I’ve been pleased to be part of Thumbpicking Weekend and the national competition at the Ozark Folk Center for the past two years. The weekend is an effort to teach, preserve and promote the thumbpicking style and has been part of the Ozark Folk Center calendar for several years. Merle Travis judged the competition until his death in 1983.

In 2005, I moved to Indiana. The Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in Indiana had called me as their minister for church multiplication. It was an exciting opportunity, and the move would get me closer to my home in Kentucky and the family that still lived there.

I had no idea of the road that would open up. I thought I was coming here for ministry, and I was, but the good Lord needed to remind me that my music and my ministry go hand in hand. They can’t be separated.

I’ve written about meeting John Matsel and how he taught me the thumb and finger style of guitar that Merle Travis made popular in the 1950s and 60s. I’ve written about the encouragement I’ve received from outstanding musicians like Kara Barnard. Once again I’m in their debt for giving me encouragement when I needed it and for straightening me out when that was called for.

The award is an honor, and it reflects the work I continue to do toward being the best guitarist I can. More than that, though, it’s an appreciation for a style of music, for a community of people that love it and for sharing the music with a new generation of guitarists.

Press release: Download Indiana Minister Picks His Way to the Top .

The congregation hosts a concert series on the fourth Sunday evening of each month. I have the privilege of performing for this series on April 22, and I’ve got to tell that I’m really looking forward to it.

The concert will last 45-50 minutes, and the church will host a reception afterward.

Irvington Presbyterian is a very active congregation, and I greatly appreciate the opportunity to share music and fellowship with them and their guests.

Congratulations to the men’s basketball team at the University of Kentucky on winning the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament in a way that made us proud, and congratulations to the women’s team on their run to the Elite Eight in the Women’s Tournament.

Kentucky is being touted as the best team in the nation. Ranked at number one for most of the season, some have called them unbeatable. They have a high level of talent and have enjoyed an extremely successful season with only two losses. They won over Louisville in the regular season matchup.

Louisville is peaking at just the right time, sweeping through the Big East Conference Tournament and winning four tough games in the NCAA Tournament to reach the Final Four. They come into the game as a talented and confident squad, and they may be looking for a little bit of revenge.

It’s going to be an exciting game, and as a Kentucky native, I can’t help but feel proud of my home state. But let me tell you just how I feel about it.

I grew up a Kentucky fan. I remember as far back as when Ronnie Lyons went to Lexington from my home town of Maysville to play for Coach Adolph Rupp and the Kentucky Wildcats. My parents were Kentucky fans. Back in the days when we could only watch home games by delayed telecast, they would go to bed earlier than usual, set an alarm and then get up at 11:30 p.m. to watch the game.

I was a student at the University of Kentucky when the Wildcats won the national title in 1978. I lived in the same dorm as the players. I (literally) ran into James Lee on the way to dinner one evening (maybe “bounced off of” describes it a little better). I have celebrated the glory days and endured the dark days.

In short, I love Kentucky basketball. But let me tell you just how I feel about it.

My love for Kentucky basketball does not translate into disdain for Louisville. This Saturday, the Louisville Cardinals are an opponent, not an enemy. Opponents are human. Enemies are often viewed as something less than human, something less deserving than ourselves.

This Saturday, if all goes well, players, coaches, and everyone involved with each team will pour themselves–heart, mind and soul–into 40 minutes of basketball. They will give it all they have, and when the final horn sounds, one team will win, and the other will lose. If Kentucky comes out on top, I will be jubilant. Should Louisville prevail, it will sting. If Kentucky wins, I want to recall how the sting feels. Celebration has to be tempered by empathy because empathy recognizes the humanity of the opponent.

In the culture of the United States, as I currently see it, we have become very quick to find enemies, even among ourselves. We have fewer and fewer opponents. Those who disagree with us become less than human, less deserving than ourselves. We all too quickly dehumanize and objectify those whom we find on the other side of any question.

It would be good if basketball could help us keep things in perspective.

I hope you enjoy this live performance, recorded at Arnold’s Bar and Grill in Cincinnati, Ohio.

We were all there on retreat. We knew each other, and everyone was relaxing in their own way.

And so I played. Often playing the guitar is my relaxation. Sometimes when I play I’m performing, engaging an audience through music and interaction. Sometimes I’m practicing, working with a specific goal in mind. Sometimes, as on this occasion, I am relaxing in a musical, prayerful way.

Playing as I would in my own living room, I did not attempt to keep it to myself. Likewise, I did not call attention to myself. The music took its own course through the room. People continued whatever they were doing, but the music was present. It was being overheard.

As we move about from day to day, place to place, occasion to occasion, our lives take their own course. The people we encounter continue whatever they are doing, but in those times that seem so ordinary, our lives are overheard.

Sometimes we command attention, and other times we steal away to privacy. Often, though, we are simply present. In those times and spaces, we make the most lasting impression because then our lives are overheard.

George Washington Johnson was a Canadian schoolteacher who fell in love with one of his pupils, Margaret “Maggie” Clark. They were married in 1864, but she died only a few months after their wedding. He wrote When You and I Were Young, Maggie for her. J.A. Butterfield set the poem to music, and it has become a standard among folk and bluegrass musicians.

While I was in Mountain View last May and participating in one of several jam sessions, I suggested we play Maggie, and I sang the lead vocal. When we finished, one of the players looked at me and said, “I’ve been playing that song in jam sessions for probably 30 years, and that’s the first time I heard it had words.”

My wife, Deb, is the pastor of DisciplesNet Church, a congregation of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) that gathers for worship on the internet. This online church has been holding worship for a little over a year now and has reached into more than 80 countries. I have enjoyed the privilege of providing some of the music for DisciplesNet, including The Ninety and Nine.

Methuselah, Brebis and Grace are just three of the sheep that play a critical role in the congregation. DisciplesNet posts worship in video that is shared online, so the preacher and others serving in the worship service may be speaking just to the camera or the few persons that have gathered when the core team meets for worship. The sheep serve as a present reminder of those beyond the camera lens who will receive this ministry.

The Ninety and Nine is among the 19th century American hymns written after the Civil War. The music was written by Ira D. Sankey, a gospel singer and composer associated with Dwight L. Moody. Sankey sang the hymn as an impromptu conclusion to a revival service, having just heard Moody’s sermon on the Good Shepherd. He had clipped the poem by Elizabeth Clephane from a newspaper en route to the service. It would become Sankey’s best known and most popular hymn.

Clephane wrote the poem in 1868 and died just one year later.