thanks for your prayers.

Wayne

Growing?

2008-07-11T10:22:00.001-05:00

I’ve always flinched a little at that. The implication and sometimes, the downright, outright verbiage is “If you’re not growing, you’re dying.”

The questions that always come to my mind when someone goes on and on about growing is this - when is it done? Or, is it ever done? Is there a rest period? When we’re done growing, do we die? Who is really responsible for my growth? God or me? Both?

Understand these are not necessarily questions to which I have good answers and, at best, the answers seem to change every once in a while.

For the last six or seven months, I’ve been reading from a book my son and his wife gave me at Christmas last season by Frederick Buechner and it’s called “Secrets in the Dark.” I highly recommend it to you. It’s like eating dessert before breakfast for me. A rich, almost guilty pleasure. It’s been kicking off the most regular quiet time I’ve had in a long time and I enjoy it so much that, sometimes, I think as I’m reading, “I don’t think devotion is supposed to be this tasty.”

A lifetime of self-imposed guilt over stupid things I’ve done, or more often, things I’ve not done, shows its fruit and tries to steal any treasured things it can find, even in the midst of devotion and an effort to, uh, grow.

But I’ve enjoyed it so much, I wanted to share a bit from the last thing I read. It gave a few examples of things that challenged me to stretch and grow (sigh) some more and to continue to pursue that illusive, or at least, easily distracted, more Godly man I want to be.

Speaking to a group of students about their new headmaster he wrote:

First of all he’s a good listener as he is a talker, and good listeners don’t grow on trees. As far as I can tell, most people I know hardly listen at all when I try to tell them something, but seem instead just to be waiting till it’s time for them to start talking again, and that always makes me feel terribly lonely, as if the only one of us who gives a hoot about who I am and what I think is me.

The second reason I value him as a friend is that when he talks to you, you get the feeling that he’s not trying to impress you, or to sound like the kind of person he thinks you want him to be, or tell you the kind of thing he thinks you want him to say.

The third reason is that he’s kind. I don’t mean kind just on the surface with a lot of less than kind things going on behind the scenes, or kind for the sake of being popular and getting your vote. . .

See?

In every line, even when the text of this wonderful book is not directly quoting scripture or pointing me toward a Bible story, I see God in it. I see Godliness in it.

And He is in it all. In everything I do today, in everyone I encounter, I pray that He will remind me of His love for all mankind, of His delight in me as He sees me in the light of Christ and His forgiveness.

That is good soil to grow in.

Wayne Watson
July 2008

PS - And this has nothing to do with anything written above. But just be aware. I went to see the new Disney movie "Wall-E" last night thinking that next time I'm in Nashville maybe I'll take Sam (5) and Gabe (3) (Neal and Lindsay's boys) to see it. After all, it's rated "G". Right.

Well just know that it's a very direct statement about the planet and about what slobs us humans are, or are becoming. I don't know where you stand on the whole "green" thing. I think it's important to be responsible and care for the earth we inhabit but this movie is directed at children to indoctrinate them to a specific political agenda and a very specific way of thinking. Basically, that we are lazy, irresponsible brats. Well, of course, some are.

I can count on one hand the number of movies I've walked out of before the film ended. Add one more.

For what it's worth.

O What Hundred??

2008-07-07T11:28:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, I took a flight to Washington, DC - flying in on a Wednesday evening so I could be ready to hit the ground running the next day. I’d been looking forward to these concerts for a long, long time.

The Thursday night concert was set for Fort Eustis, VA and I’ve been in contact with an assistant chaplain there on and off for several weeks as the date approached. Sgt. Mike Duncan is a great guy and does a tremendous work there on the base, as do all the Chaplains and assistants. They meet a critical need.

I told Sgt. Duncan, a couple of weeks before I went there, that I’d be glad to do some extra stuff if it would be of any benefit to them and the soldiers on the base.

So, Mike set up a lunch event on the Navel Amphibious Base at Snug Harbor near Norfolk, VA. We were scheduled to leave from my hotel on the Fort Eustis base at 08:00 . . . 8 AM.

I had chosen to fly into DC the night before because, I thought, by 10 PM (22:00???) all the DC traffic would be cleared out. I was heading south on I-95 toward Virginia.

I thought the traffic in Houston was bad.

I found myself stopped two or three times on the interstate between DC and my destination for twenty or thirty minutes each time. Now, I have to tell ya, at this hour, after the day I’d had and the travel (which in case you’re wondering, is getting more and more weird) . . . well, I’ll just put it this way; when the traffic came to a standstill in the middle of the night, I wasn’t exactly singing for joy in the middle of it all!

If you missed that, you probably haven’t heard the new record! What are you waiting for??

