Well. Sh**
My week has been eventful, but this story shall start with last night, when I got to share a meal with my beloved sister, who is soon to be married. To share memories of the past and plans of the future. To talk over the Grace of God, who has seen us through our lives to this moment and our hope for a hereafter.
It was with much joy and contentment that we parted ways and I headed back home in twilight, needing to make one last stop before retiring for the night. My car was at a quarter tank and I needed to address that basic maintenance of feeding my transport. But my steel wagon gorged itself and refused to rouse once full, like a dragon under a dimming sunlamp at night.
I prayed, I waited. Then I got out and checked the seal on my tank. Making sure that the car wasn't leaking pressure, as I needed its internals to gurgle into a belching spark in the front rather than a wet wheeze from its exhaust. I waited another moment, then again strove to twist my spur into stirring the quiet old beast to heed the call to amble on to its homeward stable to sleep it off. After grumbling, it finally caught and slowly got awoken enough to putter home.
This did not build my confidence in its suitability,and I determined to sacrifice my own rest this morning to saddle it with my smaller two wheeled mount across its rear trunk, wagering it might be diagnosed at a nearby shop for an early dropoff. But in coordinating my early morning checklist to manage this, I forgot to tend to the internal pressure of my two wheeled mounts' rubber turgidness with an air compressor, and in the transfer, noted that the rear tire of my bicycle was underinflated. Aw, well, it was a short journey along the paved pedestrian trail to the bus stop. It wasn't possible to succumb to regrets. But I also forgot that I left my work badge within the console of my car until I was midway through the journey to the bus stop and that complicated the notion of doubling back and extending the strain on my wheels.
No matter, the bus showed up shortly after I arrived, not more than four minutes, so I secured it to the front rack and settled into my journey into work listening to podcasts and noting that road work seems to have detoured the bus from its original route. That is a problem for later, currently, I am mentally prepping for what I will need to get accomplished at work today. And that I will not be able to stow my bike in the garage cage, due to the forgetting of my work badge to access that area.
Fortunately, my arrival to the building elevator coincides with a coworker and was able to nod and wheel my bike after he entered our offices, walking it to my desk, making sure to place an emailed request to the front desk to borrow an access badge to enter and exit the offices without tailgating for reentry.
I eventually hear back from the shop, detailing minor maintenance issues, but not encountering the major one I had last night with it not turning over. I get a callback from the shop near the end of my workday that those issues are addressed, and I bid my farewells for the short ride back to the transit center. I have an hour and a quarter to make it back to the shop by reversing the route I took this morning. The bus comes at almost exactly an hour to complete the route. And immediately hits standstill, one lane traffic. This is not even rush hour. But it allows me to witness two things. The first is that a passenger is handing out gospel tracts with the caption "Somebody loves you", she comes across a guy with a red and white walking cane, but appears oblivious in her mission to share the good news, even to someone whose sight seems to be impaired by the evidence of the cane and sunglasses. But maybe that is the strength of her faith, that Christ and the apostles did give sight to the blind. The second, is that the bike rack at the front of the bus was full with three loaded, but just as we got turned around from the transit center, one of the riders startles from his seat as if he forgot a key thing back at the center. He scrambles out of his seat and exits the bus, disentangling his bike and riding a block backwards to the transit center. I don't know what he forgot, but as we are not moving from the standstill traffic, I am curious whether he will return on his bike to the pneumatic doors before we make any progress. Furthermore, whether he will have to pay his fare again due to his departure.
This second question does get revisited. Five minutes later, the bus has crawled to a block and a half away from the transit center. The second passenger skitters to a hard stop on his bike, it goes sideways as he yanks up on his handlebars to a Flintstones stop into the crosswalk of the perpendicular intersection. He looks to the doors, but the pentient does not receive grace or recognition from the gates, as we are not at a sanctioned bus stop area, even if we are stopped. He stares through the doors in mild shock and dismay, shaking his head and then gives up to pedal forward across the crosswalk, perhaps hoping to plant himself at a later bus stop to be recognized. But as I watch him pass out of sight in the standstill traffic, I envy him his progress and begin to again regret that I didn't inflate my rear tire before setting out this morning. I don't want to ride all the way back to the shop after I had just paid to get on the bus, but I am eyeing our progress so far and remembering the detour on the dark from the usual route this morning.
And yes, eventually, we do hit that detour. And the bus driver is often blaring their displeasure at smaller cars hesitating in the turn lanes of lights. This bus has a schedule to keep and it is already inconvenienced by the detour. I am too, eyeing the overhead internal bus display's slow switching between the accounting of the time and the upcoming intersection. Finally, we rejoin the main road, but there remains lane closures, and my deadline nears fifteen minutes before the auto shop is scheduled to close. I place a call to the shop pleading for grace that they could stick around to recieve me, accept payment, and return my key, trying to explain I am on my way on a delayed bus. The shop guy is willing to hear my plea, I ask for an extra ten minutes and he agrees to wait, I thank him very gratefully.
Soon after, the bus pulls to an unscheduled stop, no one has pulled the cord, and I am not seeing a passenger awaiting pickup. A sinking feeling coincides with the hiss of the front door opening and the swinging plastic of the driver cab partition. The driver trudges towards a Wendy's entrance, presumably to take a biobreak. I wait a beat, disbelieving my poor luck, then resolve to exit as well, pulling down my bike and urging myself to press onward towards my deadline, rerouting to the parallel pedestrian trail I had used this morning. Within the first mile, my rear tire gives up the ghost, but I shift to a lower gear and press on, unwilling to abandon this course which is now set. To add injury to injury, just when I come to the turn in the trail to the last leg, I see the bus coming into the station I had used this morning. I seem to have gained merely half a minute from what my fate would have been had I stayed and waited. And now I was winded, stressed, and my bike was worse for the additional use.
But I persevere to keep my appointment and soon pull up to the entrance of the shop. An old man with a fast food bag and a young buck in a heavy print graphic T-shirt are hanging around the entrance to the shop office. I dismount, out of breath and try to explain that I tried my best to get here on time. They look at me curiously, but the response is underwhelming, making no move to enter the office. So I inhale, realizing that they are mere customers likened to myself, who have made peace with being a little late and resigned to not be served today. But I press forward to test the office door, finding it unlocked, and the employee behind the desk. I renew my thanks, identifying myself and quickly whipping off my backpack to retrieve my checkbook. The pair trail me into the office, remarking that they didn't know that the guy had stuck around to remain open long enough for me.
I wrap up, again with effusive thanks for his patience, and secure my bike to the rear rack of my car. I determine I don't want to take the same route home, having seen enough of that main road with all its construction and the adventures for one day. I want to take a shower and relax, hoping that my lungs and heart will calm down. But as I pull into my garage, my brother-in-law sends a group text, promising to buy a dole whip for anyone who shows up to a restaurant near his house in the next 20 minutes. I take it as a sign of unexpected Providence and direction, as I am within range if unload my bike and head out again. I messaged the group chat that I would take him up on that offer.
For there was an event that I had hoped to attend this evening, if all other plans had been resolved. Jennifer Knapp was playing a show tonight, and though I hadn't bought tickets online, finding the option to be closed to sales when I had eyed it today, I had SO wanted to go see her perform. And the restaurant in question was on the same strip as the venue. God was luring and nudging me with an opportunity to enjoy a free sweet treat and sweeter music for very cheap.
You see, I had just recently learned of this show and it seemed so bizarre that it would be at this local venue. This artist, who had a beautiful and unique voice with edge and energy, whose journey into and out of faith took courage to navigate. What brought her here, and what inspired her to play? What would she play and say in this small and rough venue?
