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Hey Blogging Friends!

I totally need your help!!! 

 Please take a minute and VOTE, VOTE, VOTE! 

Here's the message that I've forwarded from my daughter, Sarah:

Hey everyone! Totally unexpected, but I've been nominated for Best Actress in a Play for Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice! Do me a favor and take a second to vote. What's not so unexpected, is that my last name was spelled wrong so look for me as Sarah Lejune. Thanks!

PS. Our Pride and Prejudice has been nominated in several different categories, including Best Play, Best Actor in a Play, Best Actress in a Play, Best Featured Actress in a Play, Best Featured Actor in a Play, Best Ensemble Performance in a Play, and Best Costume Design! Please share the love with those votes as well!

Angel in the Outfield

Earlier this year, I relayed the story of a humorous nun that I encountered and became friends with when I worked at a Catholic College nearly a decade ago.  I was one of a very few protestant members of the faculty and staff.  Sister Matthew Marie was such a beautiful soul, a wonderful professor, wise counselor, and special friend.  If you haven’t read the story “Pie,” I encourage you to scroll through the previous blogs and find it.  She’s one funny nun!

There are two stories that come to mind when I think of Sister Matthew Marie.  This is the other one.

My boys have played baseball, like many American young men, from the time they turned five.  Our kids played baseball/softball nearly year round.  One way you can tell is because so many of the stories I share have to do with the “great all-American pastime.”

My oldest son, Beau was totally committed to the game of baseball.  He didn’t play football, so that he could play fall baseball.  He did participate in soccer and basketball at an early age, but gave it up to devote all his time to baseball.  We spent thousands of dollars on travel teams, World Series tournaments, equipment (a new bat every year), pitching lessons, sign-up fees, and on and on.

He played recreation ball, tournament ball, league ball, school ball, travel ball, All-Stars, high school varsity ball . . . he even played college baseball.  His freshman year in college, his college team won the NAIA World Series.  We would have loved for him to play baseball as a career.

However, his sophomore year in college, he wanted to walk-on to a D1, public university program a few hours from our home.  He had three great friends there.  We were  unsure about the transfer. Of course, we let him make the choice. We also decided be there to support him no matter how it turned out. 
  

It did not go so well.  He played some, practiced a lot, but never really did get any support from the coach.  It was such a disappointing experience.  The coach did not have any successful seasons during his tenure as the head coach and was eventually fired.  It was difficult for my son to go from a small, private school with a great coach and a winning season to a program that, overall, was a failure.

Beau hung in there for three years.  It was quite a long three years.  So, early in the season of his senior year, I decided to spend the weekend with him at his college.  I could tell he was quite discouraged.  We talked for hours late into the night and then more the next day about what he thought his options might be.  He knew for sure that he did not want to play for that team any longer.  We talked about transferring to another school, or finding a minor league tryout date, or just simply quitting.

After heart breaking discussions and multiple prayer conversations with God, Beau decided that it was time to quit that team.  He left the door open to continue to play later, but at that school, he was done.  He was devastated and so were his dad and I for him.  But deep down, I had peace with his decision.

I decided to stay an extra day to be supportive.  After his morning classes, he went and found the coach and told him that he would not be playing his final year in college.  The conversation went fine, and my son came back to where I was waiting and relayed to me how it went.  He was crushed, so disappointed, and felt such a heavy heart as he made this life changing decision.

I drove home that afternoon sobbing the whole 100+ mile trip.  All I could do was to pray and ask God to somehow help him (and me) through the mourning process.

The next morning, I woke up, got dressed and drove to work.  I was still an emotional wreck.  I was feeling overwhelmed and depressed.  I’m sure it showed on my face.  I was trying to be brave, but having wrestled with such an important decision with my son had wiped me out.

I walked into the building of the college where I worked. The first person that greeted me was Sister Matthew Marie.  She was always so upbeat and positive.  She said that she had been looking for me.  I asked, “What’s up, Sister?”  She asked how I was.  I lied and said fine.  I asked how she was and she said that she was great – as usual.

She then questioned further.  "So, Diane, how are you really?"  I was perplexed by the question and again answered that I was fine.

Sister continued on and explained to me that over the weekend, while she was praying (and she prays more than anyone I know), the Holy Spirit urged her to pray for my oldest son and for me multiple times over the three days.   

She paused as she could tell I was stunned and shocked.  I just stared at her for a long moment.  Tears started streaming down my face; I covered my face with my hands and started to sob.  She put her hand on my shoulder and asked what was wrong. 

