Viqui Dill

2011-12-11T10:05:00.001-05:00

ATale of Two Little Girls

my sister in blue on the left, me on the right in pink

This is a first person story I have needed to tell for sometime. It’s a story of two little girls: me and my younger sister.

We were two little girls who grew up in the South in the 1960sand 70s; two little girls raised by the same family, playing with the sametoys, sharing the same friends, attending the same schools, worshipping at thesame churches, and growing into two remarkably different women. This story iswritten to share my personal experience and is for you, regardless of whetheryou think that sexual orientation is influenced by nature or nurture.

Boy-Crazy from Birth


family vacation at Watoga State Park in WV

Ican’t remember the first time I was aware that I am heterosexual. I rememberbeing crazy about boys from the very beginning. Boys were such a mystery and sofascinating to me. When I was around a boy I liked (and I think I liked all ofthem), my heart would race and my sense of reason would fly out the window. Iremember wishing that my Barbie doll had a Ken so she could be happy. Iremember putting my scratchy crinoline slip on my head and pretending to be abride with a big veil.

My first crush was on a boy named “Chris” who was fromEngland just like Davey Jones, and when I was around him I could not thinkstraight. When I was not around him, I thought about him constantly. Chris hada younger brother my sister’s age and their play together was so different, notawkward the way I felt. When I look back on it, my interactions with boys weredifferent than my sister’s because the way we each felt about boys wasdifferent from the beginning. My sister amazed me by the way she could be socool headed and rational about boys when I was absolutely inept.

Our Favorite Christmas Present

in Gretna, LA, sister on the left,
me on the right, playing teacher

Christmas of 1967, we were living in Gretna,LA, a suburb of New Orleans. Santa Clause brought the most amazing doll/actionfigure play sets of Janeand Josie West. Igot the Jane doll because I was older. The dolls came with everything a cowgirlwould need for riding or making a home on the range. So we both dug in andloved them. When you removed the gear and plastic leather clothing, the dollswere dressed in denim and boots, not naked and busty like that Barbie. And theycould be whoever they wanted to be, outdoorsy or homie, glamorous or athletic,or both. And that was exactly what these two little girls needed because wewere both outdoorsy and homie, glamorous and athletic, just like the Westgirls.

Coming Out, 1981

sisters in cowboy hats,
just like Jane and Josie West
years before

So I got to be the first family member towhom my sister announced her special secret. I remember she phrased itcarefully, as a question not a statement: “What if I told you that I was gay?”

My response was kind of neutral. I said “Well that would beall right. Are you gay?”

I remember that what I was really thinkingis that I wouldn’t be able to be her maid of honor or Aunt Viqui to her kids.Looking back on my response, what a narcissistic princess I am, thinking abouthow someone else’s situation would impact me before I thought about the realityof how hard life must be for my sister and how hard it must have been to sharethe secret out loud with me. I don’t remember if I hugged her, but I hope I did.I do remember laughing and feeling happy to have another secret to share withmy sister. After we laughed together that day, I felt good, like we hadsurvived yet another family drama and come out on the other side together andstronger.

sister, brother, and me,
posing on a family vacation
beside the Big Boy

I Was Born This Way

So there’s a piece of my personal story. How I grew up to bea flaming heterosexual, despite growing up in a house where the sameenvironment produced different outcomes. I never made a conscious choice to bestraight. I was boy-crazy from birth. My sister was different from me frombirth, too.

I was born this way.

Witnesses, not Judges

2011-02-05T12:02:00.002-05:00

It's the last thing Jesus said to us, before he flew back home.

Acts 1:8
"But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth."

I like what he said, and I've been doing a lot of thinking about how to carry it out. He's asking us to be witnesses. Notice how he doesn't ask us to be judges. For some reason, we like to get those two mixed up. Time to focus on being a witness - in my neighborhood, and beyond.

What is a witness?
So what does it mean to be a witness? A witness does more than just observe. A witness also testifies. A witness sits in the witness box, waiting for the right time to tell her story.

A witness has to get his story together, sort things out, get them in order, and be ready to share. A witness has to tell his own story, anything else is hearsay. It's OK to talk about yourself, to tell your own story.

I have many stories to tell and I love to tell them, when the time is right.

I am the mother of a brilliant college student. My story had a tough beginning, including the time when doctors told us our child wouldn't learn to talk or return our love. This story has such a happy ending now that I love to tell the story. It's a story of hard work, desperate searching, a mom's blind faith, and a boy's courage.

I am the wife for 23 years of a talented musician and entrepreneur. Our story has many tough chapters. We have been through things that have lead other couples to divorce court, even to commit murder. Yet our story has a happy ending now and I love to tell the story. Our story is about commitment, forgiveness, loving and letting God do the loving for me when I had no love of my own to give.

I am a worship leader to whom God gave a vision long before he gave me a job. The journey takes me on a path straight through churches that had issues with women in leadership, issues with musicians who also performed in the secular world, and issues about doctrinal uniformity. Still, this is a happy story and I love to tell it as it twists and turns. My spiritual odyssey takes me down interesting paths, into strange and wonderful places, and introduces me to the most amazing traveling companions.

So what is your story? Jesus asks us to tell our stories and to be witnesses. Tell the tough stories. Tell the happy stories. Tell all the stories when the time is right.

Be a witness, not a judge. Don't tear down the stories of other witnesses by judging them. Share your own story, your experience, strength and hope. Listen to others as they tell their own stories. Compare notes, laugh and dream. Tell your story.

So, what's your story?

Man in the Middle, Mom on the Sidelines

2010-07-26T22:19:00.027-04:00

It is July 24th and I've been looking forward to this moment since the blizzard back in February. I've just sung two of my favorite songs, played bass like a man, and my husband, two microphones away, is about to sing a big crowd pleaser, "The Man in the Middle." The band is hot (I'm so lucky to be playing with these guys), the summer breeze is cool, the sound crew is skilled, the folks at Morgan Arts Council are wonderful. This is a terrific day and a terrific moment to be here and now.

And then in a flash of chance and gravity, things go horribly wrong.

I look up from the stage and see my son, Jim Dill, in horrible pain, and bleeding profusely from a gash in his shin.

A million thoughts and impulses fly through my head like a freight train. My heart leaps out of my chest, across the canal, and into the gaping wound. How did things go so bad so fast?

OK, let's go back in time.

It's February 2010. I'm snowed-in in what will be known as the Snowpocalypse. The phone rings and it's Gordon Macleod from the Morgan Arts Council. He says they want the Dill Pickers to play in their summer concert series. My friend Lynn Greer has helped us get this gig by hand carrying our press kit and I'm so happy for her support. Now, they say they like our sound and we discuss the business end (I'm terrible at this) and schedules and money and such. I grab my laptop and email the other pickers, who are as excited as I am. This is gonna be a great summer.

Fast forward a month or two and add the much prayed for springtime thaw. I'm cyber-chatting with my good buddy Ron Furgerson. Ron has been a Dill Picker supporter from the beginning and has even used our music in some of his youTube videos. Ron would really really really like to have a video of us performing "The Man in the Middle." I would, too, and I think that maybe this summer's gig in Berkeley Springs will be a great time to film it.

