Review of Rich Mullins "Ragamuffin" film

I attended the Nashville screening of the new Rich Mullins "Ragamuffin" film last night before a full house at Collins Auditorium at David Lipscomb Univ. 

As a friend of Rich's from '84 to '97, I was hesitant about how I would react to a film about such a complex person who wrestled mightily with fanfare and acclaim. My fears were generally allayed, and for a small budget film by a first-time producer/director, it is pretty good. Most of this is due to the performance in the lead role by Michael Koch, who compellingly captures the creative side of Rich (he is an accomplished pianist/guitarist, and nails Rich's vocal delivery and onstage patter), as well as the brooding, intense side of Mullins' personality.

Some of the drawbacks include: editing weaknesses (it is unnecessarily long at 2 hours and 20 minutes, and somewhat repetitive in several themes); an overly simplistic (and oft brutal) critique of the music biz that deserves more nuance; primitive sets (the recording and radio studios are laughable), and some key characters in Rich's life that were completely ignored. It would've also been nice to see a bit more of Rich's unbridled kindness and silly/impish/downright hilarious sides. But these flaws are not so glaring that it renders the film unwatchable.

To the contrary, the essence of Rich's struggles with an unloving father, alcohol, disappointments in relationships, and loneliness drive the narrative and keep you wondering if/how he would ever find some degree of peace and acceptance. It doesn't give a lot of neat, tidy Christian platitudes or easy resolve. How could it if it were to be honest about the living paradox that was Rich Mullins? So, I give it an A- for effort, a C- for technique, and an overall grade of B- for residual impact it will leave with the viewer. For anyone who was a fan of Rich, or wishes to see faith being wrestled-out with earnest grit, then I recommend "Ragamuffin."

My longtime friend, Bernie Sheahan, wrote this review which gives some further coloring which I agree with...

"I saw "Ragamuffin" last week here in California and was pretty nervous about how I'd react. (Forgot my Kleenex, so I stole a whole roll of toilet paper from the church bathroom!) I knew Rich very well and for a long time. (I'm one of many, and aren't we lucky? Blessed.) He was one of six people at my 25th birthday dinner, in 1982. So when I saw the trailer online, I had a bit of a freak-out. Too weird. I knew David Mullins was part of this, but still...how could they capture him, and how dare they make a movie when he would have hated the thought of it?

"At the end of the film, they had a Q&A session with the director, David Leo Schultz. I hopped right up--"pick me, pick me!" No questions. Just this: "Thank you...Rich was a dear friend of mine...I was afraid I'd yell out or throw things at the screen, but you got him. Thank you for showing the shadows." I said a lot more (you know me; I'm Irish) but in talking to Schultz later on I realized that Rich would have loved him. You will, too.

"As Kathy Sprinkle told me, it's not a biopic. This isn't a chronological, get-everything, History Of Rich Mullins. Don't be upset about not seeing "Rich" in shoes or sweaters, as in his real life, in winter or on hot pavement. Movies are about images. The white t-shirt and bare feet are symbolic, really. I'm sorry if I just just pulled a 'Film as Lit' teacher thing on you.

"The images are lovely. David Schultz did a marvelous job with a tiny budget. He goes from Indiana to Cincinnati to Nashville to Wichita to "the res" along the open roads with color and light that match Rich's musical palette and poetic vision. You'll have to ask him if those are actual locations. I can vouch for a few of them as the real thing. There's one that's surely not, and it doesn't matter, because any countryside four-lane highway will do. That scene is handled with grace and mercy: it's brief, tells little, and moves quickly from dark mystery to sunny memory and life most real.

"You Nashville folk will laugh your head off in some places. There was only so much they could do with a small budget, I guess. No matter. See it with an open heart. Put aside your feelings about the music business, either way (this is, shall we say, less than sympathetic to the "industry" point of view).

"What it does is present the essence of Rich. How he was, as in the title of his brother's book, "an arrow pointing to heaven". Rich didn't want you to "get" him. He wanted you to get God--to be gotten by Him. The director found, in the four years working on the film, that Rich Mullins has some intensely loyal fans. Yup. Some who seemed to almost worship Rich more than God. Rich, shall we say, discouraged that. "Be God's" -- that's how he signed every autograph. Be God's. So it's not that important, really, what I think about how Rich was portrayed in any film. I am a loyal friend, yes. But he never said, "Be Rich's." Even so, I, and all of us who knew him, are a little protective of his essence. As dumb as that may sound.

"The fellow who plays Rich was not an actor but a musician, and he surprised me with his skill and passion. He sounds like him, enough for me to lose myself in the story for much of its length (it's long!) He does the shadows well. And this film doesn't shirk from the dark, thank goodness. He's exuberant, he spins, he gets angry. He's not funny and playful like Rich--it's not in his repertoire, not in his personality. That's OK. He pulls it off well enough that it made me miss Rich. A lot. That's something, considering it's an actor who's singing and playing, talking, saying things like "You like it? You really like it?"

"I like it. I really like it."        -Bernie Sheahan

Listing of all the showings and where to get tