How to treat your next Pastor

The Citychurch ministry was born out of many struggles our family and my father, Pastor Don E. Lane, went through in the years leading up to his illness and the start of our ministry in downtown Amarillo. In 1996, after almost thirty years in the ministry, as a family, we started Citychurch with a vision of ministry, unhindered by the distractions that you find in "normal" churches each week. We were led by a desire, to equip and hand over the ministry to the people who had the heart to do the ministry. The result is a ministry led by a family and volunteers who are in the community each day doing the work.

Today I found a sermon that my dad preached back in 1991 at Crestmont Baptist Church in Burleson, Tx, entitled "How to treat your next Pastor." Listening to this sermon brought back the memories of all the frustrations that we faced early in the ministry. It also made me appreciate the freedom with which we get to work here at Citychurch. But the coolest thing is, as I listened to this sermon that was preached almost twenty years ago, I saw glimpses of the Vision that God was giving us as a family.

As we work at Citychurch we draw spiritual encouragement from the work that God allows us to do in the ministry and the lives that are changed. But also, we receive great inspiration from seeing a church that has the liberty to do it's work unhindered.

Please Take the time to listen to the sermon by Don E. Lane: How to treat your next Pastor.

Storm DJ

Tonight, during the storm, I played a set on the turn table for the kids and Jennifer. Check it out! (I snapped the shot above when Bob was playing.)

The Dead Weather- Rocking Horse

The Band - Jemima Surrender

SSLYBY- Heers

Bob Dylan- North Country Blues

Otis Redding- My Girl

Welcome Wagon- Up On A Mountain

David Bowie- Golden Years

The Beach Boys- Sloop John B

Little Joy- With Strangers

The Beatles- Sun King Mean Mr Mustard

Elvis- mama

Jerry Lee Lewis- Lovin Up A Storm

hiking in glorieta

We took about ten of our campers up in the mountains today. This is the "trail" we took that I downloaded from GPS today. Click here to see all the stats. Pretty cool!

Go tell.

He was sent to this earth to seek and to save

that which was lost. His life He gave.

On the cross our debt was paid.

Go tell

Go tell

Go tell

You are free from sin and alive in Him.

A new start, your a baby all over again.

You wish everyone could feel this clean.

Go tell

Go tell

Go tell.

He is swapping your life, old parts for new.

Like clay he presses and fires you.

Each break reminds you that He's not thru.

Go tell

Go tell

Go tell.

Your light is shining don't let it dim.

You are a living breathing witness for Him.

His glory shines through your life at men.

Go tell

Go tell

Go tell.

Go tell, go tell, that's what you have done

not screaming or shouting or with elegant tongue

but showing what He can do with a life, undone.

Your whole world has seen it, everyone!

Go tell

Go tell

Go tell.

-James Lane

lightning in slow motion

Tonight I stood at the back window and filmed this storm over downtown. I thought it would be a good test for the slow motion settings on the PMW-EX1. It turned out pretty cool. The B&W clip on the front was taken earlier in the day. The soundtrack is Guster "lightning Rod". Enjoy.

lightning in slow motion from James Lane on Vimeo.

microSCRATCH

I was playing around with the settings on the micro Korg and I got a pretty nice scratch sample. Not as cool as real vinyl but close.:)

microscratch from James Lane on Vimeo.

Goodbye Yurt Beard

It is Mothers Day so I have a good excuse to shave the yurt beard before church. You gotta look sharp for mama: )> I started growing the Yurt beard when we finally moved out to the country last week. I can't stand it any more although Jennifer dared me to grow it longer.  I am sorry for the lack of posts lately I have been in the country working or asleep growing this ridiculous beard. 

For those who are still wondering what a yurt is I will save that for a soon but later post.

The Country Part 2

For my birthday Jennifer gave me some poetry books. One of them was a very old printing of "Farm Ballads, Festivals & Legends" by Will Carleton. I love this book. Last night I was reading it and came across a great story about settling in the country witch is something that I have been trying to do lately. I love these old stories and just wanted to share one of them with you. Enjoy! Oh, and thanks Jennifer for the books.