And that's how it happened.

At the gig, Jim was hired to be videographer and photographer. He was using my camera to take some stills and some video. I had asked him to be sure to get "The Man in the Middle" on video. Jim was not expecting to have to be filming so early in the set and was nowhere close to the stage when I asked him publicly and into the mic to start the video. Jim's a good photographer and he takes his job seriously so he rushed back to the stage to catch the song from the beginning. And he almost got it, too.

But on the way, he had to cross the stone waterway. One leg makes it, the other leg slams shin first into the edge of the stone retaining wall. *Expletive*

And we got the aftermath on video, because even badly hurt, Jim does what he says he will do. So as the camera runs, you can hear Jim react to the fall, the blood, the wound, and the feeling that his leg may be broken. The video is very hard to watch. For the first 10 seconds, Jim is breathing heavily and groaning in pain. And yet, somehow he continues to hold the camera and continue with the video. At 0:55, he says calmly "That was a mistake." At 1:38, someone off camera comes to help and offers to bring some ice. At 2:14, the folks getting ice alert the wonderful Dr. Matt. Yes, there's a doctor in the house. Hallelujah. The ice arrives at 2:24 and Jim asks for medical attention, initially asking for an ambulance, but getting a better solution with Dr. Matt just a few feet away. Dr. Matt and my friend Kathryn Rack arrive at 3:00, one to check out the situation and then retrieve his black bag, and the other to check out the situation and offer help with the video camera. At 3:30, Jim utters the understatement "I tried to jump the gap."

From 3:30 on, the video looks normal. Kat frames the band, even getting happy footage of the dancing girl on the front row.

Looks normal from the outside, but I know what's happening on the inside. My child is in terrible pain, maybe even terrible danger, and my heart is breaking with worry and guilt. But on the tape, I look fine, sing fine, play fine. You can't tell what's going on inside me. I suppose that's a good thing.

At 4:40, before the song is over, I turn to Frank and ask him to talk for 30 seconds so I can run off stage and check it out. I drop my bass and scurry off to see about Jim. By that time, Dr. Matt is in motion, Jim has shown that he can walk on the leg, and I'm a little bit calmer. Frank is wonderful, chatting happily with the crowd about anything and everything. I'm back on stage a few seconds after that and the show must go on.

Now that it's over, a few words of heart-felt thanks.

Now that it's over and the gig still went well, now that we know that Jim's leg is not broken and he didn't need stitches or an ambulance ride or a tetanus shot, now that we got that Berkeley Springs crowd to dance a little in the 99 degree heat, now is the time for me to express my gratitude to the folks who were so fabulous.

Thanks to my fellow band members, Keith Dill and Jamie Leonard, and especially to Frank Nanna, for holding it together and covering for me while I freaked out inside. I definitely lost my mojo that day and these guys made it all fine with their amazing musical skills and supportive attitudes. Frank's banter while I ran off stage is just another example of what a great entertainer and improvisor he is. I am so lucky to be playing with you all.

Thanks to my friend Kat Rack, who was wearing a MOMS ROCK piece of flair, for stepping in to quietly fill in the mama role. You rock, indeed my friend. I don't think you had to do much, but seeing you there and knowing that you had your eye and your love on things is so greatly appreciated.

Thanks to the Morgan Arts Council for their support, in particular to Dr. Matt Hahn for answering "yes" to "Is there a doctor in the house?"

And thanks to all the kind folks who came out to the gig. We had so much fun and you guys make our work all play. You rock our worlds and we love you like nothing else. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Hope to see you again, maybe next year.

Flying in a BGV Formation - I love harmony vocals!

2010-07-03T20:38:00.010-04:00

This blog post is for all of you who love singing backup vocal, which we in the biz call BGV for BackGround Vocals.

I love singing with you guys. We fit together in a tightly controlled and yet totally organic formation, like a flock of geese flying in a V. Our lead vocalist goes up, we go up. Our lead vocalist goes down, we go down. Our lead vocalist crescendos (that's fancy music talk for getting louder), we crescendo. Our lead vocalist decrescendos, we back off slightly, too, staying just a hair behind so that the lead is still out in front, in the point position of the V formation. It's magic and yet it's reproducible, both an art and a science.

So let's teach the others how to fly along with us. Feel free to add comments if I miss anything. I'd love to grow our numbers because well-sung harmonies are so rare and so wonderful.

Flying in your zone, it's like soccer or basketball

So if you don't like the flying geese analogy, let's look at the zone analogy.

In soccer and basketball, each player has a zone. You get in your zone and you stay in your zone. If you go into another player's zone two bad things happen: nobody is now in your zone (say, right forward) and your team now has 2 players in another zone.

In singing harmony, finding and staying in your zone is also important. For example, if your job is to sing just a little higher than the melody or lead (we call this position the "tenor" position) then you should find your position and stay there. Don't venture lower, either into the melody/lead position or farther down into the "baritone" position. Don't venture higher, up into the "high baritone" position a full 5th above the melody. There are already players in those positions, so you'll color that position too darkly and worse, nobody is singing tenor now.

Find your zone. Embrace your zone. We need you there. We sound full and warm with all of us in our zones.

Flying slightly behind the leader

This concept is easy to explain. We need the melody to be prominent, easy to pick out and recognize. So we BGVs stay just a little behind, both in volume and in timing.

As far as volume goes, much of this is up to our sound techs. Pray for them, that God will guide their fingers and open their ears. I mean, we gotta all hear each other or this thing doesn't work. So we all need to be strong in the monitors, if we're going electric. And never underestimate the power of a good compressor to balance and shape the vocals. If we're going acoustic, we need to stand close together, so everyone is within earshot, even if the banjo is banjo-loud.

Now timing is an art, almost a psychic connection. We all need to make our attacks (fancy musical term that means how we start the note) and decays in formation. Us BGVs need to be just a nanosecond behind the lead on the attack, and just a smidgen ahead in the decay. This way, the melody/lead is the first and last thing heard in the vocal blend. This letting go of the note in submission to the leader's lead is hard for us diva types. We love to embrace that note and hold it for all it's worth. Resist this impulse, it's of the devil.

Flying with the leader

Here's the last little instruction: follow the leader. If the leader goes up a small interval (fancy musical term for the number of pitches between notes in a passage), then we go up a small interval, staying within the chord and holding our positions. If the leader goes up a large interval, then we also go up a large interval, not a small one, not holding the same note we just embraced.

When the leader makes a big leap, you need to make a big leap, too. If you don't make an equally big leap, you'll be doubling somebody else's part, either your other BGV team mate, or the melody, making that part too dark and leaving a big hole where your part should be in the blend. So make that leap. Whee, it's musical bungee fun!

Now, let me take just a moment to rant about counter-melody. Don't do it. Don't even think about it. Counter-melody is similar to harmony because it's something that fits in the chord and is not the melody. But it's not harmony. Counter-melody draws attention to itself. It says "Hey, I'm singing over here. Look at me!" and draws attention away from the melody, messing up the nice warm blend of a tightly flying harmony. If you want to sing out front, sing the melody role for goodness sake. Then you can be the goose out front for all the world to see and admire. I hope I've made my point. Counter-melody, like refusing to decay in time, is of the devil.

