music

A Spoonful of Art

/ Matthew Hamilton / 1 Comment

In a world where screens glow brighter than ever—phones buzzing, tablets chiming, notifications stacking like bricks—it’s easy to forget the quieter things that shape us. The things that don’t demand attention but deserve it. The things that stay with us long after the battery dies.

The arts.

Across the United States, research keeps telling the same story: arts education is not a luxury; it is foundational. Students who participate in music, theater, visual arts, or dance show stronger academic performance, better attendance, and healthier emotional development. They learn to collaborate, to communicate, to think creatively, and to express themselves in ways that standardized tests will never measure. According to a national survey of more than 4,000 public schools, arts access varies widely by region, poverty level, and school size, leaving millions of students with limited or no arts instruction at all. (U.S. Department of Education & National Endowment for the Arts, 2024).

Georgia reflects this same tension. The state’s public-facing data dashboards show that while most students have access to at least one arts discipline, access varies dramatically by district, especially in rural areas where staffing shortages and limited budgets make it difficult to sustain theater programs or expand offerings. (Georgia Department of Education, 2024). National funding analyses echo this reality: arts programs rely heavily on district resources, with persistent unmet needs and modest federal support, even as evidence shows their positive impact on student engagement and achievement. (National Association for Music Education, 2023).

And that’s what makes this week so meaningful.

Months of planning, rehearsals, and teamwork have led to Ringgold Middle School’s production of Mary Poppins Jr. What began in January and February as a vision has grown into a full-scale performance involving students from all three grades—6th, 7th, and 8th. In March, rehearsals began weekly. By April, they were meeting multiple times a week, building something bigger than themselves.

This week, it all comes to life.

On Thursday, the students perform for their fellow middle schoolers. On Friday morning, they bring the magic to the elementary school. And on Friday and Saturday nights, they step into the spotlight for the general public.

My daughter won’t be onstage, but she’ll be everywhere the audience can’t see. She’s part of the backstage crew—the heartbeat of the production. She’ll move sets, manage props, hit cues, and help create the illusion that the world onstage is real. It’s work that requires timing, responsibility, communication, and trust. It’s the kind of work that teaches lessons no worksheet ever could.

It reminds me of one of my favorite movies, Mr. Holland’s Opus. The film’s message is simple and timeless: the arts shape lives in ways that test scores never will. They teach us who we are. They help us understand who we can become. They leave a legacy long after the final note fades.

That legacy doesn’t end in childhood. It echoes into the community.

Today, the Chattanooga Symphony and Opera released its 2026–2027 season schedule, and in November they will perform Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2—one of my favorite classical pieces. Hearing that announcement felt like a reminder that the arts are a lifelong journey, not a childhood hobby. The students performing Mary Poppins Jr. this weekend are part of the same continuum of creativity that fills concert halls, galleries, and theaters across the region.

When we support school arts programs, we’re not just funding a class period. We’re nurturing future musicians, actors, designers, writers, and creators. We’re building audiences who will one day sit in the Tivoli Theatre listening to Rachmaninoff. We’re strengthening the cultural heartbeat of our communities.

And we’re giving our children something screens can’t offer: the chance to create something real, together.

So as the curtain rises this weekend, I’ll be thinking about more than just a middle school musical. I’ll be thinking about the students who found their voice in a song, their confidence in a role, or their purpose behind the scenes. I’ll be thinking about the teachers who stayed late, the parents who volunteered, and the administrators who chose to invest in the arts rather than cut them.

Most of all, I’ll be thinking about my daughter—quietly moving sets in the wings, helping make the magic happen.

Because in a world full of noise, the arts remind us to listen. In a world full of screens, they remind us to see. And in a world full of division, they remind us to connect.

A spoonful of art really does help the world go down a little easier.

A Community Invitation

If you live locally, I hope you’ll come support these students and enjoy an evening of fun, heart, and creativity. Mary Poppins Jr. will be performed at the Ringgold High School Theater at 7:00 PM on both Friday and Saturday. Tickets are just $5—you won’t find a better deal for a night out, and your support means the world to the students of RMS.

References:

U.S. Department of Education, & National Endowment for the Arts. (2024). School Pulse Panel: Arts education in U.S. public schools. Institute of Education Sciences. https://ies.ed.gov/schoolsurvey

Georgia Department of Education. (2024). Georgia Insights: Arts education data dashboards. https://uinsights.gadoe.org

National Association for Music Education. (2023). Arts education funding: A two‑year national snapshot. https://nafme.org/advocacy

Why Local Arts Matter—From Horton to Heritage

/ Matthew Hamilton / Leave a comment

Tonight, my daughters and I sat in the theater at Heritage High School and watched a group of talented students bring Seussical Jr. to life. From Horton’s earnest heart to the Cat in the Hat’s playful chaos, the cast poured themselves into every line, every song, and every moment. It was joyful, funny, and deeply moving—not just because of the performance, but because of what it represents.

