Taking Me There

I’ve been on a journey with Mavis. 

Mavis is Mavis Staples. Is there any other? She’s 76 year-old gospel and soul singer and all around purveyor of good vibrations. She was the youngest daughter and singer in the Staples Singers a gospel group lead by the patriarch, Roebuck “Pops” Staples. Their music and presence was an instrumental part of the civil rights movement of the 1960s performing at many of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. speeches. 

The good news of their gospel, heavily influenced by Mississippi delta blues and soul, included the liberation and freedom from oppression of all people. The Staples Singers repertoire eventually expanded beyond pure gospel to more soul and r&b music, but always with a positive, and uplifting message. Mavis’ solo career has continued with music that matches her positive and hopeful spirit. Her music continues her “march up freedom’s highway.”

While I feel like I’ve always been aware of Mavis, I took particular notice of her with the release of her 2010 album “You are Not Alone.” This album drew me in to her voice and her charm. As good as that album is, I was even more drawn to her previous album with Ry Cooder “We’ll Never Turn Back.” Something about that that music and that voice found a Mavis shaped home in my soul. 

Mavis has a wonderfully rich low voice. She’s had it since she was a teen. Like an overdriven guitar amp, her voice moves from a low rumble to a thick and warm tenor. There are times when she sings what feels like it’s a hug from the divine.

I remember watching an online video of Mavis when she was touring with Billy Bragg. She called Billy onto the stage and then greeted him with a big hug. A switch suddenly went on in my heart: “I want a hug from Mavis.” What should have just been a fleeting thought stuck with me, “I want a hug from Mavis Staples.”

Having a “bucket list” was never something I considered, but after that moment I started telling people that the only thing on my bucket list was a hug from Mavis. I said it with no real expectation of accomplishing this, and no plan on how to accomplish it. I just liked thinking about the idea of hugging Mavis, and liked the image of me it created for others.

My wife and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary and jumped at the chance to celebrate by seeing Mavis in concert at the Kalamazoo Community College. We decided o make a special outing of it by staying overnight at a nearby hotel.

Rick Holmstrom & Mavis Staples

Rick Holmstrom & Mavis Staples

The concert was everything I expected. Mavis was as much the beautiful soul that I expected. She sang, told stories both funny and serious, laughed, and exuded warmth. As a hobby guitarist I’m also a fan of her guitarist, Rick Holmstrom, and was pleased to be close enough to watch him in action. It was a glorious evening and I returned to the hotel aglow.

The next morning I made my way to grab my complimentary hotel breakfast of a bagel, yogurt, fruit and coffee. As I sat down I looked across the table and saw a gentleman. I was certain, mostly, he was one of last night’s backup singers. As he stood up I excused myself and asked if he was a backup singer for Mavis Staples. Yes he was. I thanked him for the wonderful show. He smiled and said, “Yeah, it was a good audience last night.” And went to dispose of his dishes. “Mavis may be in the house” immediately raced through my mind.

A few giddy minutes later my wife joined me and I told her of my encounter. She then spoke up, “There’s the guitarist.” I looked over, saw him in the breakfast area, and without a pause I immediately walked up to him. “Excuse me, Rick Holmstrom?” “Yes?”

I thanked him for the wonderful show and how inspired I was by his guitar playing. I told him I appreciated how his playing paid homage to Pops Staples, but was still his own. We talked a bit about guitar gear and he seemed genuinely please at my words of appreciation. 

I returned to my seat and “debriefed” with June, when she suddenly blurted “There she is. She’s leaving. Go, Kev.” 

I looked up and saw her nearing the exit. “No” I said. 

“Go” she insisted. 

So, there I went, briskly walking out the door calling “Ms. Staples, Ms Staples.” 

She was standing at the open door of her car and looked my way. Her assistant said “It’s cold, she needs to get in the car.” So she sat in the back seat but left the door open for me to approach. 

I said “Ms. Staples, thanks so much for the show last night and I just want to thank you for a lifetime of singing the good news.” Then I added. “You know how people have bucket lists? Things people want to do before they die?” 

“Bucket lists. Yeah.” She replied seeming a little bit puzzled about where this guy was going. 