Harmony Evangelism

So there you have it. My small bit of musical evangelism. Singing harmony is for anybody who can sing. It's simple but it's not easy. But you can do it. I believe in you.

Please join us. We'd love to sing with you!

Tribute to My Parents - Part Four - Mom the Great Audience

2010-06-21T06:00:00.011-04:00

Mom, the Great Audience

Today's post is the fourth in a four part tribute. To read the Tribute in its entirety, go to http://home.earthlink.net/~viquidill/landscapetribute.pdf

After dinner, the girls would spend time together in the kitchen. Dad was not expected to do kitchen work at that time. Mom could have escaped with him, and left the clean up to Debby and me. But she didn’t.

Mom stayed with us, in the kitchen, listening to our songs, laughing at our jokes, being a great audience. These endless hours were another way of telling us “I care what you think. I’m interested in the things that interest you.”

Frequently, our stories recounted funny things that had happened in our family:

The time that dad couldn’t ask for directions to the Botanical Gardens in Arizona because his Roanoke lips couldn’t say “Botanical.”
Our brother Eddie’s first joke about farts that went “Batman offered to Flatman and said ‘Pew.’”
Eddie’s emotional trip to the Hallmark store during one of dad’s many business trip seasons when his little heart cried for the “sad bug.”
Our own inability to stop giggling during a serious family dinner, especially if that dinner was preceded by an extended blessing prayer. We frequently had to eat dinner with our napkins covering our faces, so that we didn’t catch eyes again and burst into renewed laughter.
The grinch-like comments of an overnight baby-sitting shrew, “You girls still wear bibs?”

Mom was our co-conspirator, our confidant, our encourager, our audience. She taught us songs like “She has freckles on her BUTT she is pretty” and helped us pen the famous “Tongue is on the Floor” ballad which we wrote during an especially lengthy car ride to Watoga State Park in West Virginia.

The song lyrics go something like this:

Drivin’ down the highway
Doin’ 94
I looked at my mother,
She was hanging out the door.
I said “Oh, mother dear
Why don’t you come back here?”
She said “I cannot daughter
‘Cause my tongue is on the floor.”

Oh, her tongue is on the floor
Her tongue is on the floor
She cannot come back here because
Her tongue is on the floor

Well, maybe you had to have been there. It was really funny.

Mom’s life spoke many important messages. Messages that life is to be enjoyed, family times are good times, loving means sharing, laughing together makes us strong. These were lessons that shape my view of life.

Tribute to My Parents - Epilogue - Looking Back

2010-06-21T06:00:00.009-04:00

Looking Back

As I write this, I look back on the family of my childhood. Our numbers have grown from the original five members to eight, not counting pets. I have lost a dad, I have gained sisters-in-law, I have substituted one husband for another, I have been blessed with a son. And yet, so much remains the same. The lessons taught us by mom and dad about God, about ourselves, about love and about life will live on. They will live on in the hearts of those remaining and in the lives of people we touch.

Thank you, Mom and Dad for caring enough to carry the message. I love you very much.

Today's post is the epilogue to a four part tribute. To read the Tribute in its entirety, go to http://home.earthlink.net/~viquidill/landscapetribute.pdf

Tribute to My Parents - Part Three - Mom the Tolerant

2010-06-20T06:00:00.001-04:00

Mom, the Tolerant

Today's post is the third in a four part tribute. I will be posting the other parts in the coming days.To read the Tribute in its entirety, go to http://home.earthlink.net/~viquidill/landscapetribute.pdf

In order to have an understanding of mom, at least the tolerant mom that I remember, you must first get an understanding of exactly how much there was to tolerate. You have to understand dad to understand mom.

Dad, ever the engineer, had a desire to do things bigger and stronger. This works great if you’re planning to build a wall or hang Christmas lights. This can create problems if you’re trying to plant a vegetable garden.

Dad’s garden plots got larger and larger every year. The idea was to till a larger area but plant the same amount of seedlings, so that the rows would be better spaced, more widely spaced, and easier to work.

But that big plot of freshly tilled earth was too much for my dad’s engineering brain to resist. After all that talk about not overplanting, my dad could not resist the temptation to plant more, more, more stuff in the garden.

Not only was the garden itself larger and more densely planted every year, but the vegetables themselves got larger and larger. Most of his vegetables looked like they had be grown near Three Mile Island.

The zucchini were as large as those self-lighting logs you can buy at Christmas. The yellow squash were the size of trumpets. The tomatoes busted their own skins and became food for the birds and deer.

Dad would bring the big produce into the kitchen, like the great buffalo hunter, presenting the prize tatonka to his squaw for skinning. Mom would smile, cook it for hours, and serve it to us with a proud statement about how the meal came fresh from dad’s garden.

During this whole time, mom offered very little criticism about the situation. If asked, mom would say that she wished that our father had picked the zucchini earlier, or that she wished that he had planted less densely. But she’d only say it once. She didn’t pretend, but she didn’t nag either.

Somehow mom was able to keep a balance between saying too much and not saying enough. She was the perfect example of saying what you mean, meaning what you say, but realizing that unity is more important than the size of the produce or the taste of the meal.

She was wise enough to know the difference between those things that must be accepted because they could not be changed and those things that were worth fighting for. Her words and deeds were completely in line with each other: she displayed integrity.

Without saying a word, she taught me that people are more important than things, that loving means putting up with something less (or in this case, more) than perfection. These were lessons that shaped my view of family and marriage.

Tribute to My Parents - Part Two - Dad the Man of Vision

2010-06-19T18:46:00.002-04:00

Dad, the Man of Vision

Today's post is the second in a four part tribute. I will be posting the other parts in the coming days. To read the Tribute in its entirety, go to http://home.earthlink.net/~viquidill/landscapetribute.pdf

Dad had a way of talking about the future. He had a way of spending time with you, making you feel that you were the most important part of the world at that very moment. His actions and his manner communicated that you had great value. He saw not only your present usefulness, but your future value as well.

I remember dad as always having a bunch of projects going. He liked to build big structures, using stones, brick and concrete. We moved a lot. With every new house, dad saw a fresh opportunity to make a permanent structure. He built stone walls to hold back hills. He built brick walls to define flower beds. We always had the best sand pile in the neighborhood. Sometimes dad’s mortar hardened with plastic dinosaur heads sticking out of the walls.

Once, when he was finishing a wrought iron fence on top of one of his famous walls, dad let me hang around and help him with his work. He told me I had an important job to do. He gave me a small clean paint brush. He gave me an old coffee can filled with clear turpentine and told me it was primer. I had no idea what primer was but dad said the word with a very serious face. He gave me clear instructions to use the brush and “primer” to make the fence ready for the next coat of paint. This was an important job, I could tell just by the look in dad’s eyes. That look said that I was up to the job.

I felt like a skilled craftsman as I concentrated on my solemn duty. My dad trusts me. I can do this. I have value. Somewhere inside me, a sleeping artist/engineer began to awaken. Dad had set the alarm clock.

Dad had a way of talking about the future as though good things were already happening. “If” was not in his vocabulary. Dad always said “when.”