I got to the base at 2:30 AM, found my hotel (on the base) and went to check in. The nice lady behind the counter was a little puzzled by my presence at that hour.

“You military?” she asked.

I was feeling a little salty but held my tongue. But I thought, “Lady, look at me. Do I look military? I mean the hair alone . . .”

Pause.

“Are you DOD?” she asked. Department of Defense? Again, I mean, really. I laughed inside and tried to picture myself in some undercover DOD assignment.

Sgt. Duncan and his boss, Chaplin D’Emma came to pick me up promptly at 08:00 and we drove to the NAB (letters are big in the military) in our VAN.

Without going into all the classified details, I’ll just tell you the two days with Sgt. Duncan and the other men and women that minister to our soldiers and sailors were fascinating.

I asked questions like a little kid.

I noticed that they wear the American flag patch on the upper part of their right sleeve. But the stars are on the right, as you look at it. Normally, the stars would be on the left, correct? So, I asked on of the Colonels about it and he tells me that if you’re moving forward into battle, this is how the flag looks. The wind would be blowing the flag back and the stars would be out front. “Very, very cool,” I thought. Then he went on to tell me, “The U.S. Army is always moving forward. We don’t retreat.”
Someone standing nearby said, “Sometimes we reorganize to a different location, but we don’t retreat!”

Yes sir. And thank you sir. I mean that.

All weekend long, I felt overwhelmed that these men and women are setting aside what most of us would call normal lives to stand in the gap to defend our normal lives – whatever that might be.

And the faces.

Some of them are so young – some are right out of high school. The looks on their faces were a mixture of confidence, arrogance, terror, “what the heck am I doing here?”, immortality, invincible, “try me!”

And the men and women that are there - some have been there a good part of their lives - to train these soldiers are just amazing.

General James Chambers, a two star general in command of the base at Fort Lee, VA, was the host for dinner on Friday night. We went to his home on the base and met his wife and had a great time of fellowship around the table. Come to find out they are huge Christian music fans. Again, I was speechless – well, sort of. We talked about songs and artists they liked and, I have to say, I left there on cloud nine.

Spiritual things are sensitive on military bases. There are so many different things that have to be considered and I won’t go into it here. But I will say, General Chambers came to the microphone after the concert at Fort Lee ended and made this very clear to the soldiers and others in attendance.

“We are here to train you. Your body, your mind and your spirit. What you have heard here tonight is part of your spiritual training. You have the right, in this country, to choose to believe or not. I want you to have good, solid information before you make a choice that could effect the rest of your lives and beyond.”

Amen.

I have to say, I would go anywhere in the world to sing and speak to these men and women – to try and uplift them with the truth of Christ and the knowledge that God loves them.

Pray for these soldiers. Pray for those that are responsible for their training and their welfare. Again, I was overwhelmed with the dedication and devotion the officers have for the men and women in their charge.

And one last thing. I heard the General say this to his audience at Fort Lee. He told them that the nation is behind them, the nation supports them. Certainly not everyone supports the war, but most people are for them. He told them that when soldiers returned from Viet Nam, there was a more hostile kind of welcome. Some demonstrations exhibited such animosity toward service personnel, it was shameful. He told them to realize how fortunate they were to have strangers come up to them in public places and shake their hands – say “thank you.” I’ve seen groups of soldiers in uniform walk through airports and witnessed a burst of applause from the traveling public.

Let’s keep that up.

Pray and be thankful.

Wayne

IT’S SUMMER TIME – (a little misunderstanding)

2008-06-04T14:48:00.000-05:00

I was in church on Sunday and the message was one of those I can still remember today. It’s Wednesday. How many hundreds of sermons have I heard? Thousands? And how many are forgotten – instantly. That’s not an indictment on the preacher but more on my inability to pay attention and apply what has been said to my spirit.

The message was all about communion and, in particular, the table – what the table says.

You may know that I’ve been to church a lot - all my life - so far. In my childhood days, we were regular in our church attendance on Sunday mornings, Sunday evenings, Wednesday night prayer services and, well, any other day or night when something might be going on at the church. It was the spiritual center of activity and, for the most part, the social center as well. Much of my life revolved around what went on at church.

I’m not sure how often we came to the table for the Lord’s supper. We actually never really came to the table – it came to us. The elements were solemnly distributed by the deacons of the church.

The deacons were a powerful bunch of men. Most of them, well, all of them now that I think of it, were southern gentlemen held in high regard in our little town. One of them was my father. They took their responsibilities seriously and carried out the duties with quiet reverence and dignity. I knew and could see what most of those duties were but until I was a teenager, I was certain that one of the duties of a deacon at the little Baptist church was to stand out on the front steps and smoke cigarettes. Most of them faithfully offered up that sacrifice just as regularly as any of their other duties, then came in and took up the offering and served communion. There was no conflict as far as I knew.

