Serendipitous Victory

Some nights it just all comes together! (like it was planned in advance)

Last Saturday was the third in a series of six Youth Helping Youth concerts to raise money for Banding Together, a nonprofit with a mission is to provide music therapy scholarships and mentorships to kids with special needs. The Kingsmen have been the de facto poster band for Banding Together since it began. Certainly, they epitomize the mission. They are no longer alone, however. This once-a-month opportunity has attracted interest from other local high school bands who love applause just as much. And two new special needs bands are forming.

The Pacific Ridge School Rock Jazz Ensemble, Vast Zephyr, Dirty Gold, The Third Edition and North Coast Singers Capella group are also getting in on the action, performing to share their passion for music and raise money for kids with special needs who wouldn't otherwise be able to afford music therapy. They know firsthand the power music has to motivate.

Unbenownst to me, a professional videographer in the audience offered up his gifts in the moment to capture the evening and the cause on film. Thank you Sean Horton! Reid got roped into the interview since I'm the last to leave. I don't think he minded, do you?

What do you see? More than money raised, the quality of the actual performance, or number in attendance, I see joyful happy moms who once feared letting their boys play in public. I see an inclusive community of all ages. I see respect for differences. I see admiration. I see innate leadership skills in kids who are marginalized in other contexts. I see joy. I see freedom that comes through the power of music. I see full engagement. I see proud fathers in attendance. I see peace. I see the Kingdom.

David told the leaders of the Levites to appoint their fellow Levites as musicians to make a joyful sound with musical instruments: lyres, harps and cymbals. 1 Chronicles 15:15-17

Applaud God, all people! His love has taken over our lives; God's faithful ways are eternal. Hallelujah! Psalm 117:1-2 The Message

your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Matthew 6:9-11

Therapist at Work

I've mentioned that it's been a rough week. It's still raw, but if I wait to summarize it will lack the true grit that I highly esteem.

We're crawling out from under a train wreck of hormones, medication changes, and burgeoning angst. It came to a head last Monday afternoon; Day 8 of what we will now call "the wrong medicine" blew up in all of our faces. Poor Reid landed off the bus in a sobbing pile on our living room loveseat. My heart broke as all he could choke out was, "mommy...i missed the bus...."

That was only the start of the terrible, horrible, no good very bad day. I could tell the whole eight hours must have been coursing through his mind. What just happened?...How did i get here?...What have I done?...I am so glad to be home... I can't do this anymore...all coming out in rare tears from this indefatiguable, exuberant boy with stamina, courage and joy that knows know bounds. He couldn't win over the chemical warfare in his already out of sync body.

I knew most of what had transpired, thanks to a call from school--uncharacteristic aggression, a restraint, a frustrated bus aide yelling reprimands in a German accent--but of course I wasn't there. Push had come to shove at a school where they don't dance around lines in the sand once they're drawn. I'd only witnessed the beginning at 7:07 that morning:

A substitute driver stuck strictly to his time chart and drove away from our open garage door. In my pajamas and Kat's Beetle (mine in the shop), we chased him down to the next pick up in Del Mar. I can't say for sure if he saw my frizzy bedhead as I stood waving frantically in my bright orange paisley flannel bottoms, no bra and a t-shirt, but I felt hard to miss. He drove off AGAIN as Reid zipped up his backpack with one foot on the running board.

Appalled, I joked through the surging adrenaline, "OMG! I can't believe this guy. The nerve. HA! We are gonna catch that bus!" In good spirits taking it in stride, Reid said, "Mom at Austin's house I am going to get out the fast way! My backpack is ready. I'm right on target." At the off ramp of the 56 in Carmel Valley now (still closer than driving to school which is 30 minutes away), I pulled up next to the bus and motioned in an angry charade that he better wait this time. The guy was close to comatose which gave me that sickening feeling of negligence that I even put my kid in his charge. How did we get here?

Back in the brokenhearted moment I cried with Reid, "Oh baby, it's not our fault. It's the wrong medicine. We know that now. I am SO sorry. No more of it. You can stay home tomorrow. We will figure this out." I am so sorry, so very sorry. How can I make it right. The tears are still right here. How can I spare him this? Confusion. Remorse. Out of control. Haywire.