It seemed like at least once a year, we would visit dad’s Alma Mater, Virginia Polytechnic Institute, VPI it was called back then. Dad would walk around the grounds of the school, pointing out the academic buildings, saying “Viqui, here’s McBryde Hall, where you’ll take Math.” As we pass the quads, dad would point to the dormitory buildings, whispering “That’s Eggleston. It was a men’s dorm when I slept there but now it’s a women’s dorm where you’ll sleep.”

Again, I found myself believing, sharing the vision. I can do this. I’m already here. These were lessons that shaped my view of myself.

Tribute to My Parents - Part One - Dad the Superhero

2010-06-18T18:44:00.013-04:00

Dad, the Superhero

Today's post is the first in a four part tribute. I will be posting the other parts in the coming days. To read the Tribute in its entirety, go to http://home.earthlink.net/~viquidill/landscapetribute.pdf

I don’t know who it was that put a chain drive mechanism on a tricycle, but the Patterson family, our neighbors on Longridge Road in Charleston, West Virginia, bought the trike and gave it to their girls to ride. That chain drive enabled the rider to develop unbelievable speed; the rider who could not balance well enough to ride even a bike with training wheels was wheeling up and down the street at high speed on a tricycle. It seemed to me that trike could go faster than a car on that West Virginia road.

The roads in West Virginia are many things. But no one would describe them as flat, straight, side-walked or wide-shouldered. In short, these were not good roads for kids on wheels. But there we were: my sister, Debby, and I, skating, running, and tricycling up and down the street. Fortunately, these were the days before working moms and two-car families. So we small-wheelers had the roads to ourselves most of the time.

One Saturday afternoon, Janie Patterson let me ride her chain driven tricycle. Janie was not frequently given to sharing, so I felt supremely honored.

I don’t remember much of the beginning or middle of the ride, but I remember vividly the end. I rode that trike off the road with no shoulder, off the road that was not flat, off the road and over the side and tumbled into the woods. I lay there, face in the dark dirt. Wondering what would happen next.

I did not have to wonder for long. Within the time it took me to realize what had happened and scream my well-practiced, little girl scream, my dad appeared from nowhere. He scooped me up in his arms and carried me back home, where mom worked her boo-boo magic.

There must have been other events like this one that I’ve long since forgotten, events that taught me that people are good, adults can be trusted, loving means caring. These were lessons that shaped my view of the Father God.

I’ll never know how he knew so well where I was, what I was doing, or how much I needed his rescue. I’ll forever believe that he was a super hero. Coming out of nowhere, at just the right time, just when I needed him most.

Tribute to My Parents - Prologue - To My Mother and Father

2010-06-18T18:38:00.017-04:00

To my mother and father

Lately I have been wishing that I could remember more about both of you. Memories that used to be so fresh and reliable seem to be slipping away. And I am left with only sketchy recollections, diluted by time. The purpose of this tribute is to record some of my best childhood memories, before these recollections become too pale.

I think about the values that you taught me. You were skilled teachers, using the best teaching methods possible. I think about the lessons you passed on just by being yourselves, leading the lives you had been given.

I like to take these memories out and try to revisit them without the burden of teenage rebellion, peer pressure and hormones.

I remember mom, with her encouragement and humor. I remember dad, the visionary, the hero.

Today's post is the prologue to a four part tribute. I will be posting the other parts in the coming days.
To read the Tribute in its entirety, go to http://home.earthlink.net/~viquidill/landscapetribute.pdf

Happy Fathers Day!

Hey! Who Turned off the Water? - The Worship/Shower Analogy

2010-06-14T06:45:00.011-04:00

A great worship experience is like a great shower and shampoo. When it's going great, you can just stand there and let the whole thing wash over and envelop you. Ahhh, that wonderful washed clean feeling. Surrender to it.

There are a couple of things that can cause this awesome experience to fail. These are what I'll call my "pet peeves" of worship, which I'm going to rant about in today's post.

This post is #3 in a series about worship. Also see my previous, kinder, gentler posts, 4 Musical Languages of Worship and I Kiss with my Eyes Closed.

So for a minute, imagine yourself in the shower, getting ready to wash your hair. You're looking forward to it. You have everything you need in easy reach. Shampoo, creme rinse, soap, towel, hot and cold water controls. The water temperature is perfect. The water pressure is just right, not too hard, and not too soft. Everything is perfect. Grab the shampoo, palm it for a second, then massage it into the top of your head. That fantastic smell is all around you, that wonderful immersion into the bubbles and the water is deep within you. Let's let it happen.

Ok, so now for a minute, imagine yourself in the best worship situation possible. The lights are dim but you can still see. The music is perfectly balanced and seems to come from all around. Feel the bass and kick drum gently rock your rib cage. You know the song by heart, the words and tune, you're ready to start belting out your heart to your awesome God who loves you so very very much. Open up your heart, take a deep breath, sing the words of your joy and pain into the ear of the God who gave Himself for you. It's bliss. Let's let it happen.

Now, we get to the pet peeve part. The song winds down and the sound stops. The worship leader is talking about the next song. The moment that was, is no more. We've moved on to the next song, but we're not quite there yet. Waiting in between as the worship leader breaks the mood by pausing the worship and talking.

This is one of my pet peeves. It's like somebody turned off your water in mid-shampoo. What the heck? Who would do such a thing? What could possibly be so important that we have to stop the worship experience just because we're moving from one song to another? Do I need to be told that this next song is new? Do I need to be told what the song is about? Do I need to hear anything other than the conversation I'm already having with God?

Nope, nope, nope. I don't want any of that. What I want is that worship experience turned back on as soon as possible. I want that wonderful water washing over me again, renewing and cleaning me inside and out. That’s what I want and I’m not getting it. My worship is interrupted. It’s going to take me a couple verses of the next song before I can get back in the zone again.

Now that it's been said, let me let go of the rant. Let me find forgiveness for the worship leader who's just trying to do his job. Let me return to thoughts of that wonderful worship experience I crave like no other. Let me stop ranting and start to beg.

Please, Mr. Worship Leader, I know your heart is in the right place. I know you love the Lord as much as I do and all you want is to lead others into His throne room. But please, sir, once the worship starts happening, just get out of the way and let it happen. Embrace the medley. Embrace the parade of same-sounding familiar, even trite and mindless songs. We love those songs like we love that same shampoo we've bought and used since junior high school. Embrace that familiar warm cocoon of worship that seems to go on forever. Let us lather, rinse and repeat again and again. Let us stand in that warm water long after the last of the creme rinse has gone down the drain. Let us dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen.

That wonderful washed clean feeling. Surrender to it.

I Kiss with my Eyes Closed

2010-05-14T05:47:00.023-04:00

I kiss with my eyes closed. I also take a shower with my eyes closed and I worship that way, too.

This post is #2 in a series about worship. Also see my previous post, 4 Musical Languages of Worship.

I think worship is a lot like kissing and showering. Worship is an experiential activity and when it's good, I want to put my whole self into it. I close my eyes and I let go, just like kissing and showering. To do that, I need to be into it, I need to feel safe, and I need to know what I'm doing.

Let me explain.

I'm into it.