I got to the restaurant, and couldn't find my brother-in-law. I placed an order for food and opened the group chat to wail at my brother-in-law for not delivering on his end. But it turned out I managed to arrive before he did, as my sister and my nephews were in a bike caravan from their house nearby. I cheerfully related the misfortunes of my transportation difficulties today and my renewed plans for the evening. My sister laughed in memory of Jennifer Knapp coming up, but was not inclined to attend, wishing me well after we wrapped up the meal together and clinked the bounty of dole whip provided by her family's promised generosity.
And I moseyed on down to the venue. The ticket guy was extremely chill and kind. The merch table was laid out with Knapp's 25th anniversary of her Kansas album, including shirts, posters, a tote bag, and even an anniversary rerecording of the album. Also, there were yarn beanies and gloves "Knits by Knapp". It was very charming, the venue seating was very intimate, the staging area furnished by a nearby vintage shop to be a very cozy and fetching scene. There were less than 20 people who came, and we immediately started turning to neighbors and asking "how did you hear of this show? What is your background with the church? Do you keep the faith or have you deconstructed your understanding? What is your relationship to Knapp's trajectory and fallout from the Contemporary Christian scene, do you find yourself along a similar path in your relationship to that culture and identity?"
Two members had attended the meet and greet opportunity with Knapp and were ecstatic about the time and personability even after all these years. Showtime arrived and the lights dimmed, Knapp descended some stairs, and her presence lit up the room. She was so joyous at the ability to play music, understanding who she was now, and at her growing skills in connecting with the ability to play songs from artists who resonated with her, her latest project was an EP of covers of some of those songs she admired, often deep cuts from those artists' catalogs. She enjoyed the opportunity to highlight these stories and songs to a greater audience. And Knapp's banter between songs was self-effacing and honest at her journey to get here, her wonder at how her original songs appear to have resonated with people over the years, and how they told her what it meant to them. And it wasn't arrogant, but happily and genuinely proud and touched that people came even after all these years to hear her sing. And her voice still carries the same fullness and character to each track she performs. I was moved and overjoyed at the connection she had to the music and the audience. She talked about why she chose the artists and songs she covered for the EP, she talked about her family having to figure out how to deal with her representing their town with her fame, and how they were a part of her consideration when that started to change direction when she left the CCM spotlight and canopy due to questions raised over who she was. Her family still loves her, and embarrasses her in all the minor and charming ways that families do, figuring how to adjust as the members grow into themselves, some reconnections over old interests stirred up again. Like how her family loved country music and her music was built more around a pop core. But when Knapp told her mother she wanted to cover a Mary Chapin Carpenter track, she was mildly worried that it would raise false hope as it was sourced from one of the less country projects. But it turned out that her mother did love that album and they gushed over it together track by track. But when Knapp mentioned which track she was learning, her mother mentioned that "The Last Word" was not her favorite from that album. But Knapp's performance in the room really sold it for me. Honestly, in her original music Knapp's lyrical content was ever as raw and interesting as her voice was in singing it. And she talked about how her reclamation of some of those songs from her early career came with some reconsideration of whether she still could embody some of those ideas and messages.
But oh, it was without shame and with much joy that these people came to spend an evening with her. She was so grateful to all the people who came to her shows in recent years, and the individual time she got to spend in talking to them, building community with them and encouraging them to connect with each other as well, finding a natural point of common interest in even showing up to a space to hear her music. She has seen it happen and it is beyond her,but she is happy to witness it and serve in her role as facilitator.
Truly, this concert was a redemptive point to my day. Listening to the audience respond to her and to each other. She stayed after her set to talk to each of us, ask our name, what brought us here, take a photo, tell a story. Many a strange and troubled beginning does not dictate a fate of remaining so forever. There is hope and joy in community, of not finding yourself to be on your own or isolated. Or discouraged that you are at a small show in a small room, but embracing and accepting the opportunity made possible by that intimacy and ability to see and hear one another as accountable and present.
