This is another song I wrote over the summer for kids at Camp Lone Star. I think I'm going to sing it with the first stanza as a refrain
Turn your Ear(Based on Psalm 88)
Turn your ear to hear my cry
All my strength is gone
Day and night I call to you
You carry me on
Darkness is my closest friend
My eyes cannot see
I call out in morning time
Light the way for me
I am overwhelmed by you
You are everything
I call out with nothing left
Let your mercy sing
I am clinging to your hope
With both hands I strain
I cry out, Lord, be my life
Until I cry again.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Sunday, November 25, 2007
The Ballad of Stan N. Scola II
Well, here it is one month to the day before Christmas. Wanted to share a Christmas gift with all of you. As I approach Christmas, my favorite part is remembering Jesus' birth. My favorite hymn... The Little Drummer Boy. My wife gets a chuckle whenever I hear the Bob Seger version on the radio. I'm not a drummer, but I often feel the poems/songs I write are my drumbeats that I play for the newborn baby.
The elephant in the room for me at Christmas is often Santa Claus. I am never really certain how helpful this tradition has become, especially in our culture. Anyway, I decided I can't really do much about what St. Nicholas has become good or bad. However, I decided the best thing I can do is put my two cents worth out there about the whole thing.
The Ballad of Stan N. Scola II
The first thing I noticed were boots of black
He propped them up while he ate a snack
In the office of a local mall
He relaxed before his post-lunch call
As I stood with my note pad and studied his face
My thoughts turned to what brought me here to this place…
“There’s some guy at the mall who has been Santa fifty years.
We need a picture and a quote, filled up with Christmas cheer.”
With that my boss showed me the door and sent me on my way
I wasn’t happy, “Santa Claus??” but I had dues to pay.
“Stan N. Scola the Second’s my name, he arose
I suppose that you’re looking for me”
He reached out his hands and he warmly grasped mine
With an openness friendly and free.
He gave me a wink and he bade me sit down
Then offered hot cocoa to drink.
“Just water is fine”, I replied as he smiled
And carried a glass to the sink.
With the holiday crowds waiting outside the door
I knew this dialogue must be quick
So I opened my pen without any ado
And began interviewing Saint Nick.
I pulled out question one, “How long have you been Santa Claus?”
He smiled and took my question in, then after a brief pause,
“I’ve been cast in my favorite role for 50 years this year
I’ve acted at some other malls, but mostly I’ve been here”
I jotted down his answer, took a sip of H2O;
Then once again sought what my readers want or ought to know.
“You say this is your favorite role to play, “Please tell me why.”
He chuckled out a Ho! Ho! Ho! Then started his reply:
“I wondered if you’d catch that line. Your ears must be tuned well.
It’s ‘cause I love the challenge in the tale I have to tell.
You’re confused at what that tale might be. I see it in your face.
I’ll try to clarify this, so your bafflement is chased.
“As a child, I learned of Christmas from a very early age
Of the baby in a manger’s first appearance on this stage. My family sang the carols, acted in the Christmas shows
And worshipped Christmas Eve within a candle-lighted glow.
“But my December memories are strongest of the days
When Dad would don the outfit and perform a Santa Play.
“My Dad, as Santa, told us of the man that he had been
One Nicholas of Myra who lived ‘round the year 310.
He gave up all his money and his days to help the poor
And often brought the things they needed right up to their door.
“ ‘It was my aim each day I walked to give myself away
For I knew Jesus gave himself for me,’ my dad would say.
‘I hope that all my deeds point to our Father who is true
And that my life reminds you that the Savior loves you too.’
Each Christmas upon Christmas, Dad would share with us this tale
And Santa pointed to the cross of Jesus without fail.
“His monologue completed, Dad would stay where we could see,
Then took his costume off and sipped some cocoa by our tree.”
His ending left me with some lines to catch up with my pen.
He sat there fully costumed with a most-contented grin.
Once I was finished writing, He refilled my water cup
Then frowned a bit, “I’m sorry, but it seems my time is up”
I thanked him for the interview. He walked back to his chair.
I took some pictures of him sitting with the children there.
I headed for the exit, but an elf called out my name.
She said, “This is from Santa”. She gave me a candy cane.
“He gives a cane like this to every child that he sees here.
And this handwritten note attached, each child, every year.”
I stashed the candy in my coat
And headed back to write
My story to complete
I’d start my holiday tonight.
I wrote it, and I filed it with ample time to spare
It surely wasn’t my best work, but it was well past fair.
I shut down my computer, “Merry Christmased”, waved goodnight.
Then headed to the airport, for my home-bound red-eye flight.
Before I drifted off to sleep, the plane far off the ground,
I tossed and turned and from my coat, I heard a rustling sound.
I sucked upon his candy cane while sleep approached my head
My eyes lit on the note he’d writ and this is what it said,
“In the spirit of Nicholas, I give this to you.
For he gave in the Spirit of Christ.
I pray that this gift points your heart to the cross,
Where the Lord, paid the ultimate price.”
The elephant in the room for me at Christmas is often Santa Claus. I am never really certain how helpful this tradition has become, especially in our culture. Anyway, I decided I can't really do much about what St. Nicholas has become good or bad. However, I decided the best thing I can do is put my two cents worth out there about the whole thing.
