There are some things that you just “had to be there” for. The retelling doesn’t do it justice. That’s because the retelling can never satisfy the details necessary to explain why something was so funny, or epic, or sad.
For instance, all the words I could muster up could never clearly explain why it was so funny last night that my friend Lee choked on rice while laughing at Katie as she successfully guarded her tongue after burning herself and dropping a pan of brownies. You'd have to know that Lee also choked on a noodle a few months ago while sitting at the same dinner table. You'd also need to know that he'd just hit his funny bone so hard it put him in the floor with a numb arm. Epic, funny stuff.
Also,if you happened to be at this year’s Gospel Music Association’s Dove Awards, you know that if you weren't there, you wouldn’t have been able to understand just how poignant and brutal Steven Curtis Chapman’s performance of “Cinderella” was. For those who don’t know, "Cinderella" is SCC’s song written for and about his adopted daughter Maria, who tragically died several months after the release of the song.
If you were there in the audience, though, you would’ve known that during a commercial break, singer Donnie McClurkin came onto the stage, got our attention, and made an announcement that Aaron and Amanda Crabb were rushing to the emergency room because their two year old daughter had just fallen from a window and that it didn’t look good. We in the audience were shell-shocked. We prayed, we whispered, we prayed a again for little Eva. Then I noticed that the stagehands were setting up Steven’s band. I recognized his son Caleb tuning his guitar. There was his other son Will adjusting his drumset. Will is the son who was driving the vehicle that Maria ran in front of that fateful afternoon. I thought, “Surely he’s not about to come out and sing that song.” Sure enough. He did.
We were stunned and silent. Honestly, it was too much. Not a dry eye. In spirit, we were in two places at once: on the stage with him and in that ambulance headed to the hospital with the Crabb family. When it was over, we stood for well over a minute with a mixture of tears and applause. It was the defining moment of a show that was, quite frankly, void of meaning. But in that moment, the Dove Awards show was transcendent, and ironically, sacred. It took on a depth and weight that is never present or expected at awards shows. Even tributes and memorials come off feeling put-on and manufactured. But you couldn’t have manufactured this moment, which is precisely what made it bigger than the sum of its parts.
And that’s the miracle of Providence.
But you had to be there.
(rw)
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