When I'm into it, I'm connected and engaged. I'm kissing a guy I like, the very one I have a crush on, and to whom I want to say "I love you" in a language without words. Maybe I've been waiting for hours or days for him to kiss me, and now the moment has arrived and I'm so very glad it's finally happening. Nothing feels as good as this moment right here and now. I close my eyes and pretend the world is only me and him. I'm into it.

Or perhaps I'm taking a shower to get myself ready for a wonderful day, a big date, or a special event. Maybe I'm showering away the dirt of a day well spent, sweat I poured out persevering through a tough time. Nothing feels so good as that warm water on my skin. I feel my muscles relax as the stress of my day goes down the drain. I close my eyes and relax. I'm into it.

In worship, there are times when I arrive badly in need of time with God. I'm battled and bruised from the week behind me, I'm fearful about things that might happen in the week ahead. I want to run into God's throne room, crawl up in His lap, bury my face in His shoulder and disappear into Him. I raise my hands in the air saying "Lift me up, I've fallen down." Or maybe I've had such a great week that I can't wait to thank God about it. I want to kneel at His feet and pour out my gratitude to Him. I raise my hands in the air for a big high five with God. This is an intimate moment and my heart aches for quality time with Jesus. Nothing feels as good as this moment of Just me and Him, that's all there is in the world and that's all I need. I'm into it.

I'm safe.

OK, let's get to a confession. I'm afraid of being judged. Judgment is just a precursor to condemnation and I fear it like nothing else. What if I'm not good enough or smart enough? What if other people stare at me or laugh at me? If I'm kissing or showering or worshiping, I want complete freedom to enjoy myself. I want complete privacy, even invisibility. We know how this plays out with kissing and showering. In worship, it might take some explanation.

I want dark.

I want the room to be as dark as possible. In the dark, I think you can't see me and I'm safe in the dark. I have complete privacy in the dark. I can make faces of joy or I can weep quietly and only God will know if I'm here in the dark. I'm free from any embarrassment about how silly I might look. I'm safe here in the dark to worship.

I want loud.

Loud is to being overheard as dark is to being seen. I want the music to be loud for the same reason I want the room to be dark. I don't want you to be able to hear me because I'm afraid you might judge my singing. Think about a rock concert held in an arena. It's so loud, I can't hear my friend screaming right next to me. It's the perfect environment for total all out top of my lungs singing along. It won't matter if I sing the wrong words, the wrong tune, at the wrong time or during a big solo. Nobody hears me but God. And that's just how I want it. I throw my head back and belt out my heart to God. I'm safe here where the music's loud and I can worship with total abandon.

This desire for a really loud worship experience might offend some of my friends who complain when it gets loud in church. I know you want the volume of the music to be close to what it is at your home listening to your stereo. I understand that's a comfortable listening level. But that's the point - you're not supposed to be listening. You're supposed to be worshiping, singing along at the top of your lungs, too. This is a different experience than the experience of listening and the music level has to be different to make it happen. We want to be safe to participate without embarrassment or judgment and that takes really loud music. With loud music, we're safe.

I want lots of other worshipers.

Think "rock concert" for a second. The stadium is packed with lots and lots of us, getting into the music, having an awesome time. The sound and excitement in the air are so thick, you can see them. Nobody is looking around. All the attention is focused elsewhere. In a concert, we are focusing on what's happening on stage: the music, the lights, the performance. In worship, we are reaching for the spirit of God in the room. It's a paradox of worship that the more crowded it is, the more privacy the individual worshipers have. Other folks, in the dark, surrounded by the sounds, raising their hands, raising their voices, closing our eyes, kneeling, dancing, worshiping. It's a picture of heaven.

I know just what to do.

So I'm in my happy place, worshiping with all my heart because I'm totally into it and I'm totally safe. This will go well as long as I know just what to do.

Knowing what to do means I'm familiar with the music. I blogged about that in a previous post, 4 Musical Languages of Worship.

I know the next word coming up without having to open my eyes and read the slide. Maybe it's a familiar song I've sung a hundred times before. This song comes alive in a new way for me right here, right now because I'm truly immersed in it. Even an old song becomes new when I'm offering it up in a new way. Eyes closed, alone with God and enjoying my time in the throne room, pouring out my broken heart to my loving Father, or singing out my thanks for the great things He has done for me. I don't have to think, I don't have to see, I just open up my heart and let Him fill it up.

How about you? Are you like me? Do you kiss and shower and worship with your eyes closed? Be sure to leave a comment at the end of this blog and let me know.

4 Musical Languages of Worship

2010-04-21T23:10:00.000-04:00

Hey, it's Viqui Dill again. I haven't blogged in a while and now I have something to say. I want to hear your thoughts about it, too. So please please please leave a comment.

Today I want to talk about the 4 Musical Languages of Worship.

We don't all speak the same language. The language or languages you speak depend on the places you've been, how you grew up, and the languages you heard as a kid.

The same is true for music. Music is language and we don't all speak the same one. The music that moves you, makes it possible for you to worship, will depend on the music of the places you've been, the music you enjoyed in happy times, the music that comforted you in tough times, the musical language of your walk though history.

The quickest way to get somebody in the worship mood is to speak their musical language. The quickest way to disconnect them is to urge them out of their musical comfort zone. So I think it's important to try to speak each person's musical language at some time during the worship experience.

I think there are 4 such languages, and the languages correspond to the group of folks that speak that language. There are four groups: the regulars, the n00bs, the shoppers, and the traditionals. Let me explain.

The regulars
The regulars are the folks who come out to worship regularly. Like Homer having a beer at Moe's Tavern, the regulars want things to be pretty much the same as they were last week. They loved the way things were last week or they wouldn't be coming back week after week. The regulars like to worship to songs that they know, songs from the top 10 or 20 songs on your CCLI play list, the songs you play week after week. The regulars love the hits from past Sundays. The regulars love those contemporary worship songs that you sing regularly. The regulars love what you play already.

The n00bs
The n00bs have never been to your worship, in fact they may not have ever been to any worship of any kind in their adult life, so they won't know much contemporary church music. They'll know and like the music they hear in their regular lives, music that gets airplay, music that gets downloaded, ambient music played at the gym and the grocery store, music from movies, music from tv, music of the street.

The shoppers
The shoppers have a background of regular worship attendance but for some reason, they're not plugged in to your specific community. They are looking for a new place to plug in, with all of the things that they loved about the old place, just none of the things that made them decide to make a change. This group includes college students away from home, kids at a new summer camp, family members visiting relatives from out of town, committed worshipers who are new to the area, as well as folks looking for a change because they just don't like where they've been going. What kind of musical language do the shoppers speak? They like the hits, the songs from the CCLI top 25 for the last year, the songs chosen for compilation CDs and WOW Worship. Like the n00bs, the shoppers listen to some kind of radio station, and like the songs played on the radio, downloads, movies and tv. But this time, the stations, downloads, tv shows and movies are playing Christian music. For the shoppers, we should choose those popular worship songs that worship leaders love to hate. Yes, we've played "Shout to the Lord" a zillion times, and yes, we're tired of it and want to play newer cooler songs, but the older reliable songs are the ones that will touch the heart of worshipers who are not familiar yet with your current favorites.

