Death of A Ragamuffin

My all-time favorite artist, Rich Mullins, died 20 years ago this month. I love music and have quite an eclectic taste in music. But he was no ordinary artist, his song writing was sincere devotion to the God that he loved, that he wrestled with, that he pointed us all to. I quickly became a fan of not only his songwriting but his unique communication style and boldness. I just loved his heart. The years before he died he gave up much of his earnings to live on an Indian reservation, teaching the kids music. He played the hammered dulcimer, along with guitar, and piano and there was just something special about his songs. As I got full into fan-mode with him I began looking forward to his monthly editorial columns in a music publication I would get just for his articles. He would tell of stories from his childhood, growing up on a farm in Indiana. Being a sensitive creative type with a Dad that was hoping for just a good masculine farm worker. Stories written from his unique perspective on life that made him Rich Mullins.

I got to see him first in concert on My Brother's Keeper tour. He came out barefoot in a pair of ripped up jeans and a plain white t-shirt. There were no fancy lights, no fog machines, no glitz or glamour, but what we got was even better, a man that was not afraid to ruffle feathers of the contemporary church, to tell of the hypocrisy of religion, and lean us into the purest devotion to the reckless, raging fury that he called the love of God. I don't know which I enjoyed more, the performance of his songs or his commentary between songs. Both were meaningful and inspiring. He left us on the last song caught up in focused devotion to that God he loved so much, that he inspired me to love that much....with hands raised and eyes closed, leaving the attention where it was due which, he knew, was not on him.

I continued to be a big fan. One day, almost 20 years ago, I was on vacation in Colorado on a drive to see Pike's Peak and listening to the radio in the rental car. They played one of his songs then said at the end: "by the late great Rich Mullins". The air escaped from my lungs in a gasp, my mind was racing to grasp the news that my favorite artist had died. The next song they played was "Hold Me Jesus". The tears flowed as I thought of the words to the song he had penned, realizing he was being held by Jesus at that very moment. 

I got a little obsessive after his death, reading everything I could find, listening to all the tributes and even making a scrapbook of all his articles from the magazines. I joined an online forum where many of his fans all grieved and shared our favorite things about his music and life. It was so hard to believe there would be no more of his music, this amazing song writer.

I turned my mom and sister into fans of his and less than a year from his death, my mom also died. I had beautiful memories of playing his songs for my mom, one in particular was playing her "The Love of God" and seeing the tears stream down her face. She had hard things to deal with and his music resonated to her like it did with me. So at her funeral one of the songs we chose was Awesome God.

After that I could not listen to his music for awhile because it reminded me too much of my mom. I went years not listening to it. Then in due time, it called me back. His music is such a huge part of my life. The rawness and realness of his faith, his devotion to knowing he was loved by the creator of the universe, to spite his failings.  I introduced my kids to his music and read them his biography, and other books that were inspiring to him like The Ragamuffin Gospel, a book that calls to the "bedraggled, beat-up and burnt-out". It's a meditation on grace and mercy because "He shall rescue the poor man when he cries out, and the afflicted when he has no one to help him. He shall have pity for the ragamuffins, the lives of the poor he shall save." (Psalm 72:12-13)

I'm a self-proclaimed ragamuffin. I have that on my Facebook banner because it describes me well. I take up the cross of my wounded self each day, battle fatigue, loneliness, failure, depression, rejection, and the sting of discovering untrustworthiness, but travel that same ragamuffin road which Rich walked on. He was not perfect and never claimed to be, but he allowed God to move into his insufficiency, and for that I will be eternally grateful.

Here are some of my favorite Rich moments and a tribute video I made of my mom with his music:

Six Months

I have been living in Phoenix for six months now. It has been so much…..a transition….a shelter….a place to hide out and heal…two doors down from a very dear friend. I'm going to miss our frequently convenient get together's. The house has a beautiful backyard and pool that I will miss. I was just starting to venture out more and get to visit some of the trendy Arcadia hotspots. My friend and I had many great walks through these beautiful unique neighberhoods. Some day I wouldn't mind returning here to live in one of the houses that have so much personality. This area reminds me of the midwestern neighborhoods where every home has their own distinct style and personality. It has the feel of a small hometown but with the hipness of places like Sip Coffee and Beer Garage not far away. 

