Dust collecting

To the left; a photo of my dad before his reductive eye surgery. To the right; a young boy with his father's eyes. These snapshots have both existed in the same collection of family photos for right near thirty years and not until Saturday night can I ever remember looking at them side by side. As Miranda and I sat with my parents in their living room, thumbing through these and a box of assorted Rockey memories from the past fifty years, the four of us laughed ourselves silly. Ridiculous outfits, outrageous hair and naked babies all make for some good ol' family fun.

As the evening came to a close, Miranda and I thanked my folks for a fun night and headed for the door. That's when I noticed my large wooden crate of records resting in the corner of the entryway. My parents have been generous enough to allow Miranda and I to store many of our possessions in their basement for safekeeping while my cousin's family is staying with us. Unfortunately, as irony would have it, my parent's basement flooded about three weeks ago. I'm not just talking saturated carpets, but inches of standing water. My dad single-handedly relocated all of our things to the upstairs as soon as they'd discovered the flooding. I had been over to their house later that night and had neglected the opportunity to separate all of the albums thus allowing them to dry. Now, three weeks later, as I knelt down to examine my precious collection of vinyl, I discovered that moisture had bred mildew binding the faces of the album covers together. How could I let this happen? I was angry. I was mostly angry at myself for not caring for them before or after the great flood had claimed part of their beauty. I was quiet the entire silent ride home.

I woke up this morning thinking of a couple of things. First, that all of those family photos could just as easily succumb to the same elements which claimed the album covers were they to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. What an even greater tragedy that would be. That's the reality though. All of it, as precious and priceless as it may be, is fleeting. Some of it passing more quickly than the rest, but surely enough all returning to dust. Second, we can tell ourselves that it's those memories we can never lose, yet most of my grandfather's memories from the past fifty years seem to have slipped from his hold. Everything is slowly buckling beneath the weight of mortality. Surely there must be more to this life than dust collecting dust.

Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse

Of Montreal video directed by Mike and Matt Chapman (creators of Homestar Runner). "Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse" appears on the album Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer? There's something mutually disturbing and intriguing about a giant bear head on a red tuxedoed chap. I'm wondering if the ghost gets up to leave because he's grown tired of the performance, has dinner reservations or simply had too many espressos before the show.

An aural supplement, episode 1

Running Time: 1:08:11 | File Size 63 MB
Download: .mp3
To subscribe to this podcast: http://feeds.feedburner.com/ARockeyHomeCompanionPodcast

Welcome to Episode 1 of A Rockey Home Companion’s audio supplement; recorded live from the the Rockey home in majestic Greenwood, Indiana.

1. Joel Rockey “Waking Sleep”
2. The Shins “Sleeping Lessons”
3. Rusty Redenbacher “Older”
4. Elvis Costello “Green Shirt (demo)”
5. Prince “She’s Always in My Hair”
6. Tom Waits “Long Way Home”
7. The Be Good Tanyas “When Doves Cry”
8. Uncle Tupelo “Gun”
9. Jeff Tweedy “In a Future Age”
10. Lucinda Williams “Car Wheels on a Gravel Road”
11. Bill Mallonee “Wintergreen”
12. Flying J & The Pilots “Through & Through”
13. Of Montreal “Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse”
14. Pearl Jam “Reign O’er Me”

Strange visitor from foreign lands

It could be snow, couldn't it? but it's been so long... I just don't know what to make of it.

Lost / Found

In my experience, it's been quite apparent that to those in the american midwest who describe themselves as 'christians' or at least attend church-type services once a week, 'church' can be very different ideas to different people. Sometimes described verbally in different terms, but often defined by the way 'church' is lived out in their lives. At times, I've seen 'church' described as a sort of club to be joined or a community social gathering. Other times it appears as place to go where five point sermons and fluffy love songs are meant to give a spiritual, yet often emotional boost to the faithful attendees that they might make it through another week and come back for more the following sunday. Folks gather to pay an awful lot of lip service but rarely put their money where their mouths are. There exist hierarchies of power and money often finds itself sitting much too high among them. There is a way of life preached and a way of life lived who occasionally shake hands before going their separate ways. People are encouraged to find redemption before God, yet when they allow themselves to be broken before their brother they are met with judgment and scorn. Is this a fitting description of those who Jesus would recognize as His bride? Are these portraits a fair likeness of the beloved of the Most High God?

