20 Years…

Rich ticket stub

Twenty years is a long time – but sometimes, it seems like no time at all. Time is funny that way.

1997 was particularly significant for me in a number of ways. In late May, I cleaned out my middle school classroom for the last time, saying goodbye to a career that would take unexpected turns. We moved to a new town, and my husband was now much closer to his new job at Taylor University (as he had been commuting until I completed my school year… I had signed a contract, you know). In May, I also visited my eye doctor… who led me to another doctor and a diagnosis in June for probable multiple sclerosis. (Because we weren’t busy enough the first week in June, as we packed boxes to move four days later… but that’s another story.) The official diagnosis came on July 30 – yep, it was MS.

This part of the my own 1997 story took a step in August when I attended a concert of my favorite musician, Rich Mullins – the link here will lead you to a review of the concert I posted the next day. What I did not realize was that this, the final concert of his tour, would be the last of Rich’s performances I’d have the pleasure of seeing. Of the fifteen concerts of his I had attended, this was also the first one that led to tears. During “Bound to Come Some Trouble,” the floodgates let loose. Two weeks earlier, that diagnosis had come, and I really wasn’t certain what it would mean. (Attached is a clip of this song that somebody recorded at his Wisconsin concert on August 10, four days before I had my little tissue-soaking time.)

September 19 was a day like any other – I was a graduate student, commuting to Ball State for class and work during the day, and the phone call came from my younger brother that evening. I had been listening to Rich’s “Canticle of the Plains” as I could throughout the day, but now I stepped into our back yard, where I could lean against the towering oak and gaze at the stars. The lyrics of “Elijah” scurried through my head, as I teared up and wondered about that candlelight in Central Park, and what it would mean to say “Goodbye.”

So here we are twenty years later, and I still feel that my life as it is today has been enriched by the music and ministry of Richard Wayne Mullins. His songs still traipse through my head, and I’ll still be reading scripture and thinking, “So THAT’s the spot where that lyric originated!” But a huge smile came to my face last Sunday morning when our associate pastor was describing what his two-year-old son had been doing at breakfast. Music was playing, and the little fellow left his cereal at the table and felt he needed to dance before our Lord… we were told this was a Rich Mullins album that was playing. I have a feeling this would have made Rich smile. And I have no doubt that Rich’s music will continue touching countless more lives in years to come.

This year, my own story will instead mark September 20 as a significant point. As I begin new medical path for my MS treatment, a new chapter may begin in my own story. I’ll plan to listen to Rich’s music as I venture on – and I’ll post more about that tomorrow or Thursday. In the meantime, I’m thankful for the legacy of Rich Mullins on this day in particular.

Nineteen years – still saying “Goodbye”

rich-magI realized this evening, after seeing a note from my older brother, that this is indeed September 19. “Yes,” you say, “you can read the calendar. And your smartphone… and this matters because…?”

Nineteen years ago today marked a loss from which I’ve still not fully snapped back. But as I contemplate this evening, I think that’s okay. I think Rich would have liked knowing that his steps ruffled things up a bit.

I’ve written of Rich Mullins’ impact on my life several other years also, and I’ll do it here again. His own life was filled with “invisible issues,” some of which he shared in ways only he could, and many of which he kept hidden.

title page - ElijahOne song of his, “Elijah,” was particularly poignant, with poetic Rich's preface for my photo essayimagery that touched my heart as far back as my high school years. Take a look at my 2012 reflections on Rich’s special forward to my high school photographic essay. (Step back in time for a look at school projects completed with paper, pen, crayola markers, scissors, and scads of rubber cement. Color printers? Not in 1988.)

I continue to hear Rich’s music in my head at various times, but I find it happening most when T.R. and I are reading scripture together. So much of the imagery, the stories can be tied to scripture. As we’re trodding through Revelation, with its fantastical and frightening imagery (though I know a triumphant end is coming before the book is complete), I find myself offering the same prayer as Rich in his song,  Be with You: “…when the sky is crossed with the tears of a thousand falling stars as they crash into the sea, can I be with You? Can I be with You?”.

Yes, it’s been nineteen years. And I thank Rich and the legacy he has left for continued little lessons I learn, from reflecting on teenage times to hearing the scriptures continue to sing today. May his songs live on.

 

Rich Mullins remembered – 18 years later

Rich ticket stub

songs still speaking beyond the years, beyond the scars

Eighteen years ago, life changed in more ways than I would have predicted. On July 30, I received a diagnosis for multiple sclerosis. On August 14, my heart was lightened as I attended an absolutely wonderful concert. Rich Mullins had been my very favorite musical artist for a while already – this was likely my fifteenth of his concerts. In fact, I wrote a review for an email list, as I was very touched by Rich’s words and music. But after August came September, and I received a phone call the evening of September 19 that caused my heart to drop.

My younger brother called to share news he had just heard on the radio: Rich Mullins had been in a car accident… and he had died almost immediately. His song “Elijah,” and my high school photo essay, flashed  through my mind. As I leaned against a large oak tree in our back yard, a few silent tears trickled down as I stared into the clear, starry sky.

But this was eighteen years ago. Last year, a new piece of Rich’s legacy was shared in the form of an independent film, Ragamuffin.  Like any story, Rich’s true tale was multifaceted, and the movie does share some of Rich’s scars that were not outwardly evident on this multi-talented musician, poet, speaker, writer. The lyrics of “Hold me, Jesus” ring even truer as we get a glimpse of Rich’s inner struggles.

and I wake up in the night and feel the dark
it’s so hot inside my soul
I swear there must be blisters on my heart

so hold me Jesus, ’cause I’m shaking like a leaf
You have been King of my glory
won’t You be my Prince of Peace

Each of us does have “invisible issues” of some kind, and I’m thankful to Rich for being willing share some of his struggles, to admit of the “blisters on his heart.” And to remind us where true peace comes from.

https://angieknight.wordpress.com/2010/09/19/heaven-is-waiting/