Almost Heaven (39 page)

I could scarcely take it in. And then I wondered who was engineering, and I looked over to see Callie and Mae standing behind Jimmy Stillwater, the man who had taken my job at the radio station so long ago. He nodded and gave me a thumbs-up. That's when I recognized the microphones around the room. He had brought in his own little mixing board and extra microphones to give us a better sound.

“Well, I don't know about you, but I'd like to hear something from the man of the hour,” Natalie said.

Everybody clapped and laughed.

“For once in my life I'm speechless,” I said. They laughed again. “This is about the nicest thing anybody has ever done for me. And I hate to disappoint you, but I haven't played one of these in a long time.”

“It'll come back to you, Billy,” Lester said. “It's like riding a bike. I got it all tuned. What do you say we start it off.”

“You lead; I'll follow,” I said.

Lester counted us off, and that's when I realized I didn't even know what we were playing. But when I heard the first notes, I knew where they were going.

“Here they are, folks, live from Dogwood, West Virginia, for the first time ever, Billy and Good News Bluegrass.”

There's something about the feel of the mandolin and picking out the tune at hand that makes a person feel right with the world. As soon as the banjo walked up the steps to “I'll Fly Away,” it all came back. I just kind of strummed the chords and let the others run with the first verse; then Lester nodded to me and I took off on a run at the second one. I kept going, really feeling it, the sound going all the way to my soul. A couple of minutes later we were done with the instrumental, and everybody clapped and Natalie about jumped out of her skin watching me.

“I had no idea you could do that, Mr. Allman,” she said.

“Well, to tell you the truth, I didn't either,” I said. “It's been a long time.”

“How do you like the mandolin?” she said.

“It's the second-best present I've ever been given, the first being the Lord's forgiveness to me.”

“What about your wife?” one of the boys said.

“Third-best present,” I said.

Everybody laughed, and I glanced at Callie in the control room. She had her hands over her face, shaking and crying and just enjoying the moment. The love of a good woman is a wonderful thing, especially one who has held it close for so long and waited. I almost missed it, and right then I kind of choked up.

“What should we do next, Billy?” Lester said. “We have a list of songs here, but this is your day. You call it.”

“You fellows know ‘Power in the Blood'?” I said.

“‘Would you be free from your burden of sin?'” Lester said. “It's right here on the list. And Terry over there can sing in between the picking.”

“Let's do it,” I said.

And we did. It was almost heaven. When I closed my eyes and let the mandolin sing, I was back on the creek, back sitting at my daddy's feet, in the front room of the old house that wasn't there anymore. With people who weren't alive, clapping and stomping and playing.

Music has a way of filling in the missing places. It is a gift from God above, who didn't have to provide it, but he did anyway and I half think he decided life just wouldn't be as good without it. Even if you're penniless and on the street and have nothing at all, or if you're shut-in and on a sickbed, or if you're in prison, if you have music, there is something to feed your soul. I guess that's the reason I started the station in the first place. I could stop playing my own music, but there was a need deep down for something real I didn't even understand. So in a way, I started the station to feed myself, for selfish reasons, and it blessed others along the way.

We played for more than an hour before I ever thought about getting tired. I slipped in a legal ID, which you're supposed to do every hour, and we played for another half hour and then did “I'll Fly Away” to end it all. Terry sang and the whole thing lasted more than six minutes. We were all feeling it, and I knew there was magic in the room, the magic of music, and that we'd never have a night like this again because we were making everything up as we went along and it was all coming from the heart. That's the best kind of radio there is, and when the moment is gone, you wish you could get it back, but it's a force of nature you can't manufacture.

After we switched back to the computer, we couldn't help ourselves and we played another half hour, recording an instrumental version of “I'll Fly Away” for Natalie's show. Finally Lester said he had to get home. The other boys all had day jobs too, and none of them played in bands anymore. They just played because it was part of them. So I had them all write down their numbers on a sheet of paper, and before they left, Natalie said, “Why don't we do this again next week?”

“I don't know if we could handle all that excitement every week, darlin',” I said. “What if we shoot for once a month?”

The others nodded, and we agreed on the next date on the calendar. It felt like we'd started something that we'd talk about for years.

As Lester was leaving, he took me aside. “I guess you heard about Vernon.”

“I did. That was a sad occasion.”

“I never asked you about it, but I always had the suspicion that he was up to something. With you, I mean.”

“Your suspicions were true.”

He shook his head and winced. “I'm really sorry I didn't say something, Billy. When you left the group, I wanted to ask, but I never did. That's to my shame.”

“It's okay, Lester. You were always good to me. And I appreciate you asking.”

“Are you doing all right with it?”

“I've learned that stuff like that follows you wherever you go. Follows you the rest of your life. And that's probably why I walked away. But the Lord has a way of showing you that you have to deal with things or they'll eat you alive.”

“I'm sure glad you're giving the music another run,” Lester said.

“I hadn't planned on it until tonight.”

“The Lord bless you, Billy.”

“He has,” I said. “He surely has.”

He patted me on the back, and I watched him load up his guitar and drive away. Jimmy Stillwater said he needed to take his microphones and little Mackie board back to the station, but that he would be glad to come back every month and provide the same setup.

“That's a lot of time commitment without any pay,” I said.

