Didn't We Almost Have It All, by Whitney Houston

Didn't We Almost Have It All

“Every last one, Patrice!”

“I can’t have grey hair and sing on the Grammys®,” she said vainly.

The pungent scent of alcohol filled the air around the stylist chair, but Patrice worked on Shelby even though disgusted with her. Sometimes Shelby would rummage around in her over-sized drawstring hobo purse, extracting various bottles of potent medications such as Valium and Xanax, popping them like vitamins.

Watching the precipitous slide into destruction was sad, but how often does a hairdresser get to work on “The Voice?” It had been ten years now; she would call and come down with her dwindling entourage to this crumbling L.A. neighborhood which strangely reflected Shelby Austin; it too had seen better days.

“Girl, I don’t know how I am going to sing on Sunday night,” Shelby said. “I'm not the force I used to be, getting old is such a bitch!” “Do what you gotta do, Patrice; and so will I?!” Ironically, Patrice assumed what she meant was they both relied on chemicals to disguise the truth about this superstar.

Shelby followed fame’s path where it inevitably leads when you become what you worship. Worldly things she pursued were not to blame, not even her former husband Gerri Green, who turned her onto the lifestyle that had ravaged her talent and beauty. Shelby’s demise was her own fault. It was a heart issue, and Shelby had done it to herself. When you gaze in awe, admiration, and wonder at something, or someone, you begin to take on something of the character of the object of your worship. (N. T. Wright)

In her heart, the idols ultimately disappointed her, and far from being obedient to the God of her youth, she clung to youth itself, as Patrice knew firsthand.

Past glory could not hold the weight of Shelby’s expectations. Her pursuit of the way it used to be: the look, the voice, the man, the parties, the fame, all that went with selling 200 million records; she was sure that the outcome would have, should have, been different than it turned out to be.

She was a celebrity of the highest order with all the accoutrements, and an equal amount of delusion. Shelby made lifestyle choices, formed alliances with people, and exploited connections which did not work out best for her career. At the same time her production did not keep up with her expenses, and the harsh reality was that she was so broke she would have to save up to be poor. Patrice only took cash.

The facts were clear, she was “washed-up” and wrung out; Shelby Austin was a shell of her former self, which was one of the biggest pop icons that the 80s and 90s ever produced.

Now, an addict, a burden, bitter about her divorce, her descent, and subconsciously bitter about her dereliction of the greatest singing talent that God ever gave to a woman born in the 1960s, Shelby was suffering. However, real suffering is not the same as sadness over lost expectations. Shelby was a victim of many things, but most of all she was a victim of her own attempts to cure herself of lost youth.

“Those who worship money become, eventually, human calculating machines,” said N. T Wright, “Those who worship power become more ruthless.” Ultimately, starlets who worship their younger success become zombies walking through a drugged reenactment of yesteryear. Anna-Nicole Smith had none of the talent of Shelby Austin, Amy Winehouse was a good singer but not like Shelby was good, and Heath Ledger was a pretty-boy but not as beautiful. She had it all, and when her music came on, people got up to dance.

Patrice did the best she could.

©Mark H. Pillsbury
[part I of a fictional series]

Praying for young people and Revival

Every year at HC, the faculty and staff pray that God would revive us again; that the teachers would be facilitators of joy among the students, so that they might rejoice in God, draw near to God, seek his kingdom, and his righteousness. 

With all this prayed over, there is then a peace that all the things of the coming school year would be added to them as it progresses. Everything will work out fine. In August every year the train leaves the station and picks up speed as it roars to the graduation ceremony in May. There are nice “rest” stops along the way but so much is accomplished that a fatigue builds up due to the “labor” of the school year. We started out this year well, breaking in the new principal, hosting numerous events, football and volleyball games, a capital campaign moving "Forward in Faith," new athletic conference announced [“SPC”], recruiting next year’s freshman, and many other tasks. It is a busy place, but a hopeful place!

Pray for Revival

I recently heard a Yale professor David H. Gelernter speak about the possibility of religious revivial starting with our young people:

"The next great American religious revival will start, my guess is, on (high school or) college campuses —and it will start fairly soon. The need is great, for they are the driest timber I have ever come across. In a spiritually dried-out land where “careers” alone are holy, the thirst is acute. Mostly they know little or nothing about religion; little or nothing about Americanism. Mostly no one ever speaks to them about truth and beauty, or nobility or honor or greatness. They are empty--spiritually bone dry--because no one has ever bothered to give them anything spiritual that is worth having. Platitudes about diversity and tolerance and multiculturalism are thin gruel for intellectually growing young people."

Gelernter thinks that "someone will start preaching." 