The First Settlers Story
It ain't the funniest thing a man can do
Existing in a country when it's new;
Nature, who moved in first a good long while —
Has things already somewhat her own style,
And she don't want her woodland splendors battered,
Her rustic furniture broke up and scattered,
Her paintings, which long years ago were done
By that old splendid artist-king, the sun,

Torn down and dragged in civilization's gutter,
Or sold to purchase settlers' bread and butter.
She don't want things exposed from porch to closet,
And so she kind o' nags the man who does it.
She carries in her pockets bags of seeds,
As general agent of the thriftiest weeds;
She sends her blackbirds, in the early morn,
To superintend his fields of planted corn;

She gives him rain past any duck's desire —
Then maybe several weeks of quiet fire;
She sails mosquitoes leeches perched on wings —
To poison him with blood-devouring stings;
She loves her ague-muscle to display,
And shake him up—say every other day; .
With thoughtful, conscientious care she makes
Those travelin' poison-bottles, rattle-snakes;

She finds time, 'mongst her other family cares,
To keep in stock good wild-cats, wolves, and bears.
Well, when I first infested this retreat,
Things to my view looked frightful incomplete;
But I had come with heart-thrift in my song,
And brought my wife and plunder right along;
I hadn't a round trip ticket to go back,
And if I had there wasn't no railroad track;
And drivin' East was what I couldn't endure:
I hadn't started on a circular tour.

My girl-wife was as brave as she was, good,
And helped me every blessed way she could;
She seemed to take to every rough old tree,
As sing'lar as when first she took to me.
She kep' our little-log-house neat as wax,
And once I caught her fooling with my axe.
She learned a hundred masculine things to do:
She aimed a shot-gun pretty middlin' true,
Although in spite of my express desire,
She always shut her eyes before she'd fire.

She hadn't the muscle (though she had the heart)
In out-door work to take an active part;
Though in our firm of Duty and Endeavor
She wasn't no silent partner whatsoever.
When I was logging, burning, choppin' wood,
She'd linger round and help me all she could,
And keep me fresh-ambitious all the while,
And lifted tons just with her voice and smile.
With no desire my glory for to rob,
She used to stan' around and boss the job;
And when first-class success my hands befell,
Would proudly say, "We did that pretty well!"
She was delicious, both to hear and see —
That pretty wife-girl that kep' house for me.

Well, neighborhoods meant counties in those days;
The roads didn't have accommodating ways;
And maybe weeks would pass before she'd see
And much less talk with — any one but me.
The Indians sometimes showed their sun-baked faces,
But they didn't teem with conversational graces;
Some ideas from the birds and trees she stole,
But 'twasn't like talking with a human soul;
And finally I thought that I could trace
A half heart-hunger peering from her face.
Then she would drive it back and shut the door;
Of course that only made me see it more.

'Twas hard to see her give her life to mine,
Making a steady effort not to pine;
'Twas hard to hear that laugh bloom out each minute,
And recognize the seeds of sorrow in it.
Now misery makes a close observer mourn
Like hopeless grief with hopeful courage borne;
There's nothing sets the sympathies to paining
Like a complaining woman uncomplaining.
It always draws my breath out into sighs
To see a brave look in a woman's eyes.

Well, she went on, as plucky as could be,
Fighting the foe she thought I did not see,
And using her heart-horticultural powers
To turn that forest to a bed of flowers.
You cannot check an unadmitted sigh,
And so I had to soothe her on the sly,
And secretly to help her draw her load;
And soon it came to be an up-hill road.

Hard work bears hard upon the average pulse,
Even with satisfactory results;
But when effects are scarce, the heavy strain
Falls dead and solid on the heart and brain.
And when we're bothered, it will oft occur
We seek blame-timber; and I lit on her;
And looked at her with daily lessening favor,
For what I knew she couldn't help, to save her.
And Discord, when he once had called and seen us,
Came round quite often, and edged in between us.

One night, when I came home unusual late,
Too hungry and too tired to feel firstrate,
Her supper struck me wrong (though I'll allow
She hadn't much to strike with, any' how);
And when I went to milk the cows, and found
They'd wandered from their usual feed ing ground,
And, maybe'd left a few long miles be hind 'em,
Which I must copy, if I meant to find 'em,
Flash-quick the stay-chains of my temper broke,
And in a trice these hot words I had spoke:
"You ought to've kept the animals in view,
And drove 'em in; you'd nothing else to do.
The heft of all our life on me must fall;
You just lie round and let me do it all."