“I love the music, Billy,” he said. “I'd work just for the pleasure of hearing something so pure and clean. It was like a breath of fresh air. Plus, I feel like I owe you something for the way my brother treated you.”

“That's long forgiven and forgotten, Jimmy. I appreciate your heart. Tell Karl I asked about him next time you see him.”

Natalie stayed past her bedtime until everybody left. She sat down in the control room while I reset the computer. Mae had gone and Callie said she would drive Natalie home when the festivities were done.

“That was just about the most thrillingest thing I've ever been a part of,” she said.

“Me too. And from what Callie says, it wouldn't have happened if it weren't for you and all those ideas you have locked up in that head of yours.”

“I do have a lot of ideas, but she was the one who made it happen. Do you think my daddy heard the program tonight?”

“I'll bet he did. And if he didn't, Jimmy made a recording and I'll send it. You miss him, don't you?”

“Yeah. But sometimes I feel bad for missing him because I think it hurts Mamaw's feelings.”

“Your grandmother is a tough old bird. I'll bet you she can handle it if you talk with her. She's probably wondering what's going on up there.”

“I think I talk too much.”

“God has given you a gift, Natalie. And I've learned over the years that your strength can be your weakness. Do you know what that means?”

She thought a minute. “That the thing you're good at can get in the way?”

I nodded. “If you lean on your own strength and understanding, you'll spin your wheels. If you let God use the thing he's given you, and also use the things you feel weak in, your life will be an amazing song sung to him every day.”

“How do I do that?”

“There's no formula. Stay close to him. Talk to him. Don't see the trouble as him being mean to you but him trying to get you closer. And whatever you do, give it all your heart because your heart is the best thing. It always will be.”

She smiled and gave me a big hug, then went skipping out the door to the house. As I watched her, I thanked God that he would give me something to do that I loved and friends to share it with, a little girl whose life I could speak into, and a wife who loved me.

You can bet that the good feelings that come from such a day will soon pass because of life's troubles, but right then I felt like the most blessed man on the face of the earth. With the mountain behind me and a clear signal on the radio and a wider outreach than I could have ever dreamed and a mandolin to hold again, it was almost too much to take in. I wished my own daddy and mama could be there with me. Somehow it felt like they were.

30

I sang the night of Billy's return to music. His was such a small sound, with such a tiny instrument, and yet I felt what I witnessed in that room had been ordered by a divine hand. It took so many pieces falling together to make it happen. I was in awe of all that transpired.

There is rejoicing in heaven when a sinner repents, but we can be captured by other things as well. Answered prayer. Healing. Miracles that spare the lives of the unrepentant who cry out for mercy. And when we rejoice, the music is sweet. It swells over eternity's portals and invades the deepest darkness. I have long wondered why our singing cannot be heard on the earthly plane, except for certain instances like that night in Bethlehem.

But my song drew attention in other areas, and soon a bright light approached. It was such a shimmering, shining presence that I was forced to shield my eyes. He spoke my name. He commended me for my service to the King and asked what I had learned. And I was so honored that I began telling of Billy's life, my observations. I centered on the music and the similarities and differences to our realm.

“There seems to be a sound track to each human's life that runs through every thread and fiber of their being. For some, the music is a dirge, a plainsong that undergirds them through difficult times. For others, the song shifts to major, and life becomes more pleasing. If they harmonize with that sound track, meaning His will and His moving, they are content in every circumstance. But if they fight against it and accuse God of indifference or maliciousness, there is discord.

“To me,” I continued, “music is compulsory. It springs from our being. It is the way we were created. And in the same way it springs from them, but it seems to me they have a choice. They can play and sing, allowing the music to flow through them, or they can ignore it, to their own peril. We are given a charge—even the warriors—and we sing well. It is not just a duty; it is a privilege given by the One who made us and makes us sing to His glory.”

“But it is mandatory,” the shimmering one said.

“Yes.”

“And that somehow seems unfair?”

“I know nothing is unfair in the service of the One who calls us, but the humans' way feels, somehow, more organic.”

“An interesting hypothesis. Explain further.”

“I know of the Almighty's justice. I have seen His blinding holiness. The splendor and majesty. They only see faded glimpses of that on the earthly plane. They can only imagine what it must be like in the heavenlies. But I cannot know or even hope to understand what they do about His love. For all of their deficiencies, they are able to
feel
the love of Him who spared not even His only Son. I have never felt, nor will I ever feel, that inexpressible love. I feel gratitude, of course, for His creating power, His omnipotence and omniscience, but I marvel at the sacrifice. It is the One putting Himself in the place of another that captures me, that makes me sit in awe of their station.”

He moved closer, his voice beckoning and alluring. “Now that you have tasted of this human drama, now that you have been enlightened in the ways your King has chosen to work, wouldn't you like to taste true freedom? Rather than following and obeying and the weariness that comes from all of the directives He sends, would it not be better to choose your own way?”

A cold shiver ran down my spine as I looked upon the form of the enemy. I had been deceived into thinking this was an ally. Or perhaps even the King Himself visiting me, and for a moment my pride rose, that I would be important enough to have this dialogue. Instead, I had met the chief enemy of souls and the one whom I had been fighting since he fell.

“Never,” I whispered, my jaw set. My hand went quickly to the sword.