Maybe it is an ordained pastor from RUF? (www.ruf.org) or a high school chaplain like Drew Zeiler?

Audiences will be small at first, but young people want to hear this message:

‘Forget your career and think about your family.

Forget your rights and think about your duties.

Forget your bank account and think about your country.

Forget yourself and think about your God.’...

"(S)omeday soon some sympathetic disciple of the founding fathers will compose the indispensable companion to our Bill of Rights...a Bill of Duties that conveys the exact same truths in terms of responsibility, instead of entitlement." (Gelernter continues...)

"Let the right person speak to them, and they will turn back to the Bible with an excitement and exhilaration that will shake the country. In reading the Bible they will feel as if they are going home--which is just what they will be doing. Nothing would do America more good than a biblical homecoming."  (David Gelernter)

At Houston Christian ["HC"] students are exposed to a biblical world and life view. Many are "un-churched" or merely "seekers" of the ways of Jesus. But at least they get to hear from this important book, see how other Christians live out their daily walks with Him. In addition to great Bible teachers at HC, they have access to peer-to-peer discipleship groups after school, if they want to talk about their questions and walk with fellow students as they grow in spiritual maturity. It is my hope that God will send out leaders from HC who will help other college students (even the ones at Yale, prof. Gelernter) to see there is a higher calling in life than just materialism, consumption, power, money and lust. I hope that they feel responsible for the next generation of American exceptionalism, and that God will be important in their lives. If this happens then all these things will be added unto us.

Hill Country Memories (Summer 2011)

In the Texas Hill Country, near Austin TX this weekend where I survived many a hot summer and frequently enjoyed the rustic beauty of Central Texas, earlier in my life.

Neither Dallas, nor my present hometown of Houston, possess the rugged physical beauty of the hills and ravines of the Texas hill country. Whether on Inks, Travis, LBJ, or Lake Austin, traversing the area reminded me of the God-created beauty of the landscapes, including distant memories that were watercolor-blue on my mind.

Weaving around the sage and cedar, on the hot blacktop of state highway 71 as it meanders west of Austin; one feels the tension between the old, ageless limestone walls, shade bearing live oaks and the new glistening houses of suburban neighborhoods, with modernized-Texana names like River Bend Crest, Falcon Ridge, or Rio Cactus.

Ten years of “free-blue-sky” life played out under the puffy Cumulonimbus clouds which roll on forever. Enjoying the cold water of the highland lakes, the simple life of Coppertone and Coors, ski boats and hill country socializing during evenings at Rosie’s Cantina, we grew from boyhood into manhood.

The other part of my story was lower down, out of the hills, among the classic architecture of The University of Texas and the old traditional state capitol in the city of Austin. We were lovers, thinkers, planners and dreamers, and our lives were before us. How little did we realize or contemplate our futures?

Summers were a time of relaxed schedules, romantic pursuits, making pocket money, and generally staying out as late as one could, without interfering with school, jobs, or one’s parents. I wasn’t nearly as bothered by the hot weather as today, but that could be more about the way the sun brought out the supple tans of our young friends proudly wearing colorful bikinis that time of year.

During the ten years between 1976-77 and 1987-88, the Texas Hill Country was not as populated as it is now, and the droughts had not yet severely hurt the chain of lakes tied together from Burnet to Austin. Almost every summer during that period, activities brought me back there for a time, however, I did not realize what a beautiful blessing it was. That concept however, was clear to me this weekend:

[those years provided the plentiful opportunity to be exposed to sun, sand, power boats, gasoline, cars, recreation, girls, good food/drink, sparse traffic, beautiful vistas, good roads, friendly police, rivers that ran strong and cold, and the safety granted by God to make it back and forth, up and down, around hills and dales, to and from Austin, at all hours of the day. The blessing of those years, struck me this weekend; it was unmerited grace.]

Nonetheless, the Austin area still today feels smaller, slower paced, more relaxed, hipper, and friendlier; that might just be the observations of a frequent visitor. The grind of living in the highly-populated hotbed, fighting traffic and modernism, might change my perspective quickly, harshly; but it hasn’t yet?!

I saw two disappointing things this weekend on Highway 71

Travis County Life Flight Helicopter:
(photo credit: mine)
http://imgur.com/jJAAZ


Dry Perdernales River:
Dave Shaffer photograph from the bridge
http://tiny.cc/n1p5s

Not sure whether the massive surge of population causes the kind of reckless driving and overuse of available water I saw here, but these two incidents reminded me that people, places, things (memories) tend to degrade over time. These two photos are sad footnotes of pleasant memories.

What do you remember about your childhood summers?