Of course, the bread and the wine were mysterious elements to me as a child. I was perplexed how a church that so vehemently preached temperance and total abstinence from alcohol could run the “bread and wine” service without the wrath of God or at least the Southern Baptist Convention. (I was always a little suspicious though and wondered just went on in the privacy of some of the homes around town. There was probably some medicinal application going on and I heard all the jokes – “Why do you always take two Baptist fishing with you? Because if you take just one, he’ll drink all your beer.”)

The deacons would pass the plates filled with tiny pillow-looking shapes of some kind of bread product although it wouldn’t pass for bread anywhere else outside the church. Then the trays would pass with small glass cups filled with grape juice – probably Welch’s. Certainly not real wine. It was a very quiet and reverent affair. And one everyone took to heart – rightfully so.

The pastor on this Sunday just past said the table always has something to say. He described the table communicating words of comfort – of invitation.

He explained that someone had done a survey of some kind and come up with a list of the most comforting words people can hear. In first place, “I Love You.” In second place, “I forgive you” and in third, “It’s summertime.”

Or at least, that’s what I understood him to say from my seat in the balcony.

I wrote Jim an email on Monday and expressed how moving and meaningful the message was to me. I mean, who wouldn’t agree that those three lines are great things to hear. Who isn’t softened by the words “I love you”? We all want to be loved and when someone actually goes to the trouble to take a breath and form those sweet tones and direct them at our ears – well, it’s just spectacular and makes any day better. And “I forgive you?” Cleansing, healing, redeeming words.

“It’s summertime.” When he said that, it took me back to my childhood and the last day of school on any given year between first grade and my senior year. What great words! “It’s summertime” meant that, for three whole months, there was no homework, no studying, no assignments; just baseball, sleeping late, going barefoot,fishing and going on vacation. I remember that feeling of hearing the final bell ring, the bell that signaled the end of the last day of school. There were few things that matched the euphoria for a school boy.

Jim responded to my email. After some other comments, his email finished with “Incidentally, I said “It’s suppertime, not summertime.” Oh. Right.

That does make more sense. “It’s suppertime” is a great thing to hear, too.

I still have difficulty calling the evening meal, dinner. Seems a little pretentious to a small town boy. Dinner used to be at noon with supper coming in the evening. When I talk to my mom and the subject of food comes up, we still fail to communicate from time to time with the often misplaced “dinner” designation.

Me: So what are you having for dinner?

Mom: I already had dinner. You mean supper?

Sigh.

It’s suppertime calls the family together to share a meal and anything else that needs to be shared from the events of the day. It does say that it’s time to eat, time to dine, time to be nourished. Yeah, that does make more sense from the table of the Lord. The bread and the cup reminds us of the sacrifice that brought about real forgiveness, and hope of a new beginning – refreshment to the spirit. Volumes have been written by brilliant scholars about the deep meaning of the sacraments. I won’t try to wax eloquent here.

So, it was just a little misunderstanding. Suppertime – not summertime. So, I got the meaning and a bonus.

He loves.

He forgives.

It’s getting warmer.

It’s suppertime.

Come and eat.

Songs in the Night

2008-06-02T11:15:00.000-05:00

I came home last night and fired up the studio – the computer, the software, the keyboard, and dusted off the guitar of choice. I didn’t have any particular sound or style in mind and there wasn’t a particular melody floating around in my head. I just opened up the door in case something popped out.

Unfortunately, not much happened.

When it comes to the doing, I’m handicapped by my hands and my ability to play something new. I go to the same chords a lot, the same progressions and the same licks that have given birth to songs in the past. When I try to start something new with my fingers, it comes out sounding like “For Such A Time as This” or “Friend of a Wounded Heart.” Geez. It’s frustrating. Then I start wishing I had my grand piano close by and that it wouldn’t disturb the neighbors if I started pounding on it. Maybe that would get me thinking in a new direction. But the old grand is in storage miles from where I’m sitting.

Next.

I’ve gathered a number of guitars over the years. I say gathered because collected sounds so, well, stuffy. I don’t want to collect guitars. I’ve lost enough or had enough stolen throughout my tenure in this work that I’ve got no real desire to get too chummy with a piece of wood shaped like a guitar. Once, after flying home from a concert, I opened my guitar case to find the neck broken in half. Another time, one just disappeared from the baggage claim in Baton Rouge, LA. A year after I’d filed the claim with the airline and gotten a small amount of money compared to it’s real value, I got a ransom note from the guilty party. Really. I’m not making this up. I got a letter from a guy that basically read, “I have your guitar. I feel bad about it. If you’d like to get it back, get in touch with me at this address.” Creepy. I never followed up.

Guitar love is a heartbreaking endeavor.