The traditionals
Traditionals love that old time religion and are still looking for a place to get some. They like those old hymns, and some of the new hymns too. The more traditional the hymn, the more comfortable the traditional worshiper will be. n00bs might like traditional hymns, too if they had an older relative that loved them very much and brought them to church. I have seen small group worship experiences dissolve into happy tears whenever I'd play a traditional hymn. Afterward, folks would come up and tell me "That was my grandmother's favorite hymn. She used to let me sit on her lap when we visited her church. I cried just thinking about her."

So, there are the four groups of people with their preferred musical languages, the songs they prefer to hear in a worship experience:

regulars like what you already play
n00bs like what's popular on secular radio, on tv, or downloaded
shoppers like the top worship hits, what's popular nationwide
traditionals like those old hymns

So why not speak all four languages when you're choosing songs for worship? You'll be helping more folks plug in to the worship service because they'll hear the gospel spoken in their own language at sometime during the service.

Need a scripture reference for this? Try these. God asks us to speak in the language of the listener, not in our preferred language. Check these out.

Acts 2:7-9 (New International Version)

⁷Utterly amazed, they asked: "Are not all these men who are speaking Galileans? ⁸Then how is it that each of us hears them in his own native language? ⁹Parthians, Medes and Elamites; residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia,

1 Corinthians 14:16-17 (New International Version)

¹⁶If you are praising God with your spirit, how can one who finds himself among those who do not understand say "Amen" to your thanksgiving, since he does not know what you are saying? ¹⁷You may be giving thanks well enough, but the other man is not edified.

So let's learn to speak the language of our worshipers. Let's learn some music that may be not our favorite, but will speak love into the world of those who hear it. Let's learn some songs that may be new to us, but will speak comfort and love into the ears of the listener, whether they're regulars, shoppers, n00bs, or even traditionals.

An Unusual Gig for the Dill Pickers

2009-03-14T20:23:00.000-04:00

3/10/2009 @ 11:30 am, the Dill Pickers play at the Oasis Fellowship in Columbia, SC.

The Oasis, an outreach and Bible study for 55+ age folks, meets each Tuesday in the Fellowship Hall. 11:30-1:00PM. Light meal served, cost $2.00.

There is singing, fellowship and a life application Bible study by Dr. Tim Phillips. The Dill Pickers were guest song leaders.

Riverland Hills Oasis Fellowship at Riverland Hills Baptist Church
201 Lake Murray Blvd.
Irmo, SC 29063

Viqui on 12 String, Keith on Fiddle, Jim on Djembe, playing some tunes for the folks at the Oasis.

Opening song is The Man in the Middle
http://home.earthlink.net/~viquidill/lyrics/three_men_on_the_mountain.pdf

Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing #15 in the hymn book
http://emmausofclarke.com/worship_song_charts_as_html/Come_Thou_Fount_G.html

Just as I Am #307 in the hymn book
http://emmausofclarke.com/worship_song_charts_as_html/Just_As_I_Am_Bb.html

What a Friend We Have in Jesus #182 in the hymn book
http://emmausofclarke.com/worship_song_charts_as_html/What_A_Friend.html

I'll Fly Away as our closing song, not in the hymn book, but they sang along any way
http://emmausofclarke.com/worship_song_charts_as_html/Circle Be Unbroken Fly Away.html

How it went: terrific. The congregation was very appreciative of us and sang, even when there was nothing in the hymn book from which to go.

Thank you to everyone who frolicked with me!

This is part of the Sunday Set List blog carnival on Fred McKinnon's blog. It's a wonderful group of people who share and care about the worship experience. Make sure you visit today.

Leading Worship Twice in One Day

2009-02-28T15:59:00.000-05:00

This week at Emmaus Church in Berryville, VA, our regular worship leader has a gig leading worship with his band, Stereoreel at Cornerstone Church in Huntsburg, OH. So while Caleb is away, the Dills will play. We played at two different worship experiences; the eleven o'clock main worship service, and the 5:30 pm youth worship service. Here's what we did:

11:00 Service
♥ Opening song ♥
Working on a Dream (D) – Bruce Springsteen
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XtS78vUUzJo

♥ Worship set: ♥
Where He Leads Me (A) - Ernest Blandy and John Norris - Public Domain
How Great Is Our God (E) - Chris Tomlin, Ed Cash, and Jesse Reeves CCLI #4348399
How Great Thou Art (E) - Stuart K. Hine CCLI # 14181
Cannons (A) - Phil Wickham

♥ Offeratory ♥
Down to the River to Pray (E) - Public Domain

♥ Closing Song ♥
Where He Leads Me (A) - Ernest Blandy and John Norris - Public Domain

This morning's worship team (in alphabetical order):
Acoustic Guitar - Viqui Dill (also vocals)
Bass - Erin Gum (also vocals)
Drums - Keith Dill (also vocals)
Electric Guitar - Josh Curtis (also vocals)
Sound - Heather Hackworth
Tech - Cody Hackworth
Vocals - Diane Gum (also Tech)

How it went: Awesome! We had folks performing rolls they were not used to and it still went great.

We snuck in 2 songs that had airplay on non-religious radio, namely Bruce Springsteen's Working on a Dream and Oh Brother Where Art Thou's Down to the River to Pray.

Josh actually sang; he sang bass on Down to the River, much to the delight of our congregation. Erin walked the bass like a pro on Where He Leads. Keith, who can do anything well, played drums instead of his usual lead guitar or fiddle. Viqui doesn't lead every week, and had a few moments of leading us in some kind of strange direction, but folks were forgiving and willing followers. The beautiful blend of the mother/daughter vocals that we hear with Diane and Erin is matchless, miraculous even. Thanks to all.

5:30 pm Youth Worship Service
♥ Worship set: ♥
I’ll Be There for You (A) - The Rembrandts, Theme from the Friends tv show
God of Wonders (A) - Marc Byrd and Steve Hindalong CCLI # 3118757
Cannons (A) - Phil Wickham

This afternoon's worship team (in alphabetical order):
Acoustic Guitar - Tyler Rogers
Acoustic Guitar - Viqui (also vocals)
Tech - Diane Gum

How it went: Awesome again! Many of the kids, the older ones, did know the Friends theme, but many of them did not. I'm going to have to find another song and I'm looking for candidates. Everyone knew God of Wonders and we really belted out Cannons. All 3 songs fit the theme, which is the kick off of our Gospel Journey Maui program.

I think the 11 o'clock service would be better if we learned from the 5:30 crew and played fun games during the service.

Thank you to everyone who frolicked with me!

This is part of the Sunday Set List blog carnival on Fred McKinnon's blog. It's a wonderful group of people who share and care about the worship experience. Make sure you visit today.

Something Different This Week

2008-12-28T17:14:00.000-05:00

This week at Emmaus Church in Berryville, VA, our regular worship leader was out of town, leaving me free to sing a few different songs and do a few different styles. Here's what we did:

♥ Opening song ♥
Victory Chant (with hand jive motions)

♥ Worship set: ♥
I Saw the Light by Hank Senior
Better Is One Day by Matt Redmond
Enough by Chris Tomlin

♥ Offeratory ♥
All Who Are Thirsty by Brenton Brown

♥ Closing Song ♥
I'll Fly Away and Will the Circle Be Unbroken (both are Public Domain)

Our wonderful drummer, Ethan, was sick this morning so Keith filled in, playing BOTH fiddle and drums. It was kind of amazing.

