“Can I help?”
“Thank-you. I am just enjoying the memories of what happened here.”
“This is an events area, nothing is happening tonight.”
“I know. But I can hear the sounds as if it was live.”
“Are you ok?”
“Yes. I’ll be on my way.”
Many moons ago, the silent stage in the darkness near the beach had been anything but. Today’s wind and the sound of the incoming tide were there then and now. On another Saturday night, an impromptu band had taken to the stage. Pete was on keyboard, Ric on guitar, and Johnny was the first vocalist. I found myself playing along on hand percussion. An Elvis song gave way to a natural transition into the blues and the jam was on! Whatever I thought the evening was going to be vanished. It was a special moment then and everyone knew it would be one of a kind.
Last night I stood on the spot and heard it all again. Hope and possibility, sadness and lament mixed in a wonderful way that told me the people here would always fight for each other. A simple chord progression from Jehovah Never Sleeps was a foundation where words, emotions, and heart expressions were passed between a team that was more than the obvious. I hope I never forget the sounds of that night. They remind me that you and I can be more than we imagine. We can be the difference when others have lost hope.
On this night only nature was talking. I had no music or words for those that had not been present. The reasons were that “their words aren’t heard, their voices aren’t recorded.” (Psalm 19.3)
I wondered how long the echo would keep going. I know now that voices will be heard as long as someone remembers. To those on the stage and in the audience, thank-you for helping me see more than what is here. It was a night I will remember; one that gifted me with a sense of the possible that I cannot imagine. The music continues.
