I was sitting on the floor last night, grading papers, agonizing over papers, and in a moment of nothing short of a panic to escape, I got up, went to the computer and just, without really deliberating over my choice, clicked on Randy's web site and went to the Heirship page.
Now, Randy's been asking me for weeks if I've listened to any of the MP3 files of the old songs, and I hadn't. I've felt a great reluctance to listen, don't know why.
Well, I started clicking on songs last night, and it was a strange experience. It was like stepping back in time, to the late 70s. I could remember the dim lighting of the old coffeehouse, the House of Jubilee, where we heard the guys play, several times. I could remember sitting on a stool behind the sandwich bar, sipping Shasta sodas (which I discovered and drank lots and lots of, in California!)
Sounds are very powerful for me, more so than sights; I could smell the air that was uniquely the House of Jubilee, and I could just about taste that Shasta Creme Soda I haven't enjoyed in more than 26 years.
I could also remember the conversations we all used to have, long into the night, discussing the Scriptures or some point of theology or ethics, or the ministry in general. The music brought it all back to me, the comaraderie, the humor, the warmth, the community...
and some memories I find painful, now. Back then, I could spend hours and hours engrossed, absorbed in the Word. I can't now -- haven't been able to concentrate so completely since Dan announced his intention to move out of our apartment, December 14, 1987. Something snapped in me that day that has never healed. I miss the old ability to concentrate. Remembering being married to Dan, and how lonely that was, still hurts; the old feelings of everything being my fault and not knowing how to "fix" it still surge back in on me.
But more than that -- how arrogant I was! perhaps we all were. We were on fire for Jesus, we had so much enthusiasm, and so little wisdom. Every impulse we thought was a divine Leading; every opinion we chalked up to discernment.
(to be continued...)