Music is my life and I think it's killing me. -troal
Back in the day (it may have been Thursday), I ate, slept and drank music. I would travel miles to play, and stay up all night playing.
Many of us would gather together to sing loudly (and maybe just a little off-key). There was, we thought, a perfect country and western song; we wished you were here; we were ready for love; we admitted that Mama tried.
It was a grand time. In the context of the times.
I have moved far away from that place. But in this house, as in every place we ever lived, there is a room set aside for music. And occasionally someone gathers there with me to play.
I miss the singing though. The raucous harmonies. Someone shouting, "Play Freebird (or something else, it didn't matter, we did requests)!" The fellowship, I guess you'd call it.
I had a chance for one last sing-along with Paul just before he died. We played and sang all our old favorites. He sang about getting whiskey-bent and hell-bound, though at the end of a year-long struggle with cancer, he had certainly done neither of these two things.
It was a grand time.
When Jesus calls us to himself, He gives us a new life.
Thank you, Lord, for this new family. Thank you for love, joy, and peace. I especially thank you for this brand-new guitar.
I ask only that I sing as whole-heartedly and joyously for you as I did for myself.
Sing with me, yall.