My friend Scott didn't come back home. He'd left early that morning to fly to Corpus Christi, TX to pick up his little (teenage) daughter. He was a professional pilot, which makes it all the harder to understand. Flying is what he did for a living for the past 20+ years. What happenned that morning that his years and years of training couldn't over come? We're told it was instantaneous. What I know for sure is that when he left that morning, he had every intention of coming back home.

You could tell because his office was still a mess, his shoes were still muddy and waiting to be worn again, his flight schedule had to be hurredly filled with other pilots . . . things were left with the intention of coming back to them.

I wonder.

Scott was a man of grand bravery, honesty, and integrity. I could count on him. He was one of those men that you just knew you could always count on him doing what he said he'd do. Stallwart and trustworthy, steady and solid.

So, I stress. Do the people in my life know how much I love them? It's not enough to just tell people you love them. My on-going training as a spirit-driven person continuously, positively, informs me that love is a verb. You want to know if I love you? Let show you how much I care. And I fail all the time.

I don't call my mother nearly enough, all my father ever gets is a brief hand shake, I haven't spoken with my god-daughter in ages, people I really care about don't hear from me for weeks. I've written before that unless you're my arm's length away, I'm not thinking about you. It's my fallacy. As much I try to not be selfish, the more glaringly clear it becomes that I am.

The excuse is that I'm busy getting on with getting by. I'm calling people trying to book the next show, writing a new song, scheduling students, giving concerts, training my body with physical workouts and musical training, on and on. That's what I'm busy doing. It's what's happened in our society. I want to not take it lying down. I want to care about you and love you and show you how much I care.

Unfortunately, I'm stuck on shaking my fist to the sky with tears of frustration rolling down my face and angrily asking God why my life is so freaking hard? I'm playing the same song I've been singing for years. Why don't I have hundreds of fans showing up to my shows like someone I know? Why can't I save money on a consistent basis, like a lot of people I know? Why can't I have what I want?

Then, sometimes it all comes crashing on top of me and all I can do is lay down and be still at the awesome granduer, immensity, and intensity of God's personal attention and love of me. It's so big and deep and wide and strong that all I can do is fall on my knees at His majesty.

There's this popular book out there that starts with the words, "It's not about you."

It really isn't about me.

I can't help but want to make it about me.

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