Saturday, May 12

biggest fan

I am not one of those 'whoo girls' who paralyzes her vocal chords at the sight of a celebrity. Nor do I buy all the t-shirts, hang all the posters, or cry at the mere thought of touching some famous guy's hands. No offense to you sweet things, I'm just not.

But last night, I just about was a 'whoo girl'. Not outwardly, of course.

The thing is, The Fray makes some pretty rad music. This music does to my soul what people hope music would do for them. The melodies and lyrics stream out of speakers and headphones, in waves and curls of blue and purple, like dancing daisies. They penetrate right through my skin and muscles, past the depths of anything x-ray-able, and into the spots no human has ever touched or examined. It is in these meticulous, hidden places that I feel the most impacted by inspirations and heartaches alike. Oh, and also, I'm a writer. This is what we do. We form letters into words to grasp the moment, the experience. Most of the time, we're letting all of the inner feelings and secrets trickle out of our vulnerable hiding places, hoping they'll find a somewhat cognitive and flowing thought. The band members of The Fray just happen to either A) do this so well that I cannot help but relate, or B) do it in the same way I do, which makes it meaningful.

Either way, I tell you this band has never written or performed a song I didn't fall for. And to be outdoors, in the gorgeous Red Rocks of the mountains, in what I consider nature's glory, under a Colorado sky, and first-hand witness the re-making and making of these lyrics and words and melodies, is something sacred. It creates a sort-of worship to all of God's creation, and to Him, and to how he made these human hearts of ours.

So, the rain is pouring down. Only a day or two ago I had said, "Rain or shine, hm. I've never paid attention to that on the ticket before." Sure enough, rain it was. And rain it did, for about the first three hours. At first, it was a light, misty kind of rain that drizzles in on the ferries of Seattle. The kind of rain that doesn't drench your clothes or sop the grass, but the kind that curls your baby hairs and softens your finger tips. An hour later, our umbrella was rapidly draining drops as if it were a gutter on the side of a house.

The lead singer stepped out on the stage--all whoo girls at attention--and glanced at the roaring, abundant crowd that hadn't budged since the first rain drop fell. (He looks and walks just like he writes song, fyi.)

"I was talking to a guy backstage, about the rain and the cold and all that, and he said, 'I bet they won't come, or they'll leave'. But I told him, 'you don't know my people'."

You don't know my people.

And this is why I connect with their lyrics, I think. Almost instantly I heard God tell Satan, "You don't know My people." How often does the enemy look to the Lord and say, 'I bet they won't show up today, I bet they're afraid and tired. I bet they don't make it, I bet they don't fight, I bet they don't win"?

You don't know my people.

And God tells him back, these are my people. I have made them strong and courageous, and they are my people. They'll show because they love me, because they're good people. (He's a fan of you, you know.)

You see, this is what live music does for me. Live Fray music, specifically. It was life changing. And let's not even get me started on the fact that they played a little acoustic ditty nearly ten feet away from my bench and my camera had already died. Live music at the reach of my fingertips, stretching across a star-filled blanket of a sky. Don't get me started.

Awesome night, everyone. If they're in a town near you, be sure to get your tickets. However, it won't be Red Rocks...

And remember, however big a fan you are of your favorite band, God is an even bigger fan of yours.

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