Little Fires

“And I’d give up these things I know are meaningless, for a little fire beside me when I sleep.” – Patty Griffin

I went on vacation with over 100 men this summer. I traveled to Denver, Colorado with my brothers in the Turtle Creek Chorale for the GALA Chorus Festival. It was an indescribable week filled with music, laughter, tears, and brotherhood. 

Our performance was on a Wednesday, and it was a transformative experience, to say the least. We were ready to celebrate that night in Denver. We made an appearance at the Red Party at the Grand Hyatt, but it was so packed we could barely hear each other speak or ourselves think, so we decided to walk several blocks to the Wrangler Bar. We were all suspended on some sort of mile high Cloud 9. Drinks were toasted. Hugs were shared. Laughter was fluent. Some of our eyes got misty a time or two. It was just such a fantastic week, and we had shared so much. 

When I’m done, I’m done. And at 1:30 a.m., I was ready to disembark for the hotel. I said my good-byes and went outside to find a cab. There was actually a pedicab waiting as soon as I walked outside. I've rarely seen them in Dallas, but they are all over Austin, and they were plentiful in Denver. I had secretly wanted to ride in one all week. The attractive driver with the magical blond curls looked at me and assured me that he would get me to my destination quickly and inexpensively. I kind of shrugged my shoulders in a “why not?” kind of way and climbed into the pedi-cab. 

Before he started pedaling, he turned around and looked at me like we had been hanging out all night and asked, “Who’s your favorite singer?” 

I saw him fiddling with his I-Phone, so I knew where this was going. Bruce Springsteen and Patty Griffin, of course, popped into my head. “This is a Patty Griffin kind of night.” I replied. 

“Who?” he asked.

“Patty Griffin!” I assured him.

“Got it.” He nodded as he placed the device in a cradle with little speakers. 

And then we were off. I can’t really put what happened next into words, but I’ll give it a shot. I’m certain I gasped a little bit from the first guitar strum on “Little Fire” by Patty Griffin. As soon as she started singing, and he started pedaling, and the breeze started lifting around me, I was altered. Everything else was silent. Beauty echoed to the sky and back. If anyone else was on the street, I was oblivious. It was like, for a few moments, I was the only person in the world. The previous week kind of flashed before my eyes, and I was overwhelmed with gratitude. All the gravity that weighs on living was suddenly nonexistent. Other than this song, this Colorado air, this breath, nothing else really mattered at the moment. And then, Emmylou Harris started harmonizing with Patty on the second verse of the song, and it’s like God was whispering behind me. This is it -- what life is. This moment. Remember this. I felt like I was watching this unexpectedly blissful movie, and I wanted to look someone in the eye and give them that knowing, wide-eyed look that sings profundity. But no one was next to me, so I cut my eyes up at the stars and thought, “Can you believe this?” 

As the song drew to a close, so did the ride. It’s like they were in complete sync. I climbed out of the cab and looked at the driver. 

“Six bucks,” he proclaimed. 

I paid him double. 

“Thank you so much,” I replied as I placed the bills in his hand. 

“Thanks for Patty Griffin,” he said. “I’d never heard of her.Wow…”

I half-smiled and nodded. Patty Griffin is reason enough for gratitude. “You’re very welcome. She’ll change your life.”

Music has changed my life on so many levels. 

It didn’t matter what awaited as I turned around to go along my way...