“Well, I only have one thing on my bucket list and that is a hug from Mavis Staples.” She showed her big smile, threw her arms wide and I leaned into the car for a big hug from Mavis. As I pulled back she added “I hope that takes your there.” 

“Oh yes it does. Thank you so much.” And off I went.

Any moment the following week when I wasn’t giving attention to something else, I was relishing in the high of that weekend. I’m still not certain why this idea of a hug from Mavis became such a significant. I am just so grateful to be on the receiving end of her hope and faith-filled generosity. 

My Prayer Chapel

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I begin my walk to the chapel for daily morning prayers. With the change to daylight savings time I’m once again walking in the dark. When my mind isn’t already racing with the day’s schedule and anticipated challenges, this walk is a time for gratitude and preparation. I’ve learned to “thank God for my waking up, clothed in my right mind” from a traditional African American prayer. I thank God for my ability to get a good night’s rest in our comfortable home and my physical ability to walk. I thank God for the chance to feel the bite of the cold or the sweat of the heat. I’m not particularly grateful for the cold or heat, but I’m glad that I can experience them. As springs rolls around it is easy to give God glory for the morning chorus of birds. Occasionally, I receive the gift of walking toward a sinking full moon and my soul sings.

After the short walk I arrive at the chapel and step inside. It is a long narrow structure, well-lit in the dark hours, and abundant with windows to let in daylight. As I make my way to an empty pew I recognize faces I see each day, some that show up occasionally, and a few unfamiliar faces. As with any chapel, many people stick with their same pew. I gladly go to wherever there is space, although I too may have unrecognized patterns. Some mornings there is only enough space to stand.

We gather corporately but our worship is mostly private. I sit down, close my eyes, and begin my regular breath prayer. Inhale “I am.” Exhale “here.” It is a simple prayer of presence and awareness. Some months ago this prayer emerged from within and it has stuck with me. Each word feels like a gift.  “I” my identity. “Am” my very being. “Here” my awareness of this particular moment in time and space. It is good to bring my awareness to this moment and this place. Soon, I will be at work with its challenges and I may be distracted by places I’d rather be and things I’d rather be doing. But for now, “I am here” for that is truly the only place I can be.

Many in the chapel also sit in silent prayer, while some are distracted by their phones, or engaged in conversations about anything from political campaigns, to comparing the services of various homeless shelters. People arrive and depart as their schedule allows.

After a while, my prayer changes. The words don’t change but rather than me speaking them, it is God who speaks: “I am here.” I am assured that God, the great “I Am,” is also present here in this time and space. I believe that God is always here, but it often takes this time of silent prayer for me to recognize God’s presence. 

The members of the congregation are disproportionately African American, and my hunch is, disproportionately poor. Each day I see people coming from, or departing toward, the local homeless shelter. Some arrive with bags of empty cans to be turned in for cash. The space easily accommodates people in wheelchairs and parents with strollers.

After continuing this prayer for a while it occasionally changes once again. The “I” who prays becomes the corporate “I” of the gathered congregation. The prayer becomes a chorus of voices. I as myself, I as God, and I as the gathered congregations exclaim “I am here.”

My time then shifts to prayers of blessing: blessing the gathered congregation and our shepherd, wishing them all a day of affirmation, love, and safety. I extend this blessing to my coworkers who I will soon see and to others in my life. I ask that with each person I encounter this day, I act out of God’s abundant love.

As my time of prayer nears an end, I reach up, pull the cord, and the driver of my prayer chapel, CATA bus #8, stops near my office. As I depart I offer a wave and a word of thanks to the driver and step off into the day.

Staking my corner of the internet

I'm feeling a need to stake a claim to my corner of the internet. It's not that I don't have a presence online, what with the facebook and the twitter (and that oddball LinkedIn) but I'm wanting a space that's just mine. More than a space that is just mine, I want a space that will provide both an incentive and a venue for my own writing. I used to have a blog, Library Preservation 2, but that was reserved for, not surprisingly, library preservation related matters. I managed to take that into some very personal and reflective areas, but I felt like I played that to its end and moved on.

I intend to use this site to do more reflective writing that draws on all parts of my life and thoughts. It's kinda like an ongoing comprehensive exam on my life. Yes, it will be personal, and by it's very nature it will feel self-indulgent - at least to me..