Phoenix was always something I was sort of afraid of, all the one way streets and traffic, and downtown busyness. It struck me as ironic the other day that I was living in a place I used to be so afraid of. I still am not entirely comfortable driving around and just the other day I thought I was going to be the victim of road rage when I inadvertently got in the middle lane to turn and was confronted head on with a driver that wanted to use that same lane to go in the opposite direction. I am sure he was using a few choice words that I am glad I didn’t  stick around to hear. 

It’s been a special time filled with so many raw emotions. I’ve had some of my darkest hours wrestling things out, trying to untwist the truth that had been bent into lies. My journal is my sanity and it has been used well in this house. Now that I’m on the verge of leaving it, I already know it will always hold special memories for the uniqueness of my season here. Six months of sanity saved, a faith tried and tested, over and over again. It will always stand in my memory of a place of great provision and generosity that always brought new mercies each morning and an abundance of lavish grace. A grace I appreciate now more than ever. So even though this time here is coming to a close, I will cherish these last six months as the gift that it was. 

Hometown Blues

Just got back from a trip to the midwest. Spent some special time with my sister in northern Indiana, then took my three sons to see my hometown. My mind and heart feels like they're still there. I've made many a trips to my hometown, and I always returned with a pulling on those heart-strings. It's part of who I am. I appreciate my hometown more and more as I grow older; the simplicity of life, the rugged beauty, the everyone-knows-you feel, the lack of traffic and waiting... Familiar places of long ago that stir up a rush of memories, both good and bad. 

It's a simple town filled with childhood food favorites I had to re-taste to see if I still liked them. I did, a lot. It's a good thing I wore leggings that allowed some breathing room! Pizza burgers, breaded tenderloin, local Pizza, favorite desserts... I only wish the local bakery I used to frequent was still open, and the cute Mayberry-type country store that was conveniently located right on my path on my walk home from elementary school where I would stop and for just change- come home with a bag of Jolly Rancher stick candy, six-lets, sweet tarts or maybe a orange dreamsicle. It was fun to relive my taste-bud memories. 

Pizza Burger from Lawrenceville Drive-In

Bobe's Pizza

Lic's Chip from LIC'S (Lloyd's Ice Cream Shop) in Vincennes

My boys enjoyed the food too.

Hoagy House in Lawrenceville

Coco's Wine & Espresso Bar in Lawrenceville

Loved this new place!

 The ride there was a three hour drive, made more fun by the 80-song playlist I made from a myriad of past albums. I was surprised when we drove up to downtown Vincennes to see The Record Cellar still open. We eagerly went in, and were even more surprised to see the original owner, who recognized me. I had spent a small fortune there in my teens and was so impressed to see it be one of the last music stores of it's kind.

We went into the library that has a soft place in my heart for the story time hour and a memory of those wonderful sugar cookies with the pink icing! We walked through the doors of the church I grew up in, visiting the old stale rooms where Sunday School met, walking around the sanctuary and up into the balcony to get a birdseye view of it all. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

Snuck into the Post Office to see the plaque there of my grandfather who was the local Postmaster for a time.

 We went to the cemetery on the first full day in town and the last day. I find this cemetery peaceful and calming. I have much family buried here and as I walk around I remember the residents who resided here. It's important to remember them too, reading their tombstones, looking at the dates, knowing the loss and pain that was left behind, the memories.  The last grave I visited was my mom's. I had warned the boys of the ugly cry that would happen. It did, it needed to. Healing happens a little bit more through the tears. I have never known a more loving person than my mom and the ache for her will never completely go away and it shouldn't. They never got to know her, that's the hardest part.

It was a rollercoaster of a visit, but I'm so glad for all of it. The food, the fun, the fellowship, the nostalgia, being a tourist at George Roger's Clark Memorial which I don't remember ever visiting before.

I'm thankful that I grew up here. Thankful for the memories, good and bad, it's part of who I am.

Old High School