People ask – people that don’t gather or collect or even play – why do you have so many guitars? Or why do you need another one? Need?? Let’s not get personal.

I heard someone say once that every guitar has a different song in it. Yeah . . . I like that. That’s all I need. The guitar that had “Somewhere in the World” in it back in 1985 also produced “Watercolor Ponies” a couple of years later. That was a good purchase, I think.

But last night I picked up this one – the green one. This guitar is one of my favorites even though one of the most recent additions. It’s my favorite color and it’s also the color of my first car. But as I played it, again the limitations of my fingers came in to play. The chords that fell under my hand were the same ones as “When You See Jesus” from the latest album. Arrrgghh.

Try something else - yeah, that sounds . . . just . . . like . . . “Almighty.” Wow.

That’s it. Enough for tonight.

So I went to bed and just laid there. While it’s always been hard for me to turn off my mind and sleep, it was especially hard last night. Lest you think I lay there thinking deep, deep thoughts, let me just say, sometimes it’s a mental equivalent of “follow the bouncing ball”:

“Did I lock the door?”

“What did I have for lunch today?”

“How old is Regis?”

“What was that?”

and then, as it happens so many late nights, melodies and lyrics come to me. Realize that this is AFTER I’ve shut everything down and put everything away. It’s hard enough to get to sleep some nights and I’m sure not going to get up and start all over again with the computer, etc., etc.

But the limitations of my hands and fingers and my stale chord progressions don’t have a say in the mental flow of music in my head. Are these little gifts from God? Are they challenges?

I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve gone to sleep thinking of, what I think is, a great song idea, a strong lyric or melody, and say to myself “That’s so good – I know I’ll remember that in the morning.” Next morning – poof! Nada. Sorry.

The capacity to think and dream is mind boggling. There are few limitations. Whatever your particular area of expertise, or whatever your interests are, let yourself go this summer. The imagination is a beautiful companion and I know there are new heights to gain by letting God challenge our thoughts, plant new dreams and new songs in our hearts, and then walk with us to achieve them. I think there are great things to share and I look forward to sharing them with you and hearing the songs of your lives as well.

Jeremiah 29:11
For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

Wishing you a great summer. Blessings to you.

Wayne

itunes!!

2008-05-07T10:22:00.000-05:00

So by now, does everyone in the civilized world know about itunes?

It's changed the way people purchase and listen to music. So, if I might speak for those of us making some of the music, I'm thankful for new methods of getting the music and the Word out.

At first, going back a few years, I was concerned and a little fearful that things were changing so fast. It was tempting to throw up the white flag and surrender to the new army. But not so fast, you.

I get emails every day from recording industry pros spouting off about the new music industry, artists' vanity, entitlement issues, the lack of great music in general and the lack of hard work. But the door is wide open - almost anyone can walk through it. Sure, the crowd through the door is huge, but I know some prodigy will eventually walk through with all the rest and his/her art will rise to the top. With so much junk out there, and with the standards falling to record lows, most people still recognize quality. It's more obvious than ever.

And that's what I aspire to. To present to my Creator an offering that is the very best I can give. I hope more and more people are introduced to the Saviour because of the new technology that transports the Word.

So, sign on and give a listen and tell your friends. You can search under

Wayne Watson Even This

Email your personal list and encourage them to listen to the new stuff.

And thank you!

Wayne

One Day

2008-05-01T17:58:00.001-05:00

Monday morning, I left home and drove to north Houston to play in an annual charity golf event. I’ve played in this tournament several times and it’s always a huge field. This year, over 200 golfers attacked two different courses.

The game was a scramble format and for those of you wondering what the heck a scramble is: every player hits a ball from the tee, the group picks the best of those shots, then everyone hits from that chosen spot. You repeat this all the way into the hole. As you can imagine, the scores are usually pretty good when you’re playing the best shots from the group all day long.

It’s especially helpful if you have a guy who can really go long down the center of the fairway from the tee. We had such a guy in our group on Monday.

On the first tee, where we had all just met a few minutes before, I casually asked him, “So, you play a lot?” He nodded. “So,” I asked “Handicap . . . single digits I bet.” He humbly nodded and said, “Probably a two – I’ve been as low as a negative two.”

It would take a long time to explain what these numbers mean so I’ll just leave it at this – he was good. For the record, my handicap moves from a 12 to a 15. One pro friend of mine says I play like an 8 and think like a 20. That means my biggest enemy on the golf course is my own head!

I can’t count how many of these charity events I been a part of over the years. I used to go to every one of them with the dream of actually winning, but, truth be told, there’s a lot of, uh, cheating and little accountability at events like this. When you get a bunch of guys together having a good time but at the same time, wanting to beat the other guys, well, it just gets shady. So, I just go now to enjoy the game and the fellowship.