Yeah, I'm guilty of such attitudes and actions as much as anyone. Yeah, I have some opinions, many of which are still probably slanted a bit by my experiences within the professional structures of the church. I do hope, however, that this perspective has matured a little since a year ago when I sat across from two men who would be described by others as leaders in the church. One of these men who I once thought of as a pastor and the other who was a future church elder of the most unbiblical character expected of such a position would proceed to tell me "we've decided that you should look for a new ministry." I sat there in the cold hallow confines of that pastor's den feeling like my gut was somehow trying pass my heart through my lower intestines. These two men continued on giving me little explanation to this decision and laying out options for me to make this decision look like my own. I opted not to play the little games designed to tidy up the mess which these men made. The next several months were painful and messy for my wife and myself as well as the kids and their families who this executive decision left in its wake.

Early on in the mess, I wanted to believe that it could be possible that God in His foresight would allow us to be ejected from that season of life for reasons which were righteous and good. Whatever the case, my wife and I soon realized that our lives had become much less busy than they were when our lives were consumed by church programs. We had time to spend with family and friends which we hadn't had in years. We were now able to spend time with my Alzheimer's-stricken grandfather and my grandmother who was his primary care-giver. The dementia had progressed far beyond what I had remembered and over the next several months, it would become even worse. He remembered my wife and I as coworkers or folks who he went to school with. He began forgetting who his children were. He would make up stories of people who were over at the house. He would talk almost exclusively about his days in the army or working as a salesman or employee of RCA. The disease was taking its toll on his mind. It was also taking its toll on my grandmother who would often find herself getting frustrated and angry at him. She began realizing that the care and discipline she had to give her husband was not unlike that which her youngest daughter had to give her three-year-old child.

Growing up, my grandparents were always a part of my life, but along with my wife I was becoming closer to my grandmother than I had ever been. I spent a good part of the summer painting their house and eating lunch with them. My wife and I would try to have dinner with them at least once every couple of weeks. Grandma began opening up about how hard it has been caring for Grandpa. My mother, who also lives nearby and spends a good deal of time talking with Grandma knew that something was going to eventually have to give. Over the holidays, my mom's brothers were over at the house and everyone was having to face the reality of how Grandpa's dementia had progressed. We all agreed that we would begin looking into Alzheimer's care facilities together. Then came the straw which broke the camel's back. Grandma was awoken one morning by the police knocking at her door inquiring about whether this was the house where Grandpa lived. It seemed that he had wandered out of the house to get the paper in the early hours of the night and kept on walking a few miles down the road to a gas station where he bought some cupcakes. At the advice of Grandpa's doctor, accompanied by my mom, Grandma took Grandpa to the hospital where he would stay for several days while his Alzheimer's was evaluated.

I've since been spending time with my grandparents while Grandma decides what move to make next. It's all such a scary and difficult thing to deal with. I can only imagine what it would be like for her to go through this all alone. The fact is that there were many times when she's felt very much alone in dealing with this merciless disease. However, these days I see her face glow when my wife and I arrive at the hospital to visit Grampa or when my mom and I accompany her to visit care facilities. I had lunch with her the other day and I heard her describe how she knows now that she isn't alone in this and how blessed she is by the family she has in her life.

I doubt that my wife and I would be as close to the situation with my grandparents as we've been if our lives had not been so freed up from the busyness of church programs. We've been freed to care for those who need care. We've been allowed the time to love those who need to know they're loved. I told my grandmother, "There have been times in the past year that I've been angry at God and I've cried out 'Why?' But this is the God who loves us." That God would let us be thrown out of a place so that we could be thrown into the life of a woman on the verge of losing her husband and in need of knowing she isn't alone is a quite beautiful thing.

Shhhh

What's that?

The sound of one night in a quiet house alone?

Shhhhh... savor the silence you two.

Long-term plans

Driving from Greenwood to Ft. Wayne this unseasonably warm Christmas morning was a reminder to me that with the passing of time, things must change. As creatures of habit and comfort, we become so convinced that settling into a home in which we plan on living well into retirement while raising our children or planning the rest of our lives around the security of a single career are noble, if not necessary aspirations. I don't know... perhaps not as many people live their lives in pursuit of this dream as I've convinced myself. However, the culture in much of the states seems to have imagined an idea of the American dream which expects her people to work toward a social level to classify those whom have "made it" and those whom have not. There exists this notion of career, income, school district, etc., etc as identity.