This wasn’t just a play. It was a reminder of why the arts matter.

In a time when funding for school and community arts programs is shrinking, nights like this feel even more important. As Hitchens (2025) explains, the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) abruptly ended hundreds of grants earlier this year, leaving local organizations scrambling to stay afloat. Public schools, too, are feeling the squeeze. Despite being recognized as part of a “well-rounded education” under federal law, arts programs are often the first to go when budgets tighten. (National Association for Music Education [NAfME], 2023)

But what we saw tonight at Heritage proved that the arts are not just a luxury—they are a lifeline. They give students a voice, a stage, and a community. They teach collaboration, confidence, and creativity. They invite families to gather, celebrate, and experience something together.

The Young Kangeroo with Caroline and Julie.

I’ve seen this firsthand during my student teaching at Heritage. The chorus, band, and theater programs are lively and full of passion. The staff and students work tirelessly to put on these productions, often with limited resources and behind-the-scenes effort. And yet, they shine.

Beyond the school walls, local arts organizations—city orchestras, opera companies, community theaters—face similar challenges. They depend on public support, volunteers, and donations to continue. When we show up, buy a ticket, or clap from the audience, we’re not just enjoying a show. We’re investing in the heart of our community.

So tonight, as Horton reminded us that “a person’s a person, no matter how small,” I thought about how every student, performer, and artist deserves to be seen and heard. Supporting the arts isn’t just about entertainment—it’s about education, equity, and empathy.

Let’s continue showing up. Let’s keep applauding. Let’s persist in fighting for the arts.

References:

Hitchens, H. A. (2025, June 3). NEA slashes arts funding, threatening local cultural lifelines. Observer. https://observer.com/2025/06/arts-funding-cuts-nea-economic-cultural-cost/

National Association for Music Education. (2023, November). The impact of federal funds on music & arts education: Results from 2023 survey. https://nafme.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/12/November-2023-Federal-Funds-Issue-Brief-Arts-Advocates.pdf



Thunder, Traffic, and a Song for Danny

/ Matthew Hamilton / Leave a comment

I pulled into the parking space sometime early this morning—drenched, exhausted, and honestly, a little delirious. My ears were still humming from the music, my clothes still damp from the Georgia storm, and the interstate still echoed in my bones. But as I sat there for a beat before cutting the engine, I felt something else too: peace. The kind that only comes after a long, winding journey that somehow lands exactly where it needed to.

The day had started in typical Matt fashion—rushed, overcommitted, a little chaotic, and filled with more love than logistics should allow. I picked up my best friend, then we swung down to Dalton to meet Cade’s friend. Cade isn’t my nephew by blood, but I’ve been Uncle Matt to him since the day he was born. I was there at the hospital, holding him in his first hours on this earth—the son of my best friends, Danny (my brother from another mother) and his bride Cassie, a bond sealed long before either of us had kids in mind. Cade, in true Danny fashion, was on a mission trip and was waiting south of Atlanta. So we took off to go get him.

Danny never made it to see Cade turn 17. Cancer—CML—took him too soon. He and I had always said we’d see Dave Matthews Band together someday. It was a shared soundtrack—the music that got us through long nights, big questions, and road trips that didn’t need a destination. We never got that concert. But last night, I went with Cade—his son—along with Cade’s stepdad—a good man who stepped into big shoes with kindness—and Cade’s buddy. It wasn’t the original plan, but somehow it felt even more right.

Getting there wasn’t easy. Atlanta traffic was Atlanta traffic—on steroids. What should’ve been a few hours turned into a tangled maze of brake lights and exit ramps. After the show, we retraced those same miles in reverse: south to drop off Cade, north again to get everyone else home. Somewhere in there, the heavens opened up.

The rain came sideways—the kind that feels biblical—with lightning cracking the sky like punctuation. As if nature itself had something to say.

And yet… in the middle of all that chaos, we stood under the Georgia sky—soaked, smiling, swaying to a setlist that felt like it had been chosen just for us.

Granted, Cade and I did get into a friendly fuss—he insists Dave Matthews Band isn’t a jam band. I reminded him—with evidence—that some of their live versions could legally qualify as time zones. We agreed to disagree, mostly. Even if some of our favorite songs didn’t make the setlist, it was hard to argue with the ones that did.

I looked over at Cade, tall now and almost grown, and I swear I saw Danny there too. Not in a ghostly way. More like the way Cade sang certain lyrics. The way he laughed at something I said. The way he just was.

Meanwhile, the three people directly in front of us spent most of the show harvesting crops on their phones. Farmville. In 2025. At a Dave Matthews Band concert. I don’t know what they were growing, but I hope it was worth missing “Dive In” or “Captain.” Judging by their sudden attention, the only songs they came for were “Ants Marching” and “Crash Into Me.”

