Patty Griffin, come on by, and please, stay a while

My expectations were high by the time I’d heard her second song. She doesn't take short cuts. 

She tells these stories with unapologetic 
conviction, or perhaps, it’s the stories that she must tell in song because they found her too.

In the midst of the words that pour out, there’s this deeper twang that grows- -to never surrender. 

It's like she chants be the cowgirl. Never apologize. Shake off the dust, and keep on rocking. 

Looking out across the audience drizzled in Austin humidity, I see crowds of dedicated fans not only shouting out requests please, but also shouting out words of admiration, affirmation and thank yous. They yell, "Good job!" and "We love you!"

These fans truly adore Patty. One was bragging about how she’d seen Patty more than ten times, and every show was different; every show was special.

It felt like the songs were crafted for just that evening, and it was as if we were all her guests too. 

Nothing about the evening felt commercialized or coated with television teen face pop icing. Instead, we were discovering originally sweet hidden tunes being fished out of her cherished songbook.

Like a preacher who seems to be divinely called to say that one thing that breaks down walls inside the heart- -that one thing that sears the soul and shakes things up, Patty's songs were living instruments.

In the mountain song, she sang about standing firm against all odds. 

She sang a message of hope. Perhaps it was a message of a Heavenly Father’s love nestled inside a spiritual hug, or a dare to dance like nobody's watching. Her lyrics challenged looking beyond the swamp and built a sense of tolerance and indifference to the glass shard tide troubles of the day.

There was a moment when the soul queen smiled and let herself just be free too. She grooved about as the guitars' voices collided in note-full joy.  And, we all celebrated with her as the music just took over. David Pulkingham's guitar symphony collaboration moved the evening along with such monumental musicality it was easy to wonder how many strings he's playing at once.

The evening was church. It was crawling up into my grandmother’s lap. It was finishing a really good book, and wanting to do it all over again. 

It was hanging out with my best girlfriend to celebrate what makes us woven souls. 

In the midst of mosquito-slapping Austin humidity, the soul-full evening celebrated the rich individuality in songwriting that comes from that vulnerable sweet spot- -that spot that writes the broken, the celebration, and the laughter too. 

It was that spot that celebrates the dud boyfriends with the Maxim magazines and that brave true courageous think-we-can turn know-we-can mountain moments too.