God, Rock and Menopause

by Fay Barlow
(Lexington)

As a middle aged woman, a mom of two, one a teenager and the other a young man of twenty two, I have learned some lessons lately about my position in this world. My view from this point in my life is much brighter than twenty years ago. My confidence as a forty-five year old is at a level much higher than when I was twenty-five.

Yes, I sit in this comfortable phase of life with a bit more wisdom and self respect. But I didn’t come to fully understand my position until I traveled back in time to observe the behaviors of the world.

A few weeks ago I went to a concert. I’ve been to many concerts throughout life. Some secular but most, of the Christian variety. I’ve moved my feet to Third Day. Clapped my hands with Michael W. Smith. I’ve sang along with 4Him and Avalon and talked with Steven Curtis Chapman. Yes, all the wonderful sounds that resonated from the hearts of Christian artists to mine were soft and moving.

But the concert I went to a few weeks ago had no similarities to those in my past. You see, I have a fourteen year old son who loves alternative Christian bands. I would love to say that the influence came from his older brother, and in a sense I would be correct, but I have always been a bit wild at heart when it comes to music.

I grew up listening to hard rock and because I was the youngest of five kids, having two older brothers in a band, I followed suit with what they played and listened to. It was not uncommon for me to be in a bar at the age of fifteen, listening to local bands and becoming a “groupie”.

The smoke and alcohol didn’t faze me much at that age, as I lived in a house with adults who practiced such rituals and I had already begun to follow in their paths.

So here I found myself at a downtown Columbia, SC tavern with three fourteen year old boys, and the assistance of my older son and his girlfriend, who were not strangers to the scene at hand.

There is this culture of sorts that has risen up within the past years that is very fascinating and somewhat exciting to me. Alternative Christian bands playing in bars.

My older son first began going to these “shows” when he was eighteen. I didn’t worry too much about the drinking and smoking aspects because my husband and I have been very open and honest about our pasts and our family struggles with alcohol and the fact that you are not served alcohol in a bar without a stamp on your hand and a full check of your ID.

But the idea of bands playing to lost kids is fascinating to me. Here is a world where someone understood that these kids would never be caught dead in church so they decided to bring the church to them. No, their music is nothing like what we hear on our Christian radio stations but no two kids are the same.

If God is creative, then we need to celebrate the creativity in everyone. Just because I don’t like music that I can’t understand, due to screaming, doesn’t mean it doesn’t have truth and meaning in it.

But the most humorous part of this is the scene that I found myself in that night. We got to the tavern at about 7:45pm. The first band had already been playing and I was excited that, first, we were on our way to getting through to the headliner band, and second, we had found a place to sit. These are important things to an aging woman.

As the night went on, the smoke became an eerie fog that wouldn’t let up and the drinking around us became a bit more profound. Our seats were at the bar and there was a space between my seat and the empty one next to me which seemed to shout to all who were of age, to come, gather around and order here!

I was uncomfortable with the situation but not offended. I had been there, done that. I just leaned to the left to make sure the customer’s brew didn’t spill on me.

As the smog of smoke began to settle on the crowd and the third band finished their set, my son and his friends, who had been standing straight in the line of the spit and sweat that streamed from the band, made their way to our safe seats, a fair distance from the raw action.

My son, who has come to understand our views on smoking and drinking, announced to me that he had just smoked his first cigarette. I know my son’s humor enough to know that he meant he had just inhaled enough smoke to have smoked his first cigarette. I laughed at his creative sense of humor and tried to think of something profound and memorable to say but decided that the coughing fit he was having spoke louder than any words I could come up with.

My next observation came as I sat on my perch watching the crowd. Sadness came over me as I saw that not much had changed in the last twenty-five years. The bar was different, the city was larger, but the characters were the same. The movements of the players were predictable and the outcome was inevitable.

I saw my younger self in many of the women’s eyes. I saw the desire to love and be loved and the tools that they used to numb their pain. I grieved for them as the night wore on and the morning would come and they would be another step closer to emptiness.

Then the headliner band, Showbread, made their way to the small, cramped stage. I had watched them throughout the night as they would mingle, walk to the back, greet friends and get ready for their turn. Never did they hold a drink that came from the bar or dangle a cigarette from their fingers.

As they played their creative music and talked between songs, a vulgar word was never heard. A few jokes were told as equipment had to be repaired from their intense playing, but the jokes were not the ones you apologize for before telling.

And they did something that I was told they would do but had to see it for myself. They professed Jesus as their Lord and told everyone that He was the reason that they were there. They gave glory to God in a place where glory is normally handed out to the one who doesn’t go home alone.

This expression of love for God put smiles on our faces and hopefully, courage to my three young attendees. Yes the music was loud and very hard to understand, but my sons and their friends knew every word and understood its meaning.

One last thing about this night. The one person that talked to me was an older woman who came in with her husband. I saw the group that she walked in with and picked a young man out as being her son and being a part of one of the groups that were playing. The older woman and man left the tavern but came back as Showbread began to play.

My older son and his girlfriend left their seats to gather with the other boys to experience the deafening sounds of the more experienced and well known group. That is when the woman and her husband sat down next to me at the bar.

After the first song, I turned to her to say “IT’S LOUD!” She understood and began to talk as best she could under the circumstances and throughout the rest of the show; we had a wonderful conversation about music and the band. I found out that her son is the Keytar player for the band Showbread. He was off for a few days after that show and the parents had driven up from coastal SC to visit with him.

She spoke of her son’s excitement to be a part of a band that praises the Lord and I blessed her family and the band for the message they are preaching.

It’s kind of funny because of all the people in that bar that night, the only person I talked with was a woman of similar age and in a similar phase of life. My life has become different. My view has changed and my purpose in life has been transformed. It’s like the old saying, “codependent people will attract co-dependent people”. In my case, “pre-menopausal proud mothers will attract pre-menopausal proud mothers.”