Our group won on Monday! Honestly!

We couldn’t miss. Everything was going our way. We all contributed and played as a team. At one tee box, one of the guys jokingly said, “Heck, this game is easy.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, we all held our breath, knowing he’d violated the code and jinxed us for the rest of the day.

It was a beautiful, Chamber of Commerce kind of day in Houston. Perfect temperature, low humidity (yeah, it happens) with a comfortable, gentle breeze. I really had a great day.

The next day, I had lunch at my favorite Chinese place near my home. I don’t even order anymore – menu, ha! Sometimes, I think they start cooking my lunch before I come through the door.

At the end of my meal, on top of the check, there was the requisite fortune cookie. I always get a kick out of them but on this day, I got a message that I’d never seen in any fortune cookie in my life.

“Today is a disastrous day. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

Huh?

What?

Ok, nobody takes fortune cookies seriously. But this one did make me think. If you did depend on the cookie for your daily dose of confidence, what would this do to you?

It made me realize how fragile I am. How unstable I can be in my faith – how up and down life can be.

How many days does one phone call or one email or letter completely change your frame of mind?

If the bank account is dwindling and you’re overcome with worry, one call with a job offer, an unexpected refund or some other windfall can take you from the pit of despair to a mountaintop.

After a medical exam, preceded by months of worry and anxiety, a good word from the doctor can relieve all kinds of stress (and it makes you wonder, “Why did I wait so long to get this checked out?”).

When a family member is ill, the ringing of a telephone can be terrifying.

You fill in the blanks.

Isn’t it interesting how easily we can be thrown off course and then put right again? In a way it makes me very sad and disappointed in myself that it happens so often. Where is my confidence? Where is my treasure? Where does my strength come from?

I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth. He will not let your foot be moved; he who keeps you will not slumber. Behold, he who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade on your right hand. The sun shall not strike you by day nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life. The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time forth and forevermore. Psalm 121

And so I pray for me and those I love – that we will hold on to the One that is immovable, the One that never changes, the One that keeps pouring out grace and mercy without limit. This fragile planet with its peaks and valleys will ultimately surrender to the strength and assurance that I can find in none other than my God.

Wayne Watson / April 30, 2008

2008-04-25T11:30:00.001-05:00

I spent the last week in Nashville at Gospel Music Week, which always concludes with the Dove Awards ceremony on the final night. I told my manager, Dennis Disney (no, not that Disney – I don’t think – hmm) that I’d come up if he thought he could make it worth the time, energy and dollars to get there.

I flew into Nashville on Sunday morning and hit the ground (I always hate using those words anywhere near the word “flying”) around 9:00 AM. My first stop was to go out to see the kids – that alone made the trip worthwhile.

On Sunday afternoon, I was a part of a panel of artist and industry types. We sat at our respective tables and were put on the clock. A group of young and older aspiring artists and songwriters would gather around and ask questions. Everything from, “How do I do this?” to “Where can I go to use the gifts I have?”

Another question that came up a couple of times from some of the younger attendees – “Who are you?” When I answered their question, some of them still didn’t know. Someone asked if that bothered me, given all the years I’ve put into this, my response was, “No, actually it’s kind of funny and it definitely keeps things in perspective.”

But it is nice when people know, I have to admit.

I was introduced to Mark Hall from Casting Crowns. Mark was very nice and said some nice things. He told me I was his “car singer.” Huh? He told me that when he was growing up, he would ride around in his car and sing along with me. He said Steven Curtis Chapman sang the stuff he sang in church. I asked him why. He told me in every song of mine, I’d throw in a couple of lines or notes as if to say, “So, you thing you can hang with me big boy? Try this!” And then I’d be out of his range.

I laughed but later thought, “Hmm, so that’s why Chapman sold so many more records than me?”

At this point in my career, I wish I’d recorded some of those songs a little bit lower myself. They tried to warn me.

I spent most of the week doing media for the new record. Lots of radio interviews and some television.

The most intriguing TV thing was for a network from Kenya. It set me to thinking about the world outside my world – and I’m still thinking, praying and hoping something comes of the contacts I made. I’ve got some ideas that actually have nothing to do with me. A breakthrough.

I sang at an art gallery on Tuesday night in a small showcase of artists. One of the girls that was on the list to perform was the daughter of Chuck Girard, one of the real pioneers. She's a great singer and one of the best songwriters I heard all week. You should check out Alisa Childers (spelling might be off).

On one trip through the maze at the convention center, I saw this guy from far off and watched the buzz around him. A dead ringer for the president! And a really nice guy. He said he’d been a fan for a long time and gave me one of his DVDs.

