Ordinary Tipping Point
Arriving before daybreak to immerse myself in the Austin phenomenon that is SXSW, I joined a rising tide of die-hard live music fans. A local radio station had set up in an oversized living-room-for-a-lobby at the Four Seasons. Sitting in the round, they live-broadcast their morning show all week—offering the perfect indie-music sampler platter. Two songs per artist, stripped-down sets with minimal DJ introductions—an ideal way to digest the week's overwhelming festivities.
These emerging artists were clearly gaining attention. Everyone agreed this was a breakout year for them, though none could yet claim mainstream recognition. Then Friday's broadcast took an unexpected turn when an A-lister entered the room. Austin's own Matthew McConaughey stepped in, and everything changed.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. What had been an appreciative, supportive crowd—giving these burgeoning talents their home-field advantage—suddenly became awestruck. We were no longer cheering for promising up-and-comers; we were in the presence of Hollywood royalty. Camera phones appeared. Sly grins and lingering stares filled the room. Any side conversations unified. We were sharing space with a household name, an often-whispered crush, a face everyone recognized.
My friend—a music purist through and through—leaned over and whispered the obvious question: "What is happening in here?!"
I could only speculate as my mind raced. "It's transcendent," I replied. When he looked puzzled, I explained my theory: Everyone's heard of him, most have seen his work, many have crushed on him, and living in Austin, you know he's around—but rarely does this famous neighbor come knocking. A household name transcends ordinary boundaries. It creates wonder. The untouchable suddenly becomes accessible, even if just for a moment.
God’s presence is constant as His grace is sufficient. But noticing this reality is too often reduced to interrupted moments. Moving above the range of normal happens when we’re able to cultivate a growing awareness of all the ways He’s with us. In Homegrown Disciples, rather than challenge parents to be more than they are, I borrow from Deuteronomy 6 to frame in four potentially transcendent windows - morning times, drive times, meal times, and bedtimes - in hopes of God drawing our gaze, shaping our desires, and drawing our kids into life with God.