By 4:30 as I glanced out the back window from my piano lesson to see him throwing sand at the hedge, it seemed like improvement. A minor offense at this point and maybe an effective way to vent the stress of the day. I called to him as usual, "your turn with Angela now, Reid."

No reply. Did I see him come in? Check upstairs. Oscar's can? One more loop. "Jim, Reid's gone." In quick reply, all five of us--Kat, Allie, and Angela in heels, fanned out calling "Reid, say 'here i am' Reeeid!

Allie and Kat to the neighbors who have Apple TV. Not there.

Jim up the street on a bike to ones who own Sound of Music.

Finally over the back fence we heard him answer my plea, "here i am" A second reply several minutes later enabled Jim to zero in on him in the cul de sac

below our back enbankment.

Long story short, we urged his distraught body home having averted any trespassing violation. He was crying again in his lower bunk, aware that dad was angry. Now poor Angela, the music therapist cum piano teacher cum friend of the family cum fellow sojourner in the way, would have to pick up the pieces and salvage the remainder of their session. (Had she been a stickler for time, it would have been over.)

She had already earned her keep with Allie in the foyer empathizing over sibling memories of her brother with Angelman syndrome. She has been there! And is there for each of us in unique ways. She's comfortable enough in our house and was going to have better luck at this point than any of us. So, without words, she went into his room to work her therapeutic magic. The rest of us just listened and learned through the walls.

"Reid, Kingsmen is tonight. the band needs you. you're such an important part of the band. we need to practice that new song. do you think i could sing you part of it to you?" She began to sing the Beatles song they're preparing, leaving out key words which he filled in. Then suggesting that maybe it would sound better with the piano downstairs, they rallied to the bench. Order restored for the time being.

Crouched in the living room praying in a private language for peace, wisdom, some end to this... I realized they'd switched gears and were singing Sara Groves' "He's Always Been Faithful."

He has always been faithful. As I tuned in, I realized we were both getting the therapy. Angela has an intuitive way of picking songs that scratch the itch and allow the Spirit to move through the music without agenda but with definite purpose.

Last week, she'd blessed me in a different way with a VIP ticket to the American Music Therapy Association conference. It was a thrill to be close enough to touch Nathaniel Anthony Ayers, The Soloist, hear him perform, and meet his sister the next morning. Steve Lopez spoke on the panel also (more to come on this experience). He recapped Mr. Ayer's progress since the time that the book and movie came out saying that he is still not on any medicine that would fix it or clear it all away. Lopez has learned to think in terms of recovery rather than cure. Recovery defined as learning about the condition and functioning with purpose.

Then the profound clincher that compelled me to borrow a pencil from my neighbor, "I like to think that the music is the medicine. The Walt Disney Hall is the hospital. And the musicians are the doctors."

Amen brother! That has been my experience too.

We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. ¹We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. 2 Corinthians 4:8-10

May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. The one who calls you is faithful and he will do it. Brothers, pray for us. 1 Thessalonians 5:23-25

Whenever the spirit from God came upon Saul, David would take his harp and play. Then relief would come to Saul; he would feel better, and the evil spirit would leave him. 1 Samuel 16:22-23

Yubo Would Go

Once a quarter, our weekends turn into marathons of active duty requiring 2 fully caffeinated adults on a mission to divide and conquer, in order to accomplish the intricate array of rehearsals, call times, college fairs, recitals, practices, and gigs (not their own) laid out in a 30-mile radius.

To pull it off last Saturday, I needed Yubo's help. Jim and I both wanted to see The Kingsmen's noontime concert at the American Music Therapy Conference. Kat had to work. Allie doesn't drive for another 6 months.

I called Yubo to ask my favor. Could he transport Allie from symphony to chamber? Once he realized who I was, "yes, no problem."

I continued with my female incantation of the why's and wherefore's of our scheduling conflict. We'd get her downtown and home at the end, but that middle run cross-town coincided with Reid's gig. It would be oh-so-helpful if he would do it. Of course, he'd already said yes, but I felt the need to embellish.

"Don't worry. I get her there," came his crisp reply.

Oh, I know you will Yubo, I thought to myself and on time. What a guy!