At the airport, before boarding my flight home on Thursday, I was browsing the magazine rack, looking for the latest bike or golf mag – something easy for the flight, something I could fall asleep reading, and I saw a magazine title I’d never seen. I love Nashville for lots of reasons, so what I’m going to say is no indictment on my beloved southern culture, but you might only be able to buy this magazine in the south. “Garden & Gun.” There was a picture of a great looking black lab perched on some expensive looking iron patio furniture – it could have been the cover of some highbrow publication, but, no, it was “Garden & Gun.” I didn’t want to spoil the many layers of weirdness I was enjoying in the playground of my head by opening it and actually seeing what was inside.

I might ask Santa for a subscription to “Garden & Gun” for Christmas! It would be a great coffee table conversation piece, eh?

Chuckling to myself as I left the airport bookstore with my copy of USA Today and Golf Digest with Tiger Woods on the cover, I heard this announcement over the airport sound system. “Would the person leaving the Elvis painting at security please return to claim it?”

Love ya, Nashville. Entertaining as always.

Wayne

Confusion

2008-04-18T11:51:00.000-05:00

Our enemy is not dumb.

It always makes me uncomfortable when I hear anyone crow about the Adversary as if he were some dolt stumbling around trying to trick mortals or stab them playfully with his pointy stick. This is, and always has been, serious stuff.

From the origin of our faith with the birth, the life, the death and resurrection of Christ, people have set themselves against each other in the name of religion. It would take volumes (and volumes have been written) to articulate all the details of who said or did what to whom. You could spend a lifetime reading the stories. Truth is stranger than fiction, they say.

When Christianity first appeared in Rome, the Romans, who were very tolerant at the time, of different religions, thought little of it. To them, it was just an offshoot of Judaism and they certainly were familiar with that. But it didn’t take long for the teachings of Christ and His followers to intrude upon some long-held beliefs of the Romans. Only one God? Hmm. Everyone loving each other? No, Romans, not like that!

Confusion.

Constantine relieved some of the tension by declaring Christianity as on of the official religions of the state. But then the invasions started and confusion led to violence – lions, tigers and bears and worse. The violence lasted a very long time. And the violence goes on.

I was in a bookstore the other day and picked up “European History for Dummies.” I’ve been interested in history since college. Actually, my interest peaked and was sustained when I realized I didn’t have to study history for grades or memorize dates for tests.

This book is a fun read and hits the high (or low) points of the most significant events in the history of the continent – a history that, obviously, has had a dramatic effect on the entire planet.

But as I’m reading it, the most vivid, recurring element is that religion has made such a profound footprint on all human events. Some would argue that the footprint has made a mess of human events and continues to do so. To bring it closer to home, and to speak only of my own beliefs, I overheard someone say a few days ago, “…the problem with the church is not Jesus, it’s Christians.”

Christians that are easily distracted (me), Christians that are sometimes weak in their faith (me, also), Christians that don’t always believe that they’re truly forgiven and that they have to perform like sideshow monkeys (uh, me again). That grace is real and sufficient – period.

And the Enemy is simply delighted. His scheme is working out just fine, thank you very much.

When all is set aside but Jesus, faith makes sense. But how did we get this way? While you and I were born in sin, and while you and I are certainly responsible for our own footsteps – misguided or true as they may be – the current state of the planetary union doesn’t rest on me or you. We are a part of the great sinful collective that has no option but to throw ourselves at the mercy of the court.

What a relief. What good news.

When gossip, rumor, or even disturbing truth finds it’s way into my ears, I will try my best to trust in Him that made everything.

What is man that you are mindful of him . . .
Psalm 8:4

I’ll remember today that God is not the Author of confusion. That would be the other guy. I’ll remember that God will keep me in perfect peace when my mind is fixed on Him.

You will keep in perfect peace
him whose mind is steadfast,
because he trusts in you.
Isaiah 26: 3

Wayne Watson
April 18, 2008

The Face

2008-04-07T12:06:00.001-05:00

One of the songs from the new project that’s getting the most attention and draws the most frequent comments is called “When You See Jesus.” You can read a description of who it’s about and why and when it was written on the website.

But right now, it gets me to thinking in a whole different light.

Years ago, I wrote another song called “Would I Know You Now” and it was inspired by a wandering imagination (like a lot of songs) that was sort of a daydream. I imagined Jesus walking into an everyday situation – approaching a table full of friends in a restaurant or a group on the first tee at the local golf course - a couple of fishermen in the early hours of a summer day (of course, in this picture, He would be walking on the water, you know). Maybe He’s walking up to a group of parents at a kids’ soccer game or happening upon a bunch of teenage boys sitting on the hoods of their cars in the parking lot talking smack about how fast they can go, how much beer they drank last night, which girls they’re after.

