Just after I posted a mention of my own coming to Jesus experience involving alligators, I saw this in the news.
Pastor Killed by Giant Crocodile During Baptism Service
I’m pretty sure this qualifies as a bad day in pastoral ministry. When your lakeside baptism service doesn’t go as planned–
Oh my!
Shifting from such a heavy-hearted story to a little lighter-hearted baptism fun … here’s Randy Travis’ baptism-themed tune Pray for The Fish.
Thus far in my series of posts on the ten most influential albums from my childhood and teenage years I’ve taken you through some of the earliest musical recollections—CTA, Boston, Elton John and Seals and Crofts (all of which I encountered before my tenth birthday). Today I’ll take you back to a day in my teenage life deeply ingrained in music … Friday August 19th, 1983.
If you know me personally you’ve heard the story of my conversion to faith in the early summer of 1983. The story involves a tiny little two-person fishing boat in the middle of the most alligator infested body of water in North America, and the gentle evangelistic persuasion of my brother, offering, “I’m going to tell you about Jesus … and if you don’t want to listen to me you can swim for shore.”
Leading someone to Jesus? Alligators.
One more thing about my conversion to share—it was the beginning of a pretty miraculous healing in my relationship with my dad. I was a rebellious teen. The old man and I pretty frequently locked horns. I’d gotten to a point of avoiding him as best I could.
As a new believer, I prayed very specifically to see my heart and my father’s heart soften. And what an amazing answer to prayer! Those next several weeks were filled with healing.
Little did I know, just as all things were being made new, I’d have my first real faith-crisis—on the morning of August 19th, 1983, my dad got involved trying to stop a violent altercation at his office and collapsed. He died of a heart-attack.
I remember the feelings of profound loss and emptiness like it was yesterday. I even struggled to believe he was gone—I halfway expected his car would pull in the driveway any moment and we’d all learn it was a big misunderstanding. His presence was larger than life for me. His absence, inestimable.
Right after I’d come to faith in Jesus, I found my way into a little Christian bookstore near my house. There, the dear old couple who owned it took every opportunity to love on me as a new believer. One day when I was in the store, they presented me with a small collection of cassette tapes, saying, “It’s just music some young people like you are listening to.” Turned out to be a treasure-trove of early CCM music. Among the titles, a brand-new release, Not of This World by Petra.
I wore that tape out, top to bottom. From the title track Not of This World through the album’s last track, Godpleaser, I had the tunes and their lyrics memorized in no time. Not to mention, Petra had put Bible verse references in the album jacket for each song—I’d memorized many of those passages. This music had me looking up Bible verses, learning what they meant and how they applied to my life.
That night, August 19th, alone in my room with my Bible open on my lap … I cried out. “God, if you’re really real … I need to know it right now. I need You to show up. Right now.”
I leaned over and pushed play on the cassette deck. Starting where I’d left off the last time I’d listened—when dad was still alive—the next song began. Graverobber.
There’s a step that we all take alone
An appointment we have with the great unknown
Like a vapor this life is just waiting to pass
Like the flowers that fade, like the withering grass
But life seems so long and death so complete
And the grave an impossible portion to cheat
But there’s One who has been there and still lives to tell
There is One who has been through both Heaven and hell
And the grave will come up empty-handed that day
Jesus will come and steal us away
Where is the sting, tell me where is the bite
When the grave robber comes like a thief in the night
Where is the victory, where is the prize
When the grave robber comes
And death finally dies
Many still mourn and many still weep
For those that they love who have fallen asleep
But we have this hope though our hearts may still ache
Just one shout from above and they all will awake
And in the reunion of joy we will see
Death will be swallowed in sweet victory
When the last enemy is gone from the dust will come a song
Those asleep will be awakened – not a one will be forsaken
He shall wipe away our tears – He will steal away our fears
There will be no sad tomorrow – there will be no pain and sorrow
The verses that accompany this song in the album lining were Hebrews 9:27, John 4:14, 1 Peter 1:24, Romans 8:11, 1 Corinthians 15:26, 51-55, Revelation 7:17. Go ahead. Look them up.
The most difficult day in my life, beginning a most trying season—God showed up. Powerfully for me. And to this day, Petra—more specifically this album—takes me back. There’s sadness for the loss of my dad, but great joy in knowing death doesn’t have the last word.
Marketing folks want to dictate messaging. All messaging. That, they’ll remind you, is what they do.
True enough. But when your marketing people don’t know what they don’t know… danger! And poor returns for your fundraising or constituent print and digital communication.
What do marketing people know?
They know how to position your organization and its work in the market.
What don’t they know?
They don’t know your donors or constituents. Your copywriter—if he or she is worth what you pay them (and if they’re worthy, you pay them well)—knows your donors and constituents. This, I’ll tell you, is what we do.