I confess that as hard as I kick against the corporate mindset of modern man, I have often found myself temporarily crippled by these intimidating cultural ideals. After all, I spent six years at a university earning a less than practical degree and have worked almost as many jobs in the six years since graduating. This resume could be quite discouraging for someone recognizing their own worth or contribution to life on this planet reaching only as far as their tenure. The longest of these employments (and the closest I've come to a "career" I suppose) was my three and a half years as youth ministry equipper at center grove presbyterian church. It's kind of humorous since my wife was recently quoting for me from a book she's been reading that the average American will have 14-15 jobs in their lifetime and those jobs will last an average of three and a half years... So there it is, I'm the average American. I've tried so hard my entire life to be anything but average!

Then I began reading Donald Miller's road memoir, Through Painted Deserts. In the introduction, Miller writes about the changing of the seasons, leaving home, and how that which doesn't change, dies. He explains that this is God's way... growth, dying to be reborn and all. Just as the earth and all within it experience seasons and change, so do we experience seasons in life. Change, coincidentally, is not only inevitable, but necessary. Change is growth, growth is life, life is knowing God and learning to love. It reminds me of how we're all becoming new, like when the apostle Paul talks about putting off the old man and putting on the new man and becoming transformed into the likeness of Christ. God alone has no need to change Himself because He was, is and is to come. Yet isn't it interesting that God in perfect nature would wrap himself in human skin, not to evolve or grow Himself, but to make Himself known to us... to come alongside us in our own evolution, showing us the way and changing our very status before his presence. The Creator is the only sustenance for all which continues to change. To evolve is to be in tune with our Creator.

I'm encouraged by this fact that job, home and relationships alone do not alone define us as creatures or decide the worth of our existence. Together, however, all of these factors make their mark on our lives bringing shape and pulling character from the core of our being to reflect the perfection of the Creator in the imperfection of man.

This man is a lover, poet, sinner, husband, artist, son, brother, performer, uncle, shepherd, student, friend, barista, custodian, reader, writer, listener, explorer, observer, in all these a worshiper of Christ. This is my "long-term plan".

At least the one which I hope to follow.

In praise of solid people

"Then do I envy solid folk
Who sit of evenings by the fire
After their work and doze and smoke,
And are not fretted by desire."

-C.S. Lewis

Xmastimes

While only about a week away, it sure doesn't feel like Christmas. It's like seventy degrees outside, the sun is shining, we don't even have a tree in our house save the tiny one perched atop my desk. It's only slightly larger than the our other plant... Charlie Brown would be proud I'm sure. I'm just now fixin' to meet up with mi amigo Kyle at the bux for some coffee, tea, perhaps some conversation. I suppose we could just stare at one another awkwardly while sipping our tasty beverages, but I'm not sure how comfortable that would make anyone feel. As of late, I have been letting the tape run on the old four track to see what it may capture. I recorded this little rendition of 'o come, o come emmanuel' which I like to play late at night for Miranda while pretending that there is snow on the ground and figgy pudding in the hopper.

Don't forget to come listen to me and some friends play some songs at The Strange Brew Coffeehouse on January 5th, 2007. Mmmmm... tasty! Hop over to this site for more information and such.

When good intentions cause nightmares...

Country folk rockin' the stained glass rafters.

On the evening of November 4th, I gathered with some friends to share some songs with an intimate audience at southminster presbyterian church. The past eight months or so have been occupied with many hours writing and recording for a collection of songs titled Kyrie Eleison which was released to the public on the night of this particular show. There are fewer things I enjoy than sharing songs with others, but that is only a fraction of what made this night both memorable and nothing short of amazing. The album, Kyrie Eleison begins and ends with songs titled, "Prologue" and "Epilogue" respectively. These bookends to the album contain lyrics which are drawn directly out of the deep emotional well which my wife and I have lived in since the unfolding of circumstances which led to our leaving the church where we were deeply involved in ministry for three and a half years. I thought it only fitting that this cd release take place in a church house... better yet, the one in which I spent much of my childhood. I guess it was sort of a homecoming.

