Billy Graham, Elvis and Loretta Lynn

  My husband has an uncanny sense of when to push me and when to back off.  This brings to mind three particular outings.  I confess that many times I respond to his suggestions with a sneer, and then hug his neck afterwards and thank him. 

Now I like Elvis, who doesn’t?  But when Pepper suggested we go to see his concert in the late 70’s, I thought:

  • a.  We don’t have the money
  • b.  He’s way past his prime
  • c.  I grew up with Beatles, Stones, Fleetwood Mac – not Elvis

 I put forth my look of disapproval and he secured the tickets. 

The same scene repeated over a Billy Graham Crusade.  I thought:

  • a.  How much does it cost?
  • b.  We already gave our lives to Jesus
  • c.  If all those  people who come forward actually mean it, wouldn’t we have a much better world?

 And so we witnessed this phenomenon in the flesh and in the spirit at the Hampton Roads  Coliseum.

And just this past weekend, he comes up with, “Would you like to go see Loretta Lynn?”  The first thing out of my mouth was:

  • a. Is she still alive? 
  • b.  Country?
  • c.  We don’t have the money 

So I find myself in the new Cobb Energy Performing Arts Centre with some funny-looking people in hats and boots, all geared-up to see the Queen of Country.  And she cast her spell over all of us, appearing in a knock-off of the dress that good-witch Glenda wore in the Wizard of Oz. She walked a little slowly, due to some knee surgery and she had to sit down for most of the show.  The band would start a song and she would say, “I can’t sing that one anymore, never liked it anyway.” 

She mentioned more than once that Nashville committed a  great injustice by denying  Conway Twitty a music award and she would start songs that someone in the band had to take over because (as she kept reminding us ) she was losing her voice.  She told us that when she finished up in Atlanta, she was going to Woodstock and her band corrected her by saying Bonnaroo. ” Whatever.”

But I’m here to tell you that I believed that 79-year-old Grand lady when she told  me  “You Ain’t Woman enough to take my Man”, and I felt  her wrath when her husband  ignored her warning , “Don’t Come Home a drinkin’ with lovin’ on your Mind”  and I stood in awe with everyone else, country soul in tact, when she let us know how proud she is to be a “Coal Miner’s Daughter.

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