A Song for the Road

You already know I'm a Beth Moore junkie. With five close friends--made even tighter by our weekly commitment together--I just completed her Psalms of Ascent Bible study. Who knew? The specific Psalms 120-134 were ones the Israelites had memorized, like a "Road Trip" playlist on their community ipod. On repeated treks to Jerusalem for the annual feasts, the men, women and children had those short, catchy, rhyming psalms stuck in their heads as if they were top 40 hits. Take a listen to these renditions by messianic Christian Chuck King.

The Biblical word for road trip is pilgrimage. After updating and unpacking it, I have come to love the ring of that word. I am on a pilgrimage. And so are you! Whether through autism, through marriage, through divorce, through cancer, through illness, or through a chapter in life, we are all on our way to some place else. Heaven, namely. We are never stuck but always moving on toward some thing better.

Songs make the time go faster don't they? On an arduous car ride or a harrowing adventure. Songs do a whole lot more than that. Like the hunch that there is a God, almost all of us know innately that music has a power over our soul. All agree and yet, it remains a spiritual mystery how and why music empowers our communication and binds us to the otherness of heaven. Music assists us in entering the spiritual realm. Singing enables the expression of our soul. Songs release God's power. Jesus sang with the disciples. Song originated with God and accompanied creation. Song can change our perspective. I won't pretend to explain but merely to illustrate.

Colloquially speaking, we say that, "music tames the savage beast" whether we attribute it to Shakespeare in Twelfth Night or William Congreve in The Mourning Bride. I have seen this to be true. Years before his Abilify prescription (which has also served to tame the savage beast), Reid came home from a day to top all days at school. Possibly his worst ever. Honestly, I've repressed the gory details. Suffice it to say that those days often included reports of him under a desk, chewing his shirt to shreds at the collar, hitting a teacher, being restrained by staff members, being dreadfully uncomfortable needing to poop but unable to relax enough at school to do so in their restroom with its buzzing flourescent lights, automatic flushing toilets, not to mention other patrons. It was hellish. Some combination of those had accumulated. By the time I rolled into the carpool line, the teachers could only scoop him into the car. Time to recuperate. Wait, we were due home for piano lessons.

His lessons are pretty similar to the classic variety although he takes from a beloved music therapist of 8 years. Because of her training, who she is and their established rapport, the 30 minute session retains a therapeutic quality. In fact, it often takes on a certain magic. Anyway, I was ready to bail that day, send her home and forfeit the fee. I couldn't see how Reid would ever pull himself together to attend. He collapsed into the house, eyes still red from crying and disheveled from the ravages of his day. After some ineffective cajoling and sympathetic urging to get him to the piano bench from me, Angela simply sat down herself and played something. (If I ever write a book it will have to be fiction since so many relevant details escape me.) I think it was a praise and worship song, maybe something she was dusting off for church that Sunday.

Thus began a slow-motion scene from the movie of our life. Stilled by the music, Reid rose from the crumpled pile on the floor, joined her on the bench and after 20 minutes skittered out to the kitchen a new boy. Music had transformed his day from disaster to joy. His emotional tank was refueled for whatever lay ahead. Dumbstruck and speechless, I stuttered to Angela, "how...did...i didn't...do that...can't." Angela's response I do recall, "music tames the savage beast." She's humble and accurate. I started scheming a way to have her take up permanent residence. We need a live-in pianist.

Dr. Fryman, the world renown osteopath we were privileged to see, utilizes this pipe dream wish of mine in her San Diego practice. In her 90's and still treating infants, she has mentored nearly every young osteopath worth their salt. Her treatment protocol is incredible albeit elusive. Parents are consulted with but prohibited from accompanying their child in the treatment room. At first, this policy put me off tremendously. Anticipating Reid's first appointment with her I felt as if I was relinquishing him to a demented Oz behind a curtain only to wait in t he field of monkeys. Once I got to know her though, I appreciated the method to her apparent madness. She eliminates the triangulating that can happen with kids with behavioral challenges. In this intentional way, she can treat them more individually and without distraction. The kids quickly learn to trust her calculated, consistent, predictable routine and benefit immensely from each visit. Reid would emerge out of the corridor of her round building practically stunned by an epiphany. So deep was the transformation I could perceive it in his face, stature and dare I say, soul. Osteopathy is a holistic approach.

