Dad and I sat in the back of the balcony of the refurbished theater in downtown Durham. It wasn’t the first time that either of us had seen Gillian Welch and David Rawlings pour harmony and melody, thick and smooth, onto a crowd of folk-loving, foot-tapping admirers. But it always feels new.
Rawlings’ fingers skip up and down the neck of the guitar faster than Mexican jumping beans and when Gillian Welch opens her mouth, she can sing an old, prairie field-holler song and it still comes out like gospel.
I got to thinking about all the many ways that God calls us. How one of the truest ways that He lures me to Himself is through His people, ordinary folks, who take their gifts and scatter them around. How when His people are living alive in the kitchen, at the park, on the soccer field, in the courtroom, in the classroom, with a guitar, at a volunteer center or at an easel, we can all hear the low roar of the Kingdom storming down.
I don’t think that all of our callings have to come with little crosses attached on the outside. We were all stitched together in a hidden place, all woven with fresh ideas before we even tasted the Earth’s air. And when we dare to let out the stitching, dare to whisper what lives inside, doesn’t it always point us back to the One who knit the first stitch?
They ended the second encore with a folksy rendition of Danny Dill’s famous tune, “Long Black Veil.” I never wanted the music to end. And as Dad and I weaved our way through the crowd after the final bow, my mind was fixed on that place just across the Jordan where it never will.