The Ballad of Stan N. Scola II
The first thing I noticed were boots of black
He propped them up while he ate a snack
In the office of a local mall
He relaxed before his post-lunch call
As I stood with my note pad and studied his face
My thoughts turned to what brought me here to this place…
“There’s some guy at the mall who has been Santa fifty years.
We need a picture and a quote, filled up with Christmas cheer.”
With that my boss showed me the door and sent me on my way
I wasn’t happy, “Santa Claus??” but I had dues to pay.
“Stan N. Scola the Second’s my name, he arose
I suppose that you’re looking for me”
He reached out his hands and he warmly grasped mine
With an openness friendly and free.
He gave me a wink and he bade me sit down
Then offered hot cocoa to drink.
“Just water is fine”, I replied as he smiled
And carried a glass to the sink.
With the holiday crowds waiting outside the door
I knew this dialogue must be quick
So I opened my pen without any ado
And began interviewing Saint Nick.
I pulled out question one, “How long have you been Santa Claus?”
He smiled and took my question in, then after a brief pause,
“I’ve been cast in my favorite role for 50 years this year
I’ve acted at some other malls, but mostly I’ve been here”
I jotted down his answer, took a sip of H2O;
Then once again sought what my readers want or ought to know.
“You say this is your favorite role to play, “Please tell me why.”
He chuckled out a Ho! Ho! Ho! Then started his reply:
“I wondered if you’d catch that line. Your ears must be tuned well.
It’s ‘cause I love the challenge in the tale I have to tell.
You’re confused at what that tale might be. I see it in your face.
I’ll try to clarify this, so your bafflement is chased.
“As a child, I learned of Christmas from a very early age
Of the baby in a manger’s first appearance on this stage. My family sang the carols, acted in the Christmas shows
And worshipped Christmas Eve within a candle-lighted glow.
“But my December memories are strongest of the days
When Dad would don the outfit and perform a Santa Play.
“My Dad, as Santa, told us of the man that he had been
One Nicholas of Myra who lived ‘round the year 310.
He gave up all his money and his days to help the poor
And often brought the things they needed right up to their door.
“ ‘It was my aim each day I walked to give myself away
For I knew Jesus gave himself for me,’ my dad would say.
‘I hope that all my deeds point to our Father who is true
And that my life reminds you that the Savior loves you too.’
Each Christmas upon Christmas, Dad would share with us this tale
And Santa pointed to the cross of Jesus without fail.
“His monologue completed, Dad would stay where we could see,
Then took his costume off and sipped some cocoa by our tree.”
His ending left me with some lines to catch up with my pen.
He sat there fully costumed with a most-contented grin.
Once I was finished writing, He refilled my water cup
Then frowned a bit, “I’m sorry, but it seems my time is up”
I thanked him for the interview. He walked back to his chair.
I took some pictures of him sitting with the children there.
I headed for the exit, but an elf called out my name.
She said, “This is from Santa”. She gave me a candy cane.
“He gives a cane like this to every child that he sees here.
And this handwritten note attached, each child, every year.”
I stashed the candy in my coat
And headed back to write
My story to complete
I’d start my holiday tonight.
I wrote it, and I filed it with ample time to spare
It surely wasn’t my best work, but it was well past fair.
I shut down my computer, “Merry Christmased”, waved goodnight.
Then headed to the airport, for my home-bound red-eye flight.
Before I drifted off to sleep, the plane far off the ground,
I tossed and turned and from my coat, I heard a rustling sound.
I sucked upon his candy cane while sleep approached my head
My eyes lit on the note he’d writ and this is what it said,
“In the spirit of Nicholas, I give this to you.
For he gave in the Spirit of Christ.
I pray that this gift points your heart to the cross,
Where the Lord, paid the ultimate price.”
Thursday, November 1, 2007
I'm Thankful
This summer past(since Houston has had almost a week of quasi-Fall weather, I can refer to the summer as past), I wrote lyrics for numerous kids from our church who went to camp. The lyrics were sent to them while they were at camp, and one of the staff guys there added music to them, to create a souvenir of the camp trip. The following lyrics were one of this batch of songs. It seems appropriate to me to post it here as we begin November.
I’m thankful that our Lord became a man
I’m thankful that He was a babe who learned to crawl and stand
If He had never come here, this song might as well not be
I’m thankful He was born for you and me
I’m thankful that He died upon a cross
I’m thankful that He somehow took for us the biggest loss
If He had never suffered, this song might as well not be
I’m thankful that He died for you and me.
I’m thankful that our Lord is dead no more
I’m thankful that He opened up and walked right through that door
If He had never risen, this song might as well not be
I’m thankful that He rose for you and me.
I’m thankful that our Lord became a man
I’m thankful that He was a babe who learned to crawl and stand
If He had never come here, this song might as well not be
I’m thankful He was born for you and me
I’m thankful that He died upon a cross
I’m thankful that He somehow took for us the biggest loss
If He had never suffered, this song might as well not be
I’m thankful that He died for you and me.
I’m thankful that our Lord is dead no more
I’m thankful that He opened up and walked right through that door
If He had never risen, this song might as well not be
I’m thankful that He rose for you and me.
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