A large part of Dr. Fryman's effectiveness is her spiritual gifting and faithfulness. Another part is her understanding of music. She employed a concert pianist who accompanied her hands-on osteopathic manipulation with live classical music. She chose music that matched the energy of the child taking "music therapy" to a new level. As the treatment progressed, she would cue the pianist with a new composer or piece that synchronized with the patient and synergized her manual adjustment. I don't think I'm extrapolating to say that she was calling upon the powers of heaven through music to heal. Many miracles quietly occur in that place.

The Listening Program, AIT, Samonas, and many musical permutations are marketed as beneficial for our kids with autism. I am not endorsing any of those, nor one over the other. We have invested in several of them at different times. I am not certain their claims are valid, provable, or worth niggling over. What they do all indicate though is that music influences our brain function.

Can you add a little music to your life today? Open yourself up to be healed, restored, redeemed. Marinade in some sound waves. Steep in a psalm.

This is what the LORD says: "Sing with joy for Jacob; shout for the foremost of the nations. Make your praises heard, and say, 'LORD, save your people, the remnant of Israel.'
Jeremiah 31:6-8



"The LORD your God is in your midst, A victorious warrior He will exult over you with joy, He will be quiet in His love, He will rejoice over you with shouts of joy. Zephaniah 3:16-18



You are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance. Psalm 32:7

Kingsmen Rock!

The Kingsmen recorded a debut CD last month. I hardly know where to begin to itemize the cornucopia of blessings it holds.

It is beautiful from so many angles. Takes me back to a sculpture class I took for my art history degree. There was something so obvious, yet eye-opening about walking around a work of art to appreciate it, as opposed to standing in one spot in front of a painting.

Music, even more than sculpture, is multi-dimensional, changing with each hearing, venue, and circumstance of the listener. 

The Kingsmen is a band of four guys who are all clients of the Music Therapy Center of California. They range in age from 10-15 and rehearse weekly with Rachel Gant as a facilitator. Charlie, Conor, Kenton and Reid hone many skills in order to make music together. They interact as a team, read each other's body language, listen intently for cues, tolerate diverse senses of humor, exercise patience, and encourage each other to new milestones. Their commitment and willingness to perform have yielded an incredible sense of confidence and achievement in each of them.

Without any precedent of what to expect, the Kingsmen pulled out all the stops to capture their current repertoire of hits including Three Little Birds by Bob Marley, Meant to Live by Switchfoot, and the live crowd pleaser, Hang On Sloopy. Each of the band members have a solo on the CD which rounds out the project. During the 3-hour recording session there were many smiles, and a definite mix of jubilation, fatigue, and concentration. Working toward a common goal, the boys now have something concrete to show for their efforts and share with the world. They are proud of the outcome!

I am proud of Ted Vaughn and Chris Hobson who made the recording session a reality at our church, Solana Beach Presbyterian Church. Ted has an interest in all things musical. More than that, he has caught the gestalt of the Kingsmen. Like a quarterback clutching a pigskin and driving toward the end zone, he has philosophically embraced what the band has to offer others in our community.  Everybody scores when they enter the spotlight and do their thing, rather than be relegated to the sidelines. Chris defies description. With the mystery of a kid-whisperer and his impeccable ears for sonic integrity, he is silently impressive. The interaction between these minds was something to behold.

At my first hearing of the recording, I used the word, "sweet" (of course, I am the Mom). The second time, "heartwarming" came to mind. I've landed on "endearing." Others say it has "raw honesty" and "tells the story of these guys." Kenton's rendition of Ingrid Michaelson's "The Way I Am" brings tears to your eyes. 

These boys are fast becoming young men; they have come a long way from "early intervention." Now they are finding a niche in society. In an effort to stay age-appropriate, their music therapy has morphed from one-on-one sessions to this more demanding and normalizing social experience of being in a band. Music is a bridge that can catapult them into "real world" encounters.

They played last year at a local Border's bookstore, Christmas on the Promenade, and several Walk Now for Autism events. What we find at these gigs is that despite their emerging musicianship and irregardless of their performance any given night, the boys have a message of struggle, promise, and victory that is universally relevant and inspiring. The manager at Border's commented that they were better than any in-store event he'd ever booked. Mind you, I know they weren't better technically, but their effort was greater and as a result the experience seems richer to the audience. Like the widow who gave her last mite, these guys are walking parables. Many life lessons are magnified by their example. Oddly, (and fortunately, for the moms listening in trepidation in the wings) not much explanation is needed for the audience to "get it." The boys can't hide their struggle or their success. People are moved for reasons that are hard to deny and don't need to be explained.