Jesus came to the world as a gift from the Father – A gift to be shared. But, too many times, like a spoiled kid, I hear myself say, “Mine!”. The healing of His shadow isn’t cast over the wounds of the world as readily as it ought to be.

More likely, the message I/we send to a lost world is, “Look, get yourself together, and stop doing whatever it is you’re doing, then we’ll talk and maybe you can bend yourself into some shape that will fit what we’re doing. Yeah, I know Jesus said He would do the work in you and that He would change you, but it would really be better, and most of us would be a lot more comfortable if you’d do something about it yourself. And try some mouthwash while you’re at it.”

Who has the face of Christ? Your neighbor? Your pastor? Would people confuse him with the Savior. Odds are against that, you say? Why? What is so different? “Well, my pastor is so recognizable, people know him.” And we have our opinions of our favorite preachers and we’ve come to our own conclusions about his Christ-like traits or the lack thereof. No, people would never mistake _______________ for Jesus. And really, I don’t mean that in a bad way. It’s just so obvious that most of us are far from being mistaken for the Nazarene.

Pity.

But what about me? Same pity. There are things about me that would stop people from ever mistaking me for the Christ.

I want to believe that if I were to encounter the Lord face to face, in person, real flesh and blood, I would know it. But He might be nothing like I expect Him to be. Like most people, I have that picture hanging on the Sunday School class wall burned into my head. You know the one – Jesus, dressed in a robe with an extra sash or two, sandals (cool), with that serene countenance. Skin color – hmm, not brown but not white and not black but not yellow either.

By the way, the picture at the top is not from the Sunday School wall. It was a gift from a friend from Romania.

We haven’t come as far as we’d like to believe about the color thing. For better or worse, we can’t claim ownership (though yes to some responsibility) of any particular racial or tribal prejudice here in the USA . Sometimes I wonder how the planet holds to its orbit with all the violence perpetrated by one superior group against another, faith against faith, one tribe trying to rid the earth of its rival.

If Jesus were to walk into the hills of Afghanistan and occupy a spot around a Taliban campfire or sit at a war table with an American Colonel, would I know Him? If he were to press His face against the fence surrounding a refugee camp in the Sudan, would I know Him? If he were to check into the hotel room right next to me, could I feel it?

And skeptics laugh. “When will you people ever get over this.”

I’ll never get over it and I’ll never stop looking. The more time passes, the more promises are unfulfilled by a world that tries to placate me with more storage space on my ipod, bigger TV screens, faster internet service or better gas mileage or more energy through pharmaceuticals, the deeper I breathe and believe that He is here now and He is coming then and there is more than this.

And I’m thankful.

Sweet Jesus, thank you for your patience with me. Sometimes my faith seems so small it makes a mustard seed look like an asteroid. Open my eyes a little wider today so that I can see you in everything and everyone. And so I can keep from freaking out at every obstacle that shakes me and makes me ask stupid questions that you answered a long, long time ago.

Amen.

Wayne

A Busy Week

2008-04-01T15:51:00.001-05:00

Just a few words to catch up…

Last Tuesday, I did a simple little promotional video at a local studio here in Houston. It was set up to advertise a cruise I’m a part of in June of this year.

The hosts were a very nice couple by the name of Gil and Mary Ann Markarian. They showed up to do the interview segment of the promo and we felt very comfortable together right off the bat. That always makes things easier.

After we were done, I taped a couple of songs from the new project for them to use along with the interview. I sang “Sing for Joy” and “When You See Jesus.”

So, we wrapped it up and they told me they were hosting a half hour show on the local Daystar Network here in Houston, and then asked if I would come to be on the show with them on Friday.

I was planning on leaving early Friday to be in Dallas for a meeting that evening but pushed everything back a few hours and did the show.

Daystar is a huge Christian network and growing all the time.

Thursday night, I was at Lakewood Church here in Houston. You know, uh, the biggest church in the country! Well, before you get all excited, I was there to play for a group of about 400. They were a group called The Gathering of Church Bookstores – as in Christian bookstores located inside churches.

I was honored to play for this group. They are the fastest growing segment in the world of retailers of ministry products, books, music, etc. One church north of here just set up a ten thousand square foot store in their church to meet the needs of their congregation and their community.

Along with the retailers were forty authors representing their newest publications. It was a cool assortment of folks.

I gave them all a copy of “Even This” and played for a half an hour from the new project. Afterwards, so many of them came by for autographs and expressed their excitement and interest in hosting a concert at their respective churches. They were a great audience – laughing, crying, holding their collective breath at the right times. I was moved by their response.

So that was Thursday. And after the TV show on Friday I drove on up to Dallas.

Saturday morning I played a private event for a friend.

Sunday Morning, I sang in the worship service at the First Baptist Church in Carrollton, TX. Great church! Alive! Fresh!