The other amazing thing that happened this morning is about basketball. Emmaus Church meets in a school building and this morning, while we were worshiping in the auditorium, another group was playing basketball in the gym. Their happy sounds of bouncing balls and sneakers-on-wood-floor mingled with our music and made a joyful noise. Maybe some day our 2 groups will share more than a building.

This morning's worship team (in alphabetical order):
Acoustic Guitar - Viqui (also vocals and handmotions)
Bass - Erin (also vocals)
Drums & Fiddle - Keith (also vocals)
Electric Guitar - Seth
Sound and Tech - Walravens
Vocals - Diane (also hand motions)

Thank you to everyone who frolicked with me!

This is part of the Sunday Set List blog carnival on Fred McKinnon's blog. It's a wonderful group of people who share and care about the worship experience. Make sure you visit today.

Best October Ever!

2008-11-02T19:32:00.000-05:00

I'm just taking a minute to enjoy the events of the last month.

It started out great. A crashed laptop gave me an excuse to travel to Blacksburg to visit Jim at Tech, buy a cool new desktop system, and go to Outback for slabs of delicious beef. Beef cattle: delicious and slow. Mmmm. Here's a picture of Jim and me after we fired up and loaded up the system.

On 10/5, I got to lead worship at Emmaus. I had the awesome team of Erin on Bass, Ethan on drums, Seth on Electric, and Diane running sound. Caleb was out of town and I had the freedom to make my own mistakes and bad choices. Like forgetting to change the key to one of the songs so that it was so high, I had to scream it. But we had a winner with "Victory Chant" with hand motions. We had fun, God showed up. What could be better?

Then lickety split after church, I got to teach Caleb's guitar class how to do bar chords. We had fun and then our hands got sore, so we took pictures.

The next weekend, we picked and sang with the Turner Clan at their annual Octoberfest. Most appreciative crowd ever. They dance and sing and hoot and holler like we're Lynyrd Skynyrd or something. Once again, the weather was awesome and so was the company. Keith played a set with Flint Hollow Bluegrass after dinner, then played some folkie rock until the wee hours.

Next weekend, I was thrilled to be invited up to Highland County for back-to-back fun. I attempted to entertain the attendees at the fundraising Spaghetti Dinner for the Highland Logos group. Chris and Heather Scott are the best hosts ever. New Directions sang some wonderful worship songs and then I got up to do some more music. Since my entire front row was preschoolers, we did all the hits: B-I-N-G-O, Eensy Weensy Spider, E-I-E-I-O up to 5 animals, Chicken Dance, If You're Happy and You Know It, all the hits. Then we ate their awesome Spaghetti and cleaned up. Then it was off to the Laurel Point Bed and Breakfast, up to watch the sunrise over the breathtaking mountains, and on to McDowell United Methodist Church. Such a pleasure to lead worship with such a worshipping crew in that beautiful location. We had fun, God showed up. What could be better?

Delaware only has one Fiddle Championship and we try to go there every year. Another great trip for the Dill Pickers on 10/25. Did I mention that we're in Rehoboth Beach? We got there a day early and caught some of that great ocean air.

At the contest, Keith took 2nd in Fiddle and 3rd in Banjo and our band, featuring Ray Hesson on Banjo, took 2nd. Check out the video of his fiddle tune below. Our buddy, Frank Nanna MCs the event. He's not just great on the Banjo, he's great with a crowd.

After the contest, we had a fun evening jamming with the Prairie Dog Band and Route 40 at a local venue.

Ending out the month of October with a strangely good Hallowe'en, I took my guitar to work and played a little bit at our break. My coworkers are perhaps the most supportive ever, yelling out requests for songs from our CD and even letting me do 2 encores. Go Freight Team. Carry my LOVE, boys.

On Saturday 11/1, we played at our church's Square Dance. Now before you go judging our Square Dance, I have to say that it was the best church event ever. We ate. We sang. We Square Danced. We Line Danced. We did the Hokie Pokie. The weather was PERFECT, high 60's and no wind. Wonderful.

The month of fun closed out fantastically with Bluegrass Worship at Round Hill United Methodist just West of Winchester. We sang "I Saw the Light" and "In the Garden." Keith played the Fiddle so sweetly and so fiercely. It was great. Then, for All Saints Day, we closed out the service with "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" and "I'll Fly Away." We had fun, God showed up. What could be better?

How great is my life??? So great!!!

Jennifer and Nick - Not their real names

2008-06-14T18:41:00.000-04:00

Today I heard from my old friend. We'll call her "Jennifer" but that's not her real name. This girl has had a lifetime of challenges in 20 short years. And today, she was having another of those challenges. So she called me.

I met Nick some time after I met Jennifer. Nick also had been dealt a tough hand. Jenn and Nick had a bit in common and found companionship and strength in just being together. They were both patients in the mental healthcare system from time to time. It's a tough life, as I said, and if you're not a part of it, I want you to say a quick prayer of gratitude for your good luck.

So Jenn called to say that Nick had taken his own life. He was found in the river, wearing his glasses, wearing a red dress. I wonder what kind of pain he must have been in to throw himself into the river in such an outfit. I wanted to hug him and tell him that I understood and that Jesus understood and that we both wanted to wrap him in our arms and cry with him until he felt better and could laugh.

But I couldn't do that. It's too late for me to hug Nick. Too late for me, but I bet Jesus is hugging him now, telling him He understands, holding him until he felt whole again and could laugh. Maybe even putting a really great dress on him; who knows what they wear in heaven.

So I listened to Jennifer cry on the phone. She was mad at God. She asked why He doesn't help people. I thought that was good. Good question, and good that she still thinks of God as real and capable of helping. And good that she called me, of all the folks she could have called. I want to be the one people call when they are mad at God.

I listened. I cried. We hung up.

I wish I knew why God heals some folks and not others. God has healed me from time to time. God has refrained from healing me at times, too. God is God and I'm not God so I don't understand God.

But I know one day, we'll see face to face and we'll know.

And maybe I'll be wearing a really great dress.

Salt Sandwich

2008-04-10T18:00:00.000-04:00

Jesus calls us to be salt and light.

Matthew 5:13 "You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men.

Mark 9:50 "Salt is good, but if it loses its saltiness, how can you make it salty again? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with each other."

Luke 14:34 "Salt is good, but if it loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again?

Colossians 4:6 Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.

What do you think it means? It's a strange metaphor and I've heard many sermons about the meaning. Jesus, what did you mean when you asked us to be salt?

Me, I like watching people. And I have noticed one thing: everybody likes a little salt.

A little salt. Not the whole shaker. No matter how hungry you are, no matter how much you like the sparkle salt adds to food, nobody orders a salt sandwich. Nobody eats the whole shaker.

Also, folks grab the salt shaker and do their own sprinkling. The salt doesn't jump out of the shaker without an invitation.

So let's go with the metaphor, and apply the salt lesson to our Christian walk.

