Thoughts and Musings

Thoughts and Musings

random reflections on faith, music, family, life.

Leaving Mayberry

11/18/2013

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According to the bastion of all knowledge known as Google search, the last episode of "The Andy Griffith Show" aired on April 1, 1968 and was titled "Mayberry R.F.D."  Nothing much happened; the episode essentially was a transition piece to the spin-off series by the same name.  By this time a number of things had changed in the show: black-and-white to color, less  good ol' moral lessons and more slapstick country bumpkin-comedy. It was the 249th episode and marked the conclusion of eight storied seasons. Most notable, perhaps, was that Sheriff Andy Taylor was still in Mayberry as the last episode faded to black.  Fitting.  It wasn't until the spin-off that he moved with his new bride to the big city of Raleigh.  And while a lot had changed when he left, a whole lot was still the same.

This is good to know as I, too, prepare to leave Mayberry.

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It's good to know, as my family and I move this week to Charlotte where I'll be the new senior pastor at Trinity Presbyterian Church, that a lot of what we're leaving behind won't change: namely, the ethos of a small town in northwest North Carolina that has taken all the good from the iconic television show it helped to create and incorporated it into its very fabric.  Store names lifted from the show: Barney's Cafe.  Opie's Candy Store. Snappy's Lunch (this one was actually present when young Andy Griffith wandered the streets of his hometown).  The beautiful vista of a community nestled in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, which can be seen in the distance at various points driving around town.  Most of all, the people.  Members of First Presbyterian Church who will always feel like the dear family they are.  Storeowners down Main Street known on a first-name basis - Sandy at the coffee house, Mark at the computer store, Jim at the used book store, Timmesa at the sewing machine shop, Burke and Carolyn at the emporium, John and Gene at the men's clothing store, David and Lora at the soda fountain.  Community leaders who have done a wonderful job of maintaining the "Mayberry charm" while addressing real economic challenges of a small town and living into the 21st century (can I get a shout-out for curbside recycling!)  Of all that makes leaving Mayberry hard, it's leaving the people that is most difficult.  Which I guess is the way it should be, and even greater proof that we really have been in Mayberry all these ten years.

What I wasn't quite prepared for was how our leaving would touch the community-at-large.  Of course there are all the church folks we've laughed and cried with; the "happy for you, sad for us" response that lets us know we'll be genuinely be missed; the new Lindsley mailbox they gave us full of cards and letters and pictures expressing deep love and affection that will find a prominent place in our new home and be cherished for a long time. But beyond the church: people throughout the community, some we don't even know, coming up to us time and time again with their well-wishes.  Almost like there was an article in the local newspaper we didn't see.

Last Friday I had lunch with both boys at the school they will leave this week, and as my oldest returned to his classroom I felt a tug on my sleeve.  It was this fifth-grade girl I've known since she was in kindergarten, even though I can never remember her name.  For six years she has always waved at me with her bright smile and blue eyes and freckles every time she's seen me in school. On this day, there were words with her smile.  I heard you're moving, she said.  I told her we were, next week.  Still smiling she said, Well, I'll miss you.  But I wish you all the best.  I hope you do good things!  And then she hugged me and turned around and followed her classmates to her room.

It's stuff like this that I hope will never change.  When we come back to visit, I want to find that kid and have her wave at me like she always has.  I want Snappy Lunch to still be here; even if I don't actually eat their food.  I want to grab an Oreo malt from the soda fountain and a glass of Restless Soul from the winery (maybe not back-to-back).  I want to wander the streets I used to walk on a daily basis and greet people whether I know them or not; and if a short conversation about the weather ensues, so be it.  And I want to see those mountains in the distance, because even as we move to a place where tall human-made constructions of steel and glass and concrete adorn the skyline, and as awesome as I think that is, in the end I still prefer God's handiwork.  

And so this week a big truck will pull up in front of our house in Mayberry and load all our stuff in it, and the next day deposit it (hopefully unbroken) in a new house a few hours from here.  I guess you could think of it as a spin-off of an original series.   Like ol' Andy Taylor taking his bride to the big city, the Lindsleys are heading to Charlotte, and we'll create the storyline that the sitcom writers neglected to tell.  We'll make a home out of that house; the boys will make new friends at a new school and my wife will find some arena to engage her passion for "the least of these," be they children or animals.  We'll love our new church family in the same way we loved this one here and count ourselves blessed because of it.

But make no mistake - part of us will always be here.  With the good friends we care deeply for and with the places in and around this town that in their own way have become sacred space.  There's a reason CBS waited until the spin-off to ship Andy out of Mayberry - it was so that, in a way, he'd never leave.  He would always be in the place that defined him, doing his Sheriff Taylor thing, just as we remember him doing.  And there's a part of me that's very attracted to that.  I like a place where memory lives strong - not nostalgically holding us back from moving forward, but constantly reminding us of our roots and the people and places who've made us who we are so we can move boldly into the future.  Like a compass, forever keeping us on course as we go here and there and maneuver through the wild ride that is life.

I'm grateful for all of that.  I'm grateful that leaving Mayberry doesn't have to involve a total departure.  We're going to be writing a pretty awesome spin-off, but the original will always be running in the background. In black and white, of course.