They will play at our church during December. I am both nervous and excited about this.  I can't help but hear countless Biblical foundations through The Kingsmen. Perhaps they are able to convey these truths more profoundly than the professional worship leaders we are used to hearing up front. Precepts from the Bible jump off the pages when they deliver culturally relevant lyrics like "you know you gotta help me out...." from the Killers "All These Things that We've Done" or "we were meant to live for so much more..."from Switchfoot or "don't worry about a thing..." from Bob Marley.  Are those not doctrinal sound bites that resonate with God's Word? No wonder they're so full of hope!

Now, I must figure out how to load MP3's on a blog.

If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!  Ecclesiastes 4:9-11


Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.  Matthew 6:33-34


What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul? Or what can a man give in exchange for his soul?  Matthew 16:25-27

"I tell you the truth," he said, "this poor widow has put in more than all the others." 

Luke 21:2-4

More Music Mastro

Ours was a weekend full of music that ran the gamut from Kibbles Rockin' Clubhouse hits to Coldplay covers to Mussorgsky's Hopak from "Sorochinsky Fair." Scratching in my mind are partial tracks from each of these as I face Monday morning. My husband was hanging on by the hair of his chinny chin chin to keep up with the whirlwind schedule the kids and I had memorized.  Reid sang at least 4 times from the Walk Now for Autism stage on Saturday.  Allie played flute in the first San Diego Youth Symphony concert of the season. High brow, low brow, we were all over town.

The San Diego Youth Symphony honors a music educator each year who has devoted their career to developing young musicians.  Dean Hickman, chosen this year, gave a brief but moving acceptance speech. You know I love music and its myriad benefits are already swirling around like visions of sugarplums in my head. I spent last week helping write the mission statement and vision for Banding Together, a non-profit organization newly established "to make music with people with special needs to unleash their creative potential and connect in community." (I've memorized that after tweaking and typing it so many times.)  

So, Mr. Hickman's sentiments are ringing in my ears.  As he eloquently said, music is the universal language.  By teaching it, we prepare future leaders of the world with character, discipline, and skills in every discipline from math and physics to diplomacy and foreign language.  His own son grew up in the ranks of the SDYS and is now a principal trumpet player for a symphony in the midwest. He told of international travel opportunities where students unable to communicate one word of each other's language could sit down and engage at length over a piece of Mozart music.  So strong is the language of music. Agreed.

Given our family dynamic, I couldn't help but notice one itty bitty inaccuracy. When the inimitable conductor touted his truly outstanding program, he pointed out the beauty of this annual concert is that it features all five levels of the SDYS program thereby displaying the development and progression of musicians through every ability level. Well...almost every ability.  

I am not suggesting that the SDYS take on students with diagnosed disability. But rather, wouldn't it be nice if a similar program existed that really was fully inclusive? Well, it just soon may! 

Maybe not in the classical vein but with a similar goal of developing musical talent at all levels. Only a few precedents exist that I have been able to unearth. The Naturals is a band in Chicago founded by music therapists at the Creative Music Exchange. They have attained attention from the media here if you want to hear them.

Keys to the Studio in Toronto is another one.  People inside and outside the disability world are excited about this place.  News coverage lists the professionals who volunteer and connect under the studio roof.  Listening to the CBC audio interview with founders, John Jowitt and Salina Eldon, gives me goosebumps.  As he says, "music is an open, infinite field that allows for all kinds of sound.  It is also a method of communication and a way of seeing what's in peoples' minds. The connection that you develop when playing music with someone is very strong...and leads to social connection..which is really helpful integrating people with each other."  I want to meet this guy!

In order to allow artistic expression and build trust, there is no right and wrong at Keys to the Studio.  Doesn't this smack wonderfully of Greenspan's Floortime and RDI?  By following the child's lead, withholding preconceived expectations and accepting each other's ideas as valuable, we build relationship and engagement.  As this generation of autism grows up, the world will need more programs like this for teens and young adults.

