Today in a barbershop here in Nashville, the guy cutting my hair was talking about Nashville Star and the contestant he sees as the most favored: Chris Young. Then it dawned on me. That guy used to live across the hall from me, roommate with Nathan.

I know why I’m here. I know what I’m supposed to do. And I could tell you… but that spoils all your fun to be had in the discovery.

I was in the studio today, and this particular artist was coming in to listen to some of his songs that he had mixed by the fella for whom I intern. One of his songs had a line of lyrics:

The richest dead man’s still just dead.

Kinda levels the playing field doesn’t it? At the end of my days, what will be left? All that will be left of me here on earth will be a lifeless shell and the memories people hold of me. What do I want those memories to say? I’m not sure. But I know a lot of the things I strive for aren’t worth their weight in words in the end.

A few weeks ago, one of my Sunday School teachers from many years ago passed away. Years back, she had battled cancer, but she just couldn’t stick it this time around. But last week when I was at home to help out at a youth ministry event, the things being said about Dee were simply beautiful. She truly was a servant. Her entire life could be seen in the service of others, full of smiles, not done begrudgingly. At the end of the day, she was content with seeing those around her coming to know her Savior more intimately.

Dee didn’t have a lot of money. But she was richer than many could ever imagine. I know, it’s cliche. But her richness left a legacy that could be passed on to more than just her familial heirs. Her richness was spread around while she was still here, and the shadow of her life still carries it on. But I know my life shouldn’t take Dee’s life as an example. I should take the same example she followed.

The recent school newspaper had a headlining article that focused on a local band trying to make it in the big, scary music industry. On the surface, it looks like yet another tired story of the small band’s struggle to get signed and all the while just “be who they are.”

Unfortunately, most of us from freshman year remember these dorm mates of ours as less than savory. Rather than the beaming models of God-seeking musicians they portray on stage and in the common music that fills their album, we remember the rude guys from first floor whose abilities to exclude rivaled any high school clique. That is, of course, unless their newest release would be coming out soon– then, suddenly they were your 5 new best friends. More…