So the show at Bonhoeffer's went tolerably well. It's not exactly a listening room, and being brought up under the warm wing of New City Cafe has left me a bit spoiled, albeit well-fostered. I drove down with Andy and Analee in tow and we plowed slowly but surely through a welcome line of Cumberland Plateau summer squalls. We were blessed with a built-in audience. A band called Damascus Road was playing at Salt and Pepper down the road, and the power went out. So they moved the show to Bonhoeffer's and we did a double-header of sorts. Their lead guitarist, Justin, is an inspiration to watch. I think he blacked out during part of the show and just started playing with a charisma you don't often see up close. I'm still tempted to be frustrated at the loss of money. No cd sales plus two tanks of gas and no tips equals a possible bad time. But God reminded me again that art is not about money, and I must say, I do like to be a pen in the hand of a writer.
We're still looking for a church to meet with, and this morning was an adventure in frustration at the place we went to. But now, I hear the sound of thunder outside, softening up the land with a hush to receive merciful rain. I do believe I must leave you now, as the sky is calling me out on the front porch.