I was joined on stage by three young men who were in the youth ministry where we once served. These three guys--Ryan Helvie, Andrew Furrow and John Shufflebarger--have been very dear to my heart since my first days as a youth pastor. We have spent hours talking about deep spiritual issues, laughing at each other and playing obnoxiously loud music in the mustard room to my wife's chagrin. I love these guys. I admire them as followers of Jesus, as musicians, as compassionate human beings. They speak honestly and without pretense. I have seen these young men perform acts of service and love toward others which wouldn't blossom beyond a nice thought in the minds of lesser folks. It was an honor and a blessing to have them add their own musical

signatures to these songs. We were also joined by my cousin Jason who I have known all of my thirty years on this earth. He and his wife, along with their four kids, have been living with Miranda and I the past two months and it was nice to perform a couple of duets with him and have him a part of this evening. It was a different yet refreshing context from what we've been used to recently. He always brings these subtle ideas to my songs which add such a rich texture to the sonic landscape. I also asked my cousin Ben to film the show and my uncle Conrad to run sound. They both obliged and my father-in-law even photographed the show. It was a thrilling experience for me to have them all contribute their talents to the evening.

What truly made this night a healing experience were the audience. Those who showed up for the evening of song and story made it what it was. Folks from our previous church home, kids from our youth ministries, friends through my wife's work, family, friends from Evansville, friends from Broad Ripple, people I was completely surprised to see. After the show, I was utterly taken back by the stories people shared about how they were blessed by these songs. Our friend JayJay whom Miranda teaches with shared with me that the song "Used to be so bored" described exactly what she and her husband went through during the uncertain times surrounding their second child's birth. Even as I paid tribute to the great Cat Stevens and Pete Towshend, others reveled in their compositions. I strummed my grandfather's ukulele to Townshend's "Blue, Red and Grey" and my grandmother was there in the audience just beaming. It was fantastic. After the show, folks hung around to meet and talk for hours while enjoying Spanish pastries and fresh Starbucks coffee.

There will be other shows in the near future, but this one will certainly live on as the greatest... for me at least, because this night of song was not about performance or about joel rockey. This night was about the people who have made my life so very special.

Oh yeah, by the way...

been waiting a long time for this.

Shine on you crazy diamond

"Be sure to search high and low, where it is hot and where it is cold." Those were the words left upon the bathroom mirror on Sunday evening. I assumed they were scrawled lovingly by the hand of my beautiful wife as it mimicked her handwriting. However, one can never be too sure. The prelude to this riddle assured that there was a "surprise" coming my way. I proceded cautiously to the kitchen, searching the freezer, refrigerator, pantry, garage, cabinets, patio, oven, microwave and deeper into the freezer before finding my treasure of goodness. Yes,waiting for me, wrapped in plastic Kroger bags was a full pint of what will one day come to be known as the single greatest discovery among all frozen treats: The Chunky Monkey. Ben & Jerry's greatest contribution to mankind and--to me--their legacy! Thethree of us--Miranda, myself and the chunky monkey--cozied down onto the couch and watched our beloved St. Louis Cardinals quickly fall to Detroit in game 2.

Miranda had never seen Stanley Kubrick's 1980 film The Shining and so, after just sitting through the rather incoherent Black Dahlia, we were primed to sit through some filmaking of substance, character and most of all coherency. And where do you go when you want some good ol' everything-makes-perfect-sense filmaking? Why, Stanley Kubrick of course! Kubrick's film is near perfect in score, cinematography and pace. The performances by the entire cast are superb, especially Jack Nicholson's terrifying, often comical portrayal of Jack Torrance. You can sense his character heading for the deep end even before he and his family arrive at the Overlook. It's as if he takes on the job as caretaker not only to find solace as he begins writing, but also to escape his loveless marriage. When this guy begins attacking his family, even though he already appears to have checked out of his role as father and husband, that's when things get frightening. The supernatural elements of the hotel often seem irrelavent to the story, but there are fewer films that I've seen which are as spooky as The Shining. Top notch performances, beautiful filmaking, weird storytelling with creepy little kids and Scatman Crothers! You can't go wrong with Hong Kong Phooey!

Here's to you, The Shining! If only Mr. Kubrick were alive to read this riveting review of his film. I imagine he would be inspired to make a film about the review itself. Oh well. All for nought. I believe there is only one way to bounce back from that digression...

There's that PB&J I went on and on and on and on about in that last entry. Wanna guess what I had for lunch today?

-joel