After I partially regained my composure, I relayed to her the events of the weekend.  She just quietly listened.  She did not seem at all surprised that we had just survived the worst weekend of Beau's life.  She was so encouraging, supportive and she promised to continue to pray for both of us.

That experience is profoundly etched on my heart; I will never forget her praying for us when we desperately needed God’s peace without even knowing the circumstances.  Sister Matthew Marie is an incredibly faithful, kind, wise, and compassionate follower of Christ.  It is absolutely amazing that humans can be such blessings for each other, if we simply listen to the Holy Spirit when we are prompted to reach out or pray.  I encourage you to be generous with your life just like Sister was to us.

(c) 2014 Diane C. LeJeune, Sustained Momentum Entertainment, LLC & "Tribal Tales"

The Great Adventure

In 1995, my husband and I decided that we no longer wanted to live in Southern California.  There were many factors that contributed to our dissatisfaction with life in Orange County.  The first was crime.  We had been broken into twice and it’s such a vulnerable feeling knowing that there is little you can do to protect yourself.  The second issue was commuter traffic.  It is hard to describe just how congested Southern California is.  You have to experience the 9 lanes of dead stopped traffic to fully appreciate the gridlock.  And thirdly, we knew on a teacher’s salary that we would never be able to afford to buy a house in the inflated real estate market at the time.

For two years, we made plans to make a big move.  But to where?  Most of my family was in Southern California.  I did have extended family in Cincinnati.  My husband, however, was from Louisiana.  We thought that perhaps we could move somewhere in between the two.

To begin our big adventure, we took a map of the United States, closed our eyes and pointed to a spot on the map.  It landed near Denver, Colorado.  Beautiful!  I’d been to Denver and knew what a lovely area of the country Denver was located in. 

We knew we wanted to be on the outskirts of a large city that had a professional baseball team as well as an amusement park.  The Arts are really important to us as well.  So, Denver seemed like a pretty good destination.  I started to do research on the surrounding cities near Denver.  I decided to focus on Colorado Springs.  I had visited there once and thought that it was as good as anywhere to begin our search. 

I made files, spreadsheets, and did research on housing costs, real estate options, schooling, taxes, and just about anything I could get my hands on as it related to being a new resident in Colorado Springs.  Things looked promising, until I started to read about living at a higher elevation.  There is nothing innately difficult with being so high in the sky, but for some reason that just did not sit well with me.   I did not want to have to follow special baking instructions for higher elevations.  So, I axed the option of moving to Colorado.

With that I started my search all over.  We got the map back out and did a helicopter with a finger over the map and dropped it down again, and it landed a bit further east this time.  The goal destination now was near Nashville, Tennessee.  I looked to my husband for a reaction. Neither one of us had ever been to Tennessee so we had no idea what to expect.  We did decide that we wanted to check it out.

So, once again, I got busy with researching the area.  Housing costs and schools seemed to be the biggest factors as we ruled out one city or another.  I chose to check out Hendersonville, Tennessee.  It was a city just northeast of downtown Nashville on a beautiful lake.

My husband and two kids (at the time) went to Louisiana every summer to visit the grandparents.  We talked about it and decided that they would make the trek up Interstate 55 to Tennessee and cut over on Interstate 40 to Nashville to check it out.  This was in the summer of 1996.

They drove up from Nashville to Hendersonville and experienced rush-hour traffic similar to what we were already dealing with on a daily basis in California.  My husband adamantly communicated that there was no way that he would move there, and that I should strike that city from our list of possibilities.  I was disappointed but Hendersonville was off the list. 

I was pretty discouraged.  I really thought that I had found the perfect location for us to move to.  That afternoon, after looking around Nashville, my family decided to get a hotel before driving back down to the grandparents.  They stopped at exit #65 on Interstate 65 where there were many hotel and restaurant options.  Once they were situated in a hotel, they began to explore the city looking for a restaurant.

  

As they arrived in historic downtown Franklin, they stumbled upon the annual Franklin Jazz Festival.  What you need to know here is that my husband is a guitarist.  So, of course, they stopped and took in the sights and sounds on that beautiful summer evening.  He saw Michael McDonald and Larry Carlton headlining the event.  My husband had found heaven on earth.

My husband called the next morning to report that we were moving to Franklin, Tennessee.  I started to argue with him.  I had already done the research and while the schools are very good – some of the best in the country – the cost of living was just way too high.  For me it was out of the question.  For him, there was no other choice.  Guess what?  He won!

He drove back to his parents, finished his vacation, and then brought the kids back to California where we started solidifying our plans to move to Franklin, Tennessee the following summer.

During this year of planning, one song that I listened to a great deal was “The Great Adventure” by Steven Curtis Chapman.  I played it all the time as I planned out the LeJeune Family’s Great Adventure.  It became quite a symbolic song for our life changing move to Tennessee.

