Music seldom overwhelms me the way it used to. Maybe I'm too busy to appreciate good art, maybe there's so little good art to be found. Maybe I can't even recognize good art when I stumble across it. Maybe, and most likely, the past several years have taken their toll, leaving me cold and calloused, unable to give in to the siren songs that would seek to drag my apathy to the depths.
That changed on December 3, 2007. Jessica and I were trolling through Barnes and Noble because a bookstore is a great place to go when you're out on a date. We came across Over the Rhine's The Trumpet Child and, having heard nothing but good things about them from our friends Chris and Elissa, decided to give them a chance.
We fell in love. Between Karin's husky voice and Linford's leaning into the keys, we couldn't help but allow ourselves to be caught up in the magic of it all. One song, one verse in particular stuck out:
"This oyster is my world -- my oyster's got a pearl.
This ain't no dress rehearsal, I'm a very lucky girl.
I'm on a roll."
Jessica immediately thought of Judy. "Darryl, this song has 'Mama' written all over it!" And even though we were out on the town for some always-appreciated "us" time, Jessica simply had to call her mama, something that only spoke to the depths of their relationship. No, this was no contest between a husband and a mother. Far from it -- their's was a love that transcended the boundaries typical to most mothers and daughters. The sparks of friendship and laughter that forever flew between them were some of the surest signs of the Divine, and I was always thankful to be graced with such good company.
Jessica told Judy that she couldn't wait for her to hear what we had just heard. And, of course, like any good friend who thought only of the one she loved, Judy told her she couldn't wait to hear them. Unfortunately, sadly, bitterly, Judy would never hear the song that carried her to her daughter's thoughts. She went into the hospital the very next day and died a few weeks later just before Christmas.
Since then, it's been Over the Rhine who has given us, especially Jessica, a chance. Their music has softened the painful memories that tear at our hearts, allowing us to drink from a well of healing.
At last night's show, Karin told us a story about her own mother. After having served forty years as a nurse, after caring so selflessly for others, after countless midnight vigils at the sides of those who simply needed to know the comfort of another human being in the same room, she suffered a debilitating stroke and ended up in a nursing home. A different struggle entirely than what Jessica has faced, but just as real and no less painful, I'm sure.
Jessica, of course, fell in love with Over the Rhine, particularly Karin, all the more. Here was a traveling companion who had also been waylaid by highwaymen, a bruised soul that had experienced, yet still needed, comfort and healing. Somewhere in the middle of a crowded bar in downtown Kansas City, Jessica found something of a kindred heart.
As Karin continued her story, she told us about a woman in the nursing home who was growing frailer with each passing day. After walking into the woman's room as she had done countless times before, Karin approached the ghost of a body that laid beneath the sheets and asked her how the day was going. The brief answer she received was haunting and beautiful, ringing of an ancient and timeless truth: "Only God can save us now."
In an instant, a wave of heartache, joy, memory, and bittersweet relief washed over us. Judy is gone, life is a relentless deluge of frustration and regret, and there seems to be no end to the holy darkness that has decided to take up residence on our doorstep. In the midst of it all, though, we were reminded from a road-weary troubadour of a hope and a love that lies beyond ourselves yet is ever so near to us. Through ribbons of cigarette smoke, over the din of the crowd and the tinkling of glasses, God seemed to find us, reminding us that we are not forgotten.
I really am a very lucky girl. I'm on a roll.