As I manned the MTCCA booth last Saturday at the Walk, I was quickly reminded how much music has driven and transformed Reid's development.  I could honestly say to the throngs of parents filing through the resource fair:  "Reid grew up the songs in the In Harmony curriculum. Before they were published, Angela used them in her private sessions with him."  "Until age 8, everything he knew he'd learned through music" (counting, the alphabet, greetings, sharing, Bible verses, the Lord's prayer, days of the week, months of the year, continents).  "Music engages him instantly because with it he can access both sides of his brain." 

We call her Lady Babyish now, but the female voice on an old Discovery Toys (check out the new Autism Program on their site) "Sounds Like Fun" cassette was his first teacher.  She covered a lot of ground with him at naptime, bedtime, and drive time.  Thankfully, we've progressed from there to more age-appropriate musical selections.  Much to my dismay, my car radio is now tuned to Star 94 and I am having to edify "Laura's Dirt" and Jeff and Jer's morning show on a regular basis.  Reid, "you know 'dirt' is actually gossip which is harmful. Remember what Judy Rogers (another awesome early musical educator in Bible literacy) sang about the seven things God hates"? Be that as it may, music remains a great vehicle for lifetime learning, recreation, and "therapy" at any level.

The vision for Banding Together includes a recording studio space where professional and amateur musicians, of truly ALL abilities, can pursue their passion together. Turning obsession into vocation as Temple Grandin exemplifies and advocates in her book, "Developing Talents," can happen--not in a vacuum--but in community with others who share the same passion. Through mentorship, jam sessions, workshops, open mic nights and recording opportunities, we intend to take the goals of the SDYS to the "n"th degree. Stay tuned...

As they make music they will sing, "All my fountains are in you." 

Psalm 87:6-7

So I was afraid and went out and hid your talent in the ground. 

Matthew 25:24-26


But each man has his own gift from God; one has this gift, another has that. 

1 Corinthians 7:6-8

There are six things the LORD hates, seven that are detestable to him.  

Proverbs 6:15-17

Music: Let it Move You

Don't get me started on music therapy!  I should probably start a mega-theme or Music Monday column to cover the volumes of thoughts I have related to the power of music to transform our lives.  

Apparently, I am not the only one.  Have you seen the movie, Young at Heart?  Although the movie doesn't focus on him I wonder many things about Bob Cilman, the leader of this choral group of seniors: What did he do previously?  How did his passion for music connect with an interest in seniors? Does he know he is doing music therapy? What are his natural instincts and strengths?  No doubt he is a Developer on the StrengthsFinder inventory by Tom Rath like Reid's music therapist par excellence, Angela Neve. I also wonder why there aren't similar groups in every single nursing home--especially my Nana's in Ohio--to appropriate the vitality and sense of purpose that singing together and preparing to perform brings these seniors who are simultaneously vibrant and dying.  

Seniors singing together is a relatively simple concept.  (Maybe most good ideas are simple--once they're thought of!)  The further genius of the project though is their repertoire of songs.  Cilman has this geriatric choir doing Sonic Youth, Beatles, Ramones, and James Brown covers!  They don't particularly like the songs.  I don't really either;  except when they take on new life sung from an unexpected vantage point.  With years of life experience and the wisdom of age, the seniors give new meaning to these lyrics.  When Fred croons "Fix Me" as a memorial to his dear friend it means more than Coldplay ever imagined.  This juxtaposition is what makes the film profound.  (Then again maybe I am selling Coldplay.  A similar thing happened when Reid sang "Scientist"  last fall.)

Young at Heart is inspirational on many levels and for all ages.  It depicts mutual trust between director and choir.  It's novelty makes us laugh, not at the unusual, but in acknowledgment and recognition.  It models the importance of mental flexibility and teachability.  The film captures the therapeutic magic of music.  

Also irresistible is the empowerment of a group of people who are otherwise dismissed from our society.  Like those with autism and other disabilities, many seniors can feel isolated, forgotten, neglected by the end of their lives.  Young at Heart demonstrates another truth; they in fact, have untapped potential and loads to offer--not just on the sidelines but in commercial venues at the forefront of our culture! 

But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.  1 Corinthians 1:27

'Rise in the presence of the aged, show respect for the elderly and revere your God. I am the LORD.  Leviticus 19:32

As they make music they will sing, "All my fountains are in you." Psalms 87:7