That night, I played an hour concert. I love playing and singing this new music. It seems to touch people with its frankness and simple, direct message. Of course with the new material, I’ll always throw in a couple of oldies like “Friend of a Wounded Heart” “Almighty” and that night, did an encore of “The Touch of the Master’s Hand”. Man, how many thousands of times I’ve sung that! I still like doing it.

After the concert, my favorite moment was when a group of teenagers came up and told me how much they enjoyed the evening. I was overwhelmed by the expressions of some new, young and unexpected fans. Some of their parents had been listening since they were kids. What can you do?

Anyway, all this to say, it was a great, busy week. Things are starting to get rolling and the new project is gaining momentum. Next, we’re beginning to work on the radio promotion for the first two singles from “Even This.”

I hope to have the finishing touches on “Turning Into Dad” – the book I’ve been working on for the past 8 years about my father. You’ll see it on waynewatson.com as soon as it’s ready – hopefully just in time for Father’s Day ’08.

Thanks for your continued prayers and support.

Wayne

The Blue Light

2008-03-19T09:50:00.000-05:00

I know, I know, the picture from the return trip looks pretty much like the picture of the going. Except it’s raining and I’m going in the opposite direction.

After playing my concert in Natchez, MS last week, I took off for Monroe, LA where my mom is still on the rehab train after her surgery. Looks like she’ll be there for a few more days then we have some hard decisions to make. I appreciate your prayers.

The drive back to Houston was covered in a hard driving rain from Shreveport all the way home. I knew it was coming so I prepared by stopping in Ruston, LA for a late lunch with my good friends, the Bradfords.

When I called them to find a meeting place for lunch, they told me they were just walking into The Blue Light Café. Hmm, that’s funny. Spell correction put that little sign above the “e” in the word café. There, it did it again! Did you see that??

I attended college in Ruston at Louisiana Tech and never ate at The Blue Light ____.
They said it was time. Soul Food at it’s finest.

I made the turns and found myself in a part of Ruston I’d never seen.

Sweet people of all colors filled the place at noon on a Monday. Good food seems to make people happy – at least for a little while.

I sat down and visited with the Bradfords for a while then went to the counter to order. I wrote down my choices on a little white pad of paper and handed it to a nice lady. I could tell she was one of the veterans of the place. I told her I had heard this was the best place in town and I’d come all the way from Houston to eat there – a stretch, but all in good fun.

She told me she had two daughters in Houston and I said, “Well, why don’t you just jump in the car with me and I’ll take you down there?” “Awe honey, I couldn’t do that.” You know the kind of place now?

When they brought my meatloaf, corn and black-eyed peas, I knew I’d come to the right place. This is one of those places you hear about from the locals. This is the kind of place I look for when trying to avoid the regular chain stores on the highway.

The owners of The Blue Light were African American. So were the waiters and the cooks. It made all the difference to how the place felt (like a welcome home from a long journey), how the food tasted (I guarantee you the recipes weren’t written down – a pinch of this and a taste of that) and the general “come one and come all” atmosphere of the place.

The clock turned back in the best possible sense of the phrase. The world was slower and whatever tensions there were in the outside world didn’t show up for lunch that day at The Blue Light.

*****

The race issue has always bothered me. I grew up in the south (North Louisiana) during the turbulent sixties. They didn’t really seem too awfully turbulent to us at the time. Actually, it was pretty quiet. But I was a white kid. What did I know?

The most intense racial issues I had to confront in my naïve childhood were the awkward misunderstandings of (1) why there was a black window and a white window at the one-of–a-kind ice cream stand in the middle of town. I really thought you went to the white window if you wanted vanilla and the black window if you wanted chocolate. True. I promise you. And (2) the unspoken but clearly understood seating arrangement at the movie theater. White people on the floor level and Black in the balcony. I always thought the balcony was the better seat and wanted to sit there.

I know the very statement of these things is a mystery and a horror to some of you.

The only real tension I remember was the night I woke up with the reflection of flames bouncing off my bedroom wall. We lived right across the street from the high school and that particular night, the KKK had decided to have some sort of demonstration in the school yard. I didn’t understand it but it was strange and frightening.

I didn’t intend for this little piece to take this direction and I could go on and on about any number of issues. There are things that have been debated and will continue to be debated. Who am I to attempt to address anyone on this sensitive subject? The very mention of the word “race” pushes so many buttons. It’s now become a defend/attack point in the current presidential election. Sigh.

I just know this. It falls to me and to each one of you who call ourselves followers of the Christ to walk in love, in kindness, gentleness, forgiving one another even as He has forgiven us.

I can’t fix what’s been done but, as the song says “I can change what will be. By living in holiness that the world will see Jesus.”

Play nice, for God’s sake (literally).

Who’s with me?

Blessings.

Wayne