That speech — it hadn't been gone a half a minute
Before I saw the cold black poison in it;
And I'd have given all I had, and more,
To've only safely got it back in-door.
I'm now what most folks "well-to-do" would call:
I feel to-day as if I'd give it all,
Provided I through fifty years might reach
And kill and bury that half-minute speech.

She handed back no words, as I could hear;
She didn't frown; she didn't shed a tear;
Half proud, half crushed, she stood and looked me o'er,
Like some one she had never seen before!
But such a sudden anguish-lit surprise
I never viewed before in human eyes.
(I've seen it oft enough since in a dream;
It sometimes wakes me like a midnight scream.)

Next morning, when, stone-faced, but heavy-hearted,
With dinner pail and sharpened axe I started
Away for my day's work — she watched the door,
And followed me half way to it or more;
And I was just a-turning round at this,
And asking for my usual good-by kiss;
But on her lip I saw a proudish curve,
And in her eye a shadow of reserve;

And she had shown perhaps half un-awares
Some little independent breakfast airs;
And so the usual parting didn't occur,
Although her eyes invited me to her;
Or rather half invited me, for she
Didn't advertise to furnish kisses free;
You always had — that is, I had-to pay
Full market price, and go more'n half the way.

So, with a short "Good-by," I shut the door,
And left her as I never had before.
But when at noon my lunch I came to eat,
Put up by her so delicately neat
Choicer, somewhat, than yesterday's had been,
And some fresh, sweet-eyed pansies she'd put in —
"Tender and pleasant thoughts," I knew they meant
It seemed as if her kiss with me she'd sent;
Then I became once more her humble lover,
And said, "To-night I'll ask forgiveness of her."

I went home over-early on that eve,
Having contrived to make myself believe,
By various signs I kind o' knew and
guessed, A thunder-storm was coming from the west.
('Tis strange, when one sly reason fills the heart,
How many honest ones will take its part:
A dozen first-class reasons said twas right
That I should strike home early on that night.)

Half out of breath, the cabin door I swung,
With tender heart-words trembling on my tongue;
But all within looked desolate and bare:
My house had lost its soul, — she was not there!
A penciled note was on the table spread,
And these are something like the words it said;
"The cows have strayed away again, I fear;
I watched them pretty close; don't scold me, dear.
And where they are, I think I nearly know:
I heard the bell not very long ago. . . .
I've hunted for them all the afternoon;
I'll try once more — I think I'll find them soon.
Dear, if a burden I have been to you,
And haven't helped you as I ought to do,
Let old-time memories my forgiveness plead;
I've tried to do my best I have indeed.
Darling, piece out with love the strength I lack,
And have kind words for me when I get back."

Scares did I give this letter sight and tongue —
Some swift-blown rain-drops to the window clung,
And from the clouds a rough, deep growl proceeded:
My thunder-storm had come, now 'twasn't needed.
I rushed out-door. The air was stained with black:
Night had come early, on the storm-cloud's back:
And everything kept dimming to the sight,
Save when the clouds threw their electric light;
When for a flash, so clean-cut was the view,
I'd think I saw her knowing 'twas not true.
Through my small clearing dashed wide sheets of spray,
As if the ocean waves had lost their Way;
Scarcely a pause the thunder-battle made,
In the bold clamor of its cannonade.
And she, while I was sheltered, dry, and warm,
Was somewhere in the clutches of this storm!
She who, when storm-frights found her at her best,
Had always hid her white face on my breast!

My dog, who'd skirmished round me all the day,
Now crouched and whimpering, in a corner lay;
I dragged him by the collar to the wall
I pressed his quivering muzzle to a shaw!—
"Track her, old boy!" I shouted; and he whined,
Matched eyes with me, as if to read my Mind,
Then with a yell went tearing through the wood,
I followed him, as faithful as I could.
No pleasure-trip was that through flood and flame;
We raced with death: we hunted noble game.
All night we dragged the woods without avail;
The ground got drenched—we could not keep the trail.
Three times again my cabin home I found,
Half hoping she might be there, safe and sound;
But each time 'twas an unavailing care:
My house had lost its soul; she was not there!

When, climbing the wet trees, next morning-sun
Laughed at the ruin that the night had done,
Bleeding and drenched, by toil and sorrow bent,
Back to what used to be my home I went.
But as I neared our little clearing-ground
Listen! — I heard the cow-bell's tinkling sound.
The cabin door was just a bit ajar;
It gleamed upon my glad eyes like astar.
"Brave heart," I said, "for such a fragile form!
She made them guide her homeward through the storm!"
Such pangs of joy I never felt before.
"You've come!" I shouted and rushed through the door.

