May the Circle be Broken

The good Doctor is a bluegrass afficianado.  My recollection is it all began with the discovery of a circa 1940's Gibson mandolin in his mom's basement when he was a college student.  He fiddled with it a bit but eventually pawned it for $250 so he and I could go on an inexpensive honeymoon to Winter Park.  I remember it pained him since it had been in his family for a couple generations, but it was so sweet he was willing to part with it.  Now if you know a bit about instruments, the secondary insult added to the injury of loss was this was a colossal rip-off by the retailer!  It was probably worth eight times that, but of course, this was before the days of the internet where you could check the value of an item at the drop of a hat.  We could have gone on a romantic Mexican vacation with the real value, instead we were in a ski town in early mid-June. We were oblivious to all that then...happy to be a Mr. & Mrs.  We fume and pine, twenty-one years later.

About ten years ago  he bought a new mandolin, and then a banjo followed soon after.  Bluegrass is the dominant music in the house when he is home now.

Now I have a confession to make to my blog community...bluegrass is a bit too earthy for me, if I am honest.  I do like Nickel Creek and Alison Krauss, and any song that tells a good story is a keeper.  My fifteen year old, LR, he knows how to select a great song and often is introducing me to heartbreakers...he loves a good tale too.  He caught the bluegrass bug about threee years ago, took his eight years of violin playing and transferred it to the mandolin--they are actually strung exactly the same.  It is a nightly ritual...LR on the mandolin, Hubby on the banjo, BB rather half-heartedly strumming on his guitar.  BB is just being charitable with his time...he'd much prefer pounding out a hymn or praise song on the piano, I am pretty sure.  

I have a photo of my dad's parents early in their marriage and they were dirt poor...my grandpa barechested in denim overalls, my grandma barefoot in a white cotton dress.  The little filling station my grandpa worked at is partially visible in the background.  They look young and in love...her arm wrapped about his neck, their hands starting to intertwine.  What the picture doesn't tell is that my grandma was a direct product of abject poverty and paternal abandonment.  My dad, in the last couple years of his life was very interested in his family history and shared several stories about his parents that helped me understand him anew.  Somehow,  bluegrass music makes me feel a bit sad...it feels a bit too close to family history.  I can't quite work past the conjured mental images of Appalachia, poor dental care, inbreeding, and kissin' cousins.  We weren't from this part of the country mind you, but dad's family was outright poor growing up and often didn't know where their next meal was coming from.  He genuinely experienced seasons of poverty. 

Bluegrass and I have made a truce of sorts..."I won't really object much as long as you spin a good yarn."

I gave the mister a DVD of a memorable bluegrass who's who event called "May the Circle be Unbroken."  You may recognize the name--its a song.  The words tell the story of a man who has just lost his mother.  His haunting reprise is, "Will the circle be unbroken, By and by, Lord, by and by.  There's a better home awaiting, In the sky, Lord, in the sky."  In other words, "are we all going to just keep dying here...I am ready for real change, Lord...break in and do what only you can do...freshen things up...break the circle of inevitability!" 

Now THAT is good bluegrass for this chick...that's theology.  For me, a good song is always about the words...not simply lyrics...words.

So it is inventory time, friends.  Where are you just moving in circles?

For me, I think I have become a bit too insular in my world.  I am grateful God drew my attention to it and moved me to step off my private tour of Trail 'o Round and Round and consider some other possible detours.  Here are the questions I am exploring:

Where am I holding hands with my church friends a bit too tightly, focusing inward, rather than pausing to look out...I mean really look?   Who do I see on the outskirts of my life that might welcome the opportunity to be my next coffee date? 

Who just needs to be looked straight in the eye and greeted in such a way that they not only felt valued as a human being, but they actually were...my twenty-something trash man, an ethnic postman, my mid-life grocery clerk, the latchkey kid on my block, an elderly widower around the corner, or how about that gangly teen that lives right next door?

Isn't it amazing that we can keep interfacing with the same group of service folk--people who literally make their livings serving our community, and we never even know their names?  Christ followers ought to be the ultimate people people, I think.

"At the window of my house I looked out through the lattice.  I saw among the simple, I noticed among the young men, a youth who lacked judgment.  He was going down the street near her corner(a prostitute), walking along in the direction of her house at twilight, as the day was fading, as the dark of night set in."  Proverbs 7:6-9

The darkness has set in...who do you see through the lattice of your lives?