There are varied, valid reasons for moving your family 2,000 miles across the U.S.:  a new job, going to college, an elderly parent, to be closer to grandkids, etc.  Music festivals really don’t rank up there high on the list of reasons to change your address.

So, after having lived in Southern California for most of my life and 14 years for my husband, with little fanfare – just my mom and dad there to see us off - we left California on July 17, 1997 and drove across country to the beautiful, rolling hills of Tennessee - all because my husband loved the Franklin Jazz Festival.

Addendum:  Our very first Sunday in Franklin, Tennessee, my husband and I visited a fairly large church located in downtown Franklin.  A colleague of mine back in California had recommended it.  We enjoyed the worship service and looked through the bulletin to find a Sunday School class to visit.  The process was pretty random, but we selected one that met in an old house next door.  We went it, met the teacher, found seats just as class began.  Much to our shock and surprise, Steven Curtis and Marybeth Chapman were members of the class.  When the teacher asked for my husband and I to introduce ourselves, we did.  We mentioned that we had just moved to Tennessee from California the week before.  The teacher asked what brought us to Franklin.  I looked right at Steven, laughed, and told them that it was our own family’s “Great Adventure.”  He smiled at us and said, “Good for you two!”  I’ll never forget the amazing start to our Great Tennessee Adventure.

(c) 2014 Sustained Momentum Entertainment, LLC and Diane C. LeJeune "Tribal Tales"

Too Late Again

When I was 17 and a new college freshman, I moved into the dorms of the college I had selected to attend, which was located nearly 2,000 miles from my home.  I was excited, nervous, anxious, feeling pretty lost, and unsure.  Fortunately, I knew my roommate; she was from my home church back in California and we’d been friends since sixth grade.

The sole purpose for me to attend this specific college, in an unlikely place, Missouri, USA is that I wanted to be a vocalist in the school’s premier vocal ensemble.  I sang in a couple different musical groups in high school and thought that I would like to pursue music as a career.

A week before classes began, the music department arranged to have all music students who wished to audition come in for the first try-out.  There were four female singers in this group and dozens of young ladies were there to nab one of the four spots. 

I was quite nervous, but I showed up and did my best.  We had to wait until the following day to see if our names were on the list for call-backs.  I can remember those 24 hours seeming like a week of waiting.  At the designated time, nearly 75 girls showed up to see if they had made it to the next round.  I have no idea how many names were on that list or how many made it to the next round, but I can tell you for sure that when I saw Diane Carter listed, I nearly passed out from relief and excitement.  

I had one hour to prepare my next song for the second audition.  Again, I was prepared and gave it my all.  This went on for a couple of days.  I ended up being called back seven times.  Yes, seven call backs – it was crazy.  And I was a basket case by the end of the week.

In the seventh audition, we did more than just sing.  The audition was in front of a panel of six music professors.  They each had an opportunity to ask questions.  It was a rigorous process, but I could tell from the looks on their faces that I had nailed it.  Honestly, I had not considered the fact that I might not make it.  It was not an arrogance or pride issue; I just believed that if I did my best I would make the group.

In this final audition, we were down to three finalists: me, another incoming freshman, and a girl who, as a senior, had auditioned three years in a row without making it.  As they sang, I could hear their songs from my seat, outside the door, in the hallway.  The other two really did a great job. 

 

While the senior was in her audition, I learned from the other freshman who was trying out that there were not actually four spots open.  Three of the singers from the previous year were returning and were automatically cast in their same spots.  I had no idea.  There were 75 girls trying out for 1 opening.  Only one!  I was really trying to get my mind around this.  We were down to the last three and two of us were going back to the dorm really disappointed that day.  Now, I was worried.  In addition, the senior who was in the music room, at this very moment, singing her heart out, was best friends with the three girls who were already in the group.

Oh my gosh, I had no chance of making it and it took all week for me to figure it out!  I felt panicked.  Why was there even an audition?  There was no chance that the senior wouldn’t get the spot.  I was trying really hard to look on the positive side of things.  I had made it to the final round and was 1 of 3 who could get the job.  That should be an honor in itself.  But it wasn’t.

So, we waited while they deliberated.  Then they brought all of us back in and announced that the senior had earned the open spot.  I was flooded with an overwhelming feeling of disappointment.  I had come to this college specifically to be in this music ensemble.  Now, I was 2,000 miles from home wasting my time and my dad’s money.  I felt like quitting college before the semester had even begun.