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Love can change the world

11/10/2013

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This morning I'm wrapping up a weekend of keynoting for Trinity Presbytery's Middle School youth retreat.  I've led music for these fine folks for the past four years, but this time they asked me to change rolls a bit.  It's been a lot more work, but it's been fun.  It also helps that I'm basing them on a Dr. Seuss sermon series I preached at FPCMA back in September (and yes, I planned that. Did you even need to ask?)

Anyway, this morning I'm sending them home with a simple message: that love is greater than fear.  If you've known me for any amount of time you already know this has become a sort of mantra for me: LOVE > FEAR.  We live in a world hopelessly imprisoned by fear-mongering from all sides - certainly in our politics and government, and even in the church, sad as it is to say.  What I want these 11-14 year-olds to know is that they have the power, right now, to reverse all that.  Waiting around for us grown-ups to get it right may prove to be a painfully long ordeal.  They can start right now to change the world by choosing love over fear in how they relate to the people and the world around them, how they worship and serve, how they vote (when they can).  They can change the world by choosing love over fear in the products they buy (or don't buy), the careers they go into and the practices they engage in once they're in those careers.  They can change the world by choosing love over fear in helping the church regain a sense of itself as kingdom-of-God builders in this life instead of being so over-focused on the next one.

Which is why I'm concluding my Sunday morning keynote with a song called "Love Can Change The World"  by singer/songwriter Aaron Niequist.  I heard John Lee sing it at a Montreat youth conference a few years ago and was quickly added to my repertoire.  You can hear the tune and read the interesting story behind it HERE if you want.  Lyrics are below.  Let them take you where they will.

bridges are more beautiful than bombs are
bridges are more beautiful than bombs
listening is louder than a lecture
listening is louder than a shout
 
but Love – Love can change the world
oh do we still believe that
Love – Love can change the world
oh do we still believe in
Love – Love
God is Love, our God is Love and
Love can change the world
 
an open hand is stronger than a fist is
an open hand is stronger than a fist
wonder is more valuable than Wall Street
wonder is more valuable than gold
 
may we never stop this dreaming
of a better world
may we never stop believing
in the impossible

god is love....


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Thoughts and musings on a last Sunday

11/4/2013

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For once, I'm at a loss for words.

Well, not totally.  I am a preacher after all.  And to be fair to myself, it's probably still a little early to try and process all that could and should be said.  When you love people the way I've loved the church I've served for the past ten-plus years and they love you right back, it takes a while to verbalize what all that means.  So I'll cut myself some slack.

In the meantime, I'll say what I can say through pictures, sounds, video.  First, the picture.  It's the stole the church presented me with in worship yesterday - made by a good friend, nonetheless.  Music, Lighthouse, Creation Care, The Cross, Handprints, The Rock (Mount Airy granite, of course).  And a green stole, which means I can wear it the most Sundays of the year and be liturgically correct (it's a Presbyterian thing). The best part was that they gave it to me first thing yesterday morning, so I got to wear it throughout worship.  The even better best part was that, as part of my sermon (which you can read and listen to HERE), I gave everyone their own stole.  We didn't even plan that.  Awesome.

Next, sound: So I wanted to write the youth group a song, because they're an amazing group of young people who totally have my heart.  But - I would not write a sappy song.  Which was meant with tremendous sighs of relief when I told them this at their youth group meeting a week ago. Everyone was a bit emotional, you see.  We needed levity. So it was a good thing that I went for the slightly off-kilter theme song that, while certainly isn't my best lyrical work, is still one of my favorites, primarily because of who it's written for.  You can listen to the song (and even download the mp3 if you want to):

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(by the way, I promise I don't always look like that when I'm singing. At least I don't think I do).

And finally, video.  So the church had a wonderful reception for us after worship yesterday.  Lots of hugs, kind words, more than a few tears, good food and delicious cake.  And the debut of the Beacon theme song, of course. They also made a point of including my wife and sons in the goodbyes, which I was most grateful for, because it's not just me that's leaving.  The church gave us a wonderful Lindsleys mailbox full of sweet cards and notes we'll treasure for a long time.  The youth gave our boys large laminated lighthouses (hence their name the Beacons) with signatures and sweet notes to put on the walls of their new bedroom in Charlotte.  And for my lovely wife, they sang a song that really says it all:

I trust you now know why these kids have my heart.

By the way, see that cool handprint guitar?  We made that at youth group last week, mimicking the handprints of all the youth over the years that adorn the inside of the Lighthouse walls.  We made two guitars, actually - one to stay in that Lighthouse and one to travel with us to Charlotte.  I'm pretty sure I killed a few brain cells spraying eight coats of Polycrylic on these things all last week, but it was totally worth it.

Like the song says, "Just know you're not alone / I'm gonna make this place your home."  PhilipDave PhillipsMatthews pretty much nailed it: home is more about people than a place.  In a little less than a month we'll be making a new home in the Queen City, but a part of us will always remain in Mayberry (hopefully not our actual house, which happens to be for sale if you're interested).  In a world where so much is fleeting and fake, this has been real, my friends.  And real stuff never really goes away.  And that is a very very good thing.
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    Steve Lindsley

    Child of God. Husband. Father. Minister. Musician. Songwriter. Blogger.
    Keynoter and Songleader. Runner/Swimmer. 
    Almost vegetarian. 
    Lifelong Presbyterian.
    Queen City resident.
    Coffee afficionado.
    Dog person. 
    Panthers/Hornets fan. 
    Mostly in that order. 
    For more info check out stevelindsley.com

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