Marketing speak trumpets the organization and its work. Marketing says, “Look at us! Look at what we do! Look how long we’ve been doing it! Look at how effective we are!”
Here’s the beef: Your donors and constituents don’t care.
Let me clarify—they do care in that they’re happy to know all those things … but they already know those things. So they don’t care (and will lose interest) when you bloat your correspondence with corporate or organizational hype and hoopla.
What do your donors and constituents want to discover in your correspondence? The impact they are having. Your donors and constituents want to be the heroes of your work. They may not articulate it exactly that way, but their hearts long to see affirmation—they’re making a powerful impact. They want to be recognized, thanked … patted on the back. They need to feel it. They’re wanting to say, “Look at what I’m doing!”
And good storytelling writers, what do we do? We show them. Stories. Testimonies. Emotion.
Marketing folks don’t deal in emotion. They deal in equations; in numbers, stats, facts—market analysis. All well and good. And important.
Writers deal with people’s hearts, emotions, desires and dreams. These are the places where donations and deepening commitment to your organization and its work reside.
If I got a nickel for every time development folks were overruled by marketing folks in donor and constituent copy discussions, I’d be retired on a beach somewhere with an umbrella-drink in my hand.
And if I had a nickel for every time the marketing folks’ copy direction resulted in more donations or constituent engagement than that of a solid development copy writer … I’d be nickel-less.
Grasp the difference between advertising and engaging, selling and inviting, equations and emotion. Your organization and its work—more importantly, those your organization and its work serve—will tremendously benefit.
Hire a good writer. And it’s a real plus if the writer you hire knows how to gently navigate your marketing departments’ fragile egos.
Don’t be ‘a writer.’ Be writing. –William Faulkner
What fun it has been, looking back and recalling the musical encounters of my earlier years. This fourth entry in the ‘most influential albums I listened to growing up’ series takes me way back—I was maybe six or seven years old. In no particular order, here’s—
This album makes my list for more reasons than its tunes. For me, it’s connected to a larger collection of memories surrounding a hero of mine—my big brother Dave. 
There is a season in every child’s life that is so very frustrating. It’s that window of time when you know you’re capable of doing something on your own, but no one trusts you to do it by yourself. With the old vinyl records in my house, this was especially true. No one wanted to risk allowing the kid to scratch their records, so the oft heard refrain was DON’T TOUCH!
My oldest brother Dave broke ranks. He wanted to share his love of music with me—his fourteen-years-younger little brother. Dave took the time to teach me how to treat vinyl records, how to pick them up, hold them, put them on the turntable, apply the needle to them, and put them away when I was done.
And, here’s the most memorable part for me: After the lesson, Dave allowed me to play his records on his record player any time I wanted. Daredevil or hero? Yes!
Which brings me to Seals and Crofts. Among Dave’s many records was one with two hairy-faced men standing under weird green lamps with some scary looking gold ball with a face on it between them. I’m not sure what all that was, but to a little kid it was intriguing. I chose that as my first album of choice to play.
Musically, I loved the way these guys blended their voices. I also remember this album as my first experience of other stringed instruments beyond a guitar—they had mandolins and violins and maybe even a banjo or two in there. And of course, my true artistic love: story.
One song in particular caught my fancy. I’ll give you a verse:
Dust on my saddle, mud on my boots;
Couple of empty saddle bags except for two old suits;
I’m tired and I’m hungry, worried as can be,
Last night I saw a poster and they’re still after me.
[Note: Just gave you that verse from memory and I haven’t heard that song in more than forty years. I’m impressed even if you’re not.]
As a kid, that did it. I wanted to know this lonely cowboy/outlaw. I wanted to join him on the run. This may be the song that turned me into the western buff I became—it is true, I love every television western series ever made. In fact, if you’re ever on Millionaire and a question comes up about old TV westerns, make me your phone-a-friend. I’ll win you the cash, baby!
I’m sure, also, that the song served as a reminder to me of one of my favorite western characters in all the world, Big Al. Who of course sang, “Blood on my saddle …” A story for another time.
I do recall Dave telling me (and probably after he’d heard Dust on My Saddle for the fortieth time in a row), “You know, there are some other great songs on that record.” Hint, hint.
He took the time to play the rest of the record with me, pointing out the title track, Diamond Girl. I eventually came to appreciate the entire tracklist. We May Never Pass This Way Again became another favorite of mine, for all of its talk about dreams and their worth.
Here I am some forty-five years later. These tunes take me back. And they point me forward. Story does that. I’m grateful for this album and the recollections of my childhood which are connected to it, for their influence on my writing life … and my real life.
DARIN MICHAEL SHAW 