I went back to the dorm and called my family.  I gave them the bad news and, of course, they were encouraging and supportive, but I felt like I had no hope or vision for the future – at least for the next four years.  I remember just laying on my bed in the dorm room and crying.  I had dreamt of making that group for years.

The next day was Friday and I got up, dressed, and ventured out for the day.  I had no idea what to do, since all my time for the past week had been taken up with rehearsing and auditioning.  I thought about going into town and applying for a job.  Before I left campus, I checked my mail and there was a handwritten note in my mailbox.  

As I read the letter, I realized that it was from two of the music professors.  This husband and wife duo both worked for the college in the music division and had for a few decades.  I knew their names and had recognized who they were in the auditions, but had not met them one on one yet.  My mom had been a student of theirs thirty years before at a different college on the west coast.  They asked if I could stop by their office that day to meet.  I figured it couldn’t hurt, so I made the trek across campus to the Fine Arts Building.

I checked in with the secretary at the front desk and they were both in.  She called back to see if they were available and lucky for me, they were.  After the initial pleasantries, the husband communicated that he felt that I had done an outstanding job in the audition process and was really impressed.  As he spoke, his wife nodded her head in agreement.  It was such a nice gesture on their part.  My discouragement started to lift a bit.  She went on to say that on the following day, the school hosted a Back-To-School Picnic for all the new and returning students.  She communicated that faculty, staff and their families in addition to all students would be there.  I knew about it, since it was in our student handbooks and I had planned to attend. She asks me if I would be willing to sing a song during the program.  I did not know for sure if they were just being kind or what, but I thought, “What the heck,” – sure I’ll sing.  So, I did.  I covered an Amy Grant song called, “Too Late” off of her “The Collection” album.  I just sang to a background track.  

It went fine.  Nothing spectacular, but at least I had two new friends in the music department.  However, what happened next came as quite a surprise.  As I was making my way back, to my seat, on the lawn, at the picnic, with my roommate and a few new friends, three guys intercepted my route.  They introduced themselves to me as new undergrads; all three were transfer students.  Their names were D.J., Mark, and Billy.  They were 3 of 4 guys who were putting together a Christian band and were in need of a female vocalist.  D.J. did most of the talking and initially, I was not all that interested, since I was still reeling from my disappointing news the day before.  But I listened and asked questions and soon enough I agreed to come to their next rehearsal.  As it worked out D.J. was on the keyboard, Mark on drums and Billy on guitar.  There was another guy named Robert who I met at my first practice; he played bass.  

We rehearsed and I had fun.  They had all been in bands before and it was obvious that they were very talented.  So, we let the music department secretary know that we were available to travel around and provide music on Sundays at local churches.  She had us booked nearly every Sunday for September and October.  

After a few months, I checked in with the music secretary during the week and she told me that we were the most requested music group that semester.  For 5 new students who just kind of randomly came together, I thought that was pretty cool.  Our band’s name was Sons in God (SING) even though I was a girl.

While I was meeting with the music secretary, she said that they had received a last minute cancellation for Convocation (chapel) for the following day.  She was in need of a group or person to sing at 10:00 a.m.  She wanted to know if by chance SING could play that next morning.  I said that I was pretty sure we would all be there since attendance was mandatory.  She wrote our name in on the calendar and I left to find the guys.  It was totally fine with all of them and we agreed to play.  

 

The next morning, I was a bit nervous to sing in chapel.  I was not really sure why.  Just a few months before, I sang all by myself in front of almost the exact same group.  And we had decided to sing “Too Late” again, so it should be a slam dunk.  But I was on edge.

When we were announced as the special music, we moved to the stage, took our places, and began.  We did pretty well; Billy said we rocked it.  For the early 80’s that song was as close as you got to rock in the Christian genre of music.  We finished and started walking off stage to a pretty loud level of applause.

The moderator that day for chapel was an elderly Bible professor.  He walked up to the microphone when we finished and said, “I cannot believe that you students are applauding for that, especially after you boycotted an Alice Cooper concert just last night.  You should be ashamed of yourselves.”  By this point, we were back stage but we could hear him still.  He was comparing us to Alice Cooper and insinuating that we were devil worshippers as well, I suppose.  I was shocked.  I literally stopped in my tracks backstage.  We were supposed to go back into the chapel and take our seats and listen to the guest speaker.  But I was embarrassed and humiliated.  I had no idea how the student body would react when we walked in.  The guys in the band totally didn’t care about what the old guy has said – they even thought it was pretty funny. 

After a minute, I pulled myself together; we walked out and sat down in our seats.  There wasn’t much commotion and for that I was grateful.  A few students nearby leaned forward, tapped us on the shoulder and said that we did a great job. That was encouraging, but still I was so anxious that I stopped listening and had no idea about what the guest speaker had preached.