I thought about how much Danny would’ve loved this night. Not just the band, but seeing his son out in the world—living, laughing, feeling joy. I thought about how music carries memory—how certain chords and lyrics can hold grief and gratitude in the same breath.

And maybe that’s what last night really was: a way of keeping a promise I never got to say out loud. A way of saying, “You’re not forgotten. We still carry you—with every song, every laugh, every long drive through thunder and rain.”

It wasn’t easy getting there. It wasn’t convenient. But love rarely is.

Sometimes it looks like five hours of traffic and a tank full of gas. Sometimes it sounds like a guitar riff breaking through the storm. And sometimes—if you’re lucky—it feels like standing in a crowd with a seventeen-year-old boy whose dad should’ve been there… but somehow was.

Third Day: A Journey of Music, Faith, and Friendship

/ Matthew Hamilton / Leave a comment

Thursday, June 19, 2025

This was originally posted on Facebook and later added to my new blog.

Some bands provide a soundtrack to our lives. Third Day helped write the story of mine. This is how their music—and the people I met along the way—shaped my journey of faith and friendship.

When I was in college at Georgia Southern University in the late 1990s and early 2000s, I became involved in a wonderful student ministry called the Wesley Foundation. Within that ministry, I made some lifelong friends. We may not see each other often, but those are strong bonds that still hold.

Growing up, I didn’t listen to much Christian music—but that all changed in college. Our group went to a lot of concerts (which may help explain why it took me five years to graduate instead of four, lol). The first Christian artist I really connected with was Steven Curtis Chapman, followed closely by Third Day. The first Christian CD I ever bought was Steven Curtis Chapman’s Greatest Hits. The second? Conspiracy No. 5 by Third Day. For some reason, that album has always been seen as their “different” one. I liked it from the start.

I can’t recall my very first Third Day concert, but I do remember one show in Savannah, Georgia in 1999. I don’t remember the exact venue, but I’ll never forget what happened: that night, I became a believer. Mac invited the crowd to close their eyes, repeat a prayer, and raise our hands if we accepted Jesus. I was too shy to raise my hand—but I did accept Him.

Sometime around that same period, I remember going to Lifeway Christian Bookstore on Abercorn Street. Third Day dropped by for a meet and greet. I don’t recall getting any autographs, but I do remember Mac walking right by me—and shaking his hand.

Over the years, I saw Third Day live more than 25 times before their “retirement” in 2018. I caught shows in Alabama, Georgia, Florida, and Tennessee. I was a member of their paid fan club, Wired, for as long as it existed, which gave me tons of chances to meet the guys. They were always kind and humble.

I was also part of their core fan group—the Gomers. My Gomer name was “Churchboa.” One unforgettable show was at the River Center in Columbus, Georgia. Thanks to my Wired membership, I landed close seats. The opener, DecembeRadio, brought me on stage to play cowbell. At that same show, I met Karen and Mike—two awesome people who even asked for my autograph. We’re still friends today.

Another memorable moment was with my college friend Patrick at a show in Atlanta, likely at Lakewood Amphitheatre. Afterward, we couldn’t find my car. Turns out we exited into the wrong parking lot. Security eventually let us back in, and we ended up walking behind the stage area—right past the tour buses.

There was also the time Jenn and I went to Rock the Universe in Orlando. She had hurt her ankle the week before, but we didn’t cancel—we just went, and I pushed her around in a wheelchair. We had a blast.

In Atlanta, at the Alpharetta Amphitheater (I think), I saw them again on the Revelation tour. I ran into Karen and Mike again at the meet and greet. All three of us made it onto the Live Revelations DVD. You can barely see me due to the lighting—but I’m there.

One last vivid memory: I attended the Dove Awards in Nashville—the year Steven Curtis Chapman won Artist of the Year for This Moment. I bumped into “Mama” and “Aunt” Gomer there. (Mama Gomer, I believe, was the one who originally came up with the Gomer fan group.) I was also at the second-to-last Farewell Tour show at the Ryman.

Later, when my friend Danny was hospitalized at Emory, the band called to lift his spirits—thanks to a mutual friend who also happened to be a Georgia State Representative. I was a little jealous that he got to speak to them, but mostly I was just grateful.

I say all this to express just how deeply Third Day has touched my life. Their music has supported me through different seasons—from the southern rock vibe to the worship anthems and even the raw, gritty tracks. They’ve done a bit of everything. And now, with their reunion tour just announced, I couldn’t be more thrilled. It’ll be the first time in over a decade the original four members will tour together—since Tai and David missed the 2018 farewell tour.

Not bad at all for a band inducted into the Georgia Music Hall of Fame back in 2009. I’m just hoping to hear How’s Your Head at the Atlanta reunion show.