First of all, we gotta be out in it. Out with the tax collectors and prostitutes. Out with the gays and the democrats. Out where the food is, where the salt is needed and wanted. Where people need Jesus, where they are hurting and lonely.

Second, we need to sprinkle ourselves, not lumpy and heavy like a big ole salt sandwich. What if the hungry folks in my life feel judged and not loved. Then all I've done was serve them a salt sandwich. Yuck.

And we gotta be who we are, and not pretend to be sugar or crack or even sweet-and-low. Be salt. God made you just that way. Sodium and chloride.

So sprinkle yourself around and love somebody. Be salt for Jesus. And if you see me out there, be sure to sprinkle some of yourself my way. I need love and salt every day.

Oh, Fudge

2008-04-09T21:39:00.000-04:00

On Monday, my boss returned from a week of vacation at the beach, bringing with him delicious blocks of fudge in chocolate, chocolate chip, and peanut butter flavors. Monday morning, 8 am was a department meeting, where the fudge in fantastic flavors was revealed for all to enjoy. The scene inspired me to Haiku:

chocolate* fudge meeting
causes me to want a nap.
our boss, the best boss.

* 2 syllables, pronounced in the dialect of West Virginia.

Expectancy

2008-04-01T22:21:00.000-04:00

I don't usually put out the birdfeeders this early. But this year is different. This year, I'm so ready for spring, so desperate for birds and bees and flowers, I actually got the birdfeeders out early.

This is a good faith exercise for me. I get to react to something that hasn't happened yet because I have faith that it will happen. I know it's silly but I feel like I'm putting feet to my prayers as I pray for the return of spring.

So I put out 3 feeders for hummingbirds. I put them out on the far corners of the back porch. Some lucky hummingbird male will be able to keep an eye on all 3 from the Silver Maple out back. Bright red liquid hanging in plain sight. Easy to see Easy to defend.

I have been tracking the hummingbird migration on the web. http://www.hummingbirds.net/

They fly north this time of year, up from somewhere warm and southern. The first sitings in VA were at the coast, a couple of weeks ago. According to the website, hummingbirds made it to Richmond today. Shouldn't be too much longer until some scale the mountains and come flying my way. I am ready.

I also put out a feeder for songbirds. Just one. Usually the songbird food attracts squirrels and silverfish. Bluejays and cardinals will fly up to the feeder and get themselves some food. Then as they get their own food, some will fall to the ground for the doves and finches who are ground feeders. Soon we'll have a yard full of songbirds.

Soon. But not yet.

I'm ready.

Come Dance Zydeco

2008-03-08T18:23:00.000-05:00

Keith Dill is a fast, efficient, and good record producer. While we were visiting family in South Carolina this week, his father gave him a Boss BR 1180, "World's easiest digital recorder," still not easy. The others must be wickedly difficult.

Anyway, Keith learned quickly how to use the thing and produced a usable version of a song I wrote. You can download the song from www.myspace.com/dillpickers. Check it out.

Here are the words, sing along...

Come Dance Zydeco
Written by Viqui Dill
Published by CompassMom Productions (BMI) ©2002

Well the girls in the city got a lot of fine shoes
But they don't got a thing on me
While they're sitting in traffic and cryin' the blues
I am goin' to a big party
It's out under the stars on the banks of the bayou
Where they've play the zydeco sound
Instead of sittin' in traffic, we're makin' such a racket
Every evening when the sun goes down

Chorus
They got a fiddle in the cajun band
And we go dancin' to it hand in hand
Moonlight as bright as day
Just hear that squeeze box play
City worries getting out of hand
Give them all to the cajun band
They got the salt for your snap beans, Joe
Come dance zydeco

Verse 2
Well the girls in the city drive a lot of fast cars
But it don't mean a thing on me
'Cause I got the moon and I got the stars
Underneath a big live oak tree
Now we don't talk pretty and we don't talk smooth
But we mean every word that we say
There's no reason to hide what we feel inside
When the cajun band starts to play

Cheese toast with mustard and strawberry preserves

2008-03-06T21:05:00.000-05:00

Cheese toast with mustard and strawberry preserves. I didn't think I would like it but it's delicious.

This week, I spent Spring Break with family in Lexington, SC. On Tuesday, my mother-in-law offered to fix me breakfast. "What do you want?" she asked me.

"Whatever you're having," I said.

So she fixed several pieces of toast with melted cheddar cheese. Then she sprinkled mustard on the melted cheese. Interesting, I think.

Then something hideously wonderful happened. She put a big dollup of strawberry jelly on the mustard and mixed them together, spreading the mixture evenly over the melted cheese. Mustard with strawberries over cheddar. Hideously wonderful.

I ate 3 slices. Try it sometime.

Top 5 Reasons I Love Gigging the Baby Shower Circuit

2008-02-27T19:18:00.000-05:00

Top 5 Reasons I Love Gigging the Baby Shower Circuit
Yesterday, I got to bring worship to another Baby Shower. What a great gig. It's got to be the best gig in the world. This was my second baby shower gig and I want to do a zillion more.

Here are my top 5 reasons I really really really love gigging the Baby Shower circuit:

Reason 5: The HOURS
When I used to play in bars, I'd work from 7 pm until 2 am, setting up, playing, tearing down, waiting to get paid. With a baby shower, it's just a few hours in the afternoon. And the crowd is friendly. They don't smell like cigarettes and beer. There's hardly ever a fight.

Reason 4: EASY Set Up
Since the music is acapella, except for my guitar, there's no PA to haul around, load or set up. The set up and tear down are simple. Which means you get to enjoy yourself at the gig. No squeeling feedback to worry about. No power cords to untangle. No amplifiers to lift over your head. Easy.

Reason 3: The FOOD
The food at a baby shower is fantastic. When women cook for women, especially when women cook for pregnant women, the results are incredible. Each bite is oohed and ahhed over. Each cut veggie stick is praised for its healthfulness. And the prize winning Chocolate cake, first place at the Clarke County Fair, gets a special place of honor.

Reason 2: The MUSIC
The women, the girls, and the babies that show up for a baby shower are the best audience and the best performers you could ever hope to find. Each singer knows what to sing and when to sing it. Nobody is too shy. Nobody is too much of a show-off. We sing, laugh, cry, close our eyes and let the music come out. From the heart to God's ears. Sweet and honest. Awesome.

Reason 1: I'm NOT PREGNANT
When I stand next to a pregnant woman, I look and feel thinner. I can enjoy myself because the baby thing is in my long past. I know I can sleep late on weekends. Nobody follows me into the bathroom now. It's nice to cuddle a little baby. And it's nice to give him back to his mommy.

So thanks to you, wonderful women of Emmaus Church, for letting me bring worship to both of your baby showers. And thanks to you, babies Dominic and Hope, for joining our group and giving us a reason to celebrate. And most of all, thank you Lord Jesus, for always being willing to show up and party.

Welcome to Dill World

2008-02-27T13:18:00.000-05:00

Please see more about Dill World at any of these links.

www.dillpickers.com

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Dill-Pickers/7982334932

http://www.myspace.com/dillpickers

http://mp3.washingtonpost.com/bands/the_dill_pickers.shtml

and y'all come back often!