Immediately after chapel was over, I made my way to the music faculty offices to find the secretary.  I was so upset and as I walked toward her at her desk, she started apologizing over and over.  She felt so bad.  I asked what had happened.  I felt like we had been blindsided.  Why would the Bible professor compare us to Alice Cooper and be so unhappy with our band’s performance?

The music secretary took the blame, but still I didn’t understand.  She explained that they have very strict rules about playing music in chapel.  She had not given me the guidelines list or informed me of any of the rules because it was such a last minute deal.  She said that she assumed we would know.  I told her we were all new students; so of course, none of us had a clue.

Apparently, when you play in chapel, all the men have to be in suits and the women in dresses.  The band guys were jeans, polo shirts and tennis shoes and were far from being dressed up.  More importantly, no electric guitars or amps were allowed.  As well, volume was an issue.  And the list went on and on.  There was even discussion of kicking us out of school over this.  Over an Amy Grant tune!  It was insane.  Our band was totally caught up in controversy that was completely not our fault. 

The next day, the two music professors who had befriended me at the beginning of the semester called me into their office.  They both apologized profusely.  They explained that the music department did not think we had done anything wrong and they had demanded that the Bible professor give us a public apology and in writing (which he eventually did).  They also assured me that we would not be dismissed as students.

I was so relieved.  As you can imagine, however, SING never agreed to play in chapel for the remainder of the semester.  We did continue to play every weekend all around the state of Missouri and that was just fine with us.  Moreover, none of us returned for the second semester as students.

I left college and married the guitar player.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nearly fifteen years later, I was the Director of Admissions at a sister college to the one where I had initially attended.  I had been asked by my college to attend a national conference for the denomination to which we belong.  I agreed to go – an all-expenses paid working trip – sure why not?  The conference was held in St. Louis, Missouri. My hotel was right next door to the famous Arch.

I got to the conference center and set up my booth.  After things had settled down and we were organized, I decided to walk around before the conference started, and see all the other displays that were going up.  I thought it was a great way to get good ideas for the following year. 

 

Up ahead on my left is the booth and display for that first college that I attended when I was a teenager.  They had a young college student, wearing a suit, greeting folks as they walked by.  He was outgoing and friendly, so I stopped to ask him about school, his major, where he’s from, etc.  You know the typical questions you ask a college kid.  He shared a bit about his life – he is a senior and wants to be a pastor.  We have a nice conversation.  He asked why I was attending the conference and I explain that I am with one of the other colleges. He nods in understanding. 

At the very last second before walking away, I added, “But I attended your school for one semester a very long time ago.”  I honestly have no idea why I would disclose that, but I blurted it out before I could take it back.  He said, “Really?  That’s cool.”  I nodded my head and smiled.  I continued and said that it had been so long ago.  I added that I remembered that there had been a little bit of controversy my freshman year, when one of the guest speakers for chapel said a bad word in his message.  The Faculty was so upset that he was banned for life from ever speaking at that college again.  I asked if he had ever heard that story.  He said he had.

Then the young man added, “That’s interesting, because there was another controversial event that same year.”  He explained that the rules for music in chapel had changed the next semester after a scandalous incident had happened in Convocation.  I asked what he meant.  What had happened?  He started to tell me the story of a band that played a rock song in chapel that had turned the campus upside down.  It had happened the day after an Alice Cooper concert.

I stood there in total and complete shock as he recalled the incident with many, pretty close details.  When he finished, after I regained my composure, I asked how he knew all of that.  He shrugged and guessed that every year that story got passed down from class to class.  It had become a tribal tale, an urban legend, of sorts, at that college.  I could not believe what I had just heard from him.

I paused, took a deep breath and smiled.  I told him that I was in shock that anyone remembered that day or that event.  I explained that I was that girl singer in that rebellious Christian rock band who had defiantly played an Amy Grant song.  He started to laugh – he said that he couldn’t believe that he was meeting a member of that famous band.  He told me that he was going to go back to school and tell all his friends that he had met me.  

The entire experience was incredibly unreal.  As I started to walk away, I turned back, and said, “Oh by the way, I married the guitar player.”  He laughed again, and replied, “Are you kidding me?  No way!”  I said that I was not kidding and that we had been married for 15 years and had a couple of kids.

 

In retrospect, I guess that shouldn’t have been much of surprise . . . that is what notorious, retired rockers do:  they settle down, get married, and start families.

(c) 2014 Sustained Momentum Entertainment, LLC and Diane Carter LeJeune; "Tribal Tales"