Yes, she had come — and gone again. She lay
With all her young life crushed and wrenched away —
Lay, the heart-ruins of our home among,
Not far from where I killed her with my tongue.
The rain-drops glittered 'mid her hair's long strands,
The forest thorns had torn her feet and hands,
And 'midst the tears — brave tears —that one could trace
Upon the pale but sweetly resolute face,
I once again the mournful words could read,
"I have tried to do my best I have, indeed."

And now I'm mostly done; my story's o'er;
Part of it never breathed the air before.
"Tisn't over-usual, it must be allowed,
To volunteer heart-history to a crowd,
And scatter 'mongst them confidential tears,
But you'll protect an old man with his years;
And wheresoe'er this story's voice can reach,
This is the sermon I would have it preach:

Boys flying kites haul in their white-winged birds:
You can't do that way when you're flying words.
"Careful with fire," is good advice we know:
"Careful with words," is ten times doubly so.
Thoughts unexpressed may sometimes fall back dead,
But God himself can't kill them when they're said!
You have my life-grief: do not think a minute
'Twas told to take up time. There's business in it.
It sheds advice: whoe'er will take and live it,
Is welcome to the pain it cost to give it.

-Will M. Carleton

The Country Part 1

Soon, I will be moving my family to the country. For the last year we have been working a piece of land about 15 min out of town. I want to keep what we are going to live in as a secret for another blog but you can see some of our progress in the pictures and video below. I will also keep you posted as we get closer to moving out there.

View from my future front porch.

I was out in the country working and I watched this beautiful sunset form. I knew it was coming so I let the camera role and it did not disappoint. I left the audio on the front so you could see how quiet it is out there. The music is Bon Iver, it was playing in my headphones during the end of the day, so I went with it. Enjoy!

Opened Ground

I have been reading Opened Ground, a book of selected poems by Nobel Prize winning author, Seamus Heaney. Heaney's words are perfectly balanced and strong. I have just been picking through it lately, but I had to share this after I read it.

 Lightenings ii

Roof it again. Batten down. Dig in.
Drink out of tin. Know the scullery cold,
A latch, a door-bar, forged tongs and a grate.

Touch the crossbeam, drive iron in a wall,
Hang a line to verify the plumb
From lintel, coping stone and chimney-breast.

Relocate the bedrock in the threshold.
Take squarings from the recessed gable pane.
Make your study the unregarded floor.

Sink every impulse like a bolt. Secure
The bastion of sensation. Do not waver
Into language. Do not waver in it.

    

                                         -Seamus Heaney

Citychurch News Artwork

I usually don't upload graphics that i am working on but I thought this one was interesting. You may know we have been using a new camera for video and the resolution is so high on some of the footage that we have been able to pull still images off of the video with great success. I have done this in the past with other footage but it never was quality enough for print or web. The quality was high enough on this still to even use a filter and put some Photoshop™ magic on it.

http://donnielane.wordpress.com/

I just got this link from my brother Donnie. It is his blog on wordpress. Check it out! You will be pleased.

impromptu flow contest

impromptu flow contest from James Lane on Vimeo.
A battle broke out when I was picking up kids today for the after school ministry. This kid won the flow contest, mainly because I was the judge and he was the only one that kept it clean. Somewhat?

Happy B-Day Mac!

My old 128K... Looks over me as i work in the studio

If you know me you know I am a huge Apple Computer fan. I have been using the Macs all my life starting back in the Mac 128K days. I have had an LC II, LCIII, Proforma, several Power Macs, G3, G4, G5, Mac Pro... I have literally grown up using mac computers. Now I make my living with them. They are amazing machines that inspire the user to create. 

I wanted to share one of my favorite mac sites with you www.folklore.org . There you can find out everything on the history of Mac. Even if you don't care about apple or mac, check it out. You will be pleased.

Dirk vs Power Ranger Dance Off...

This is for Andrew. :)

Night Light

I was out testing some low light settings on the PMW-EX1 and thought I would share the results. Stick around to see the moon shot at the end it was shot in real time (pretty cool). The music is a mix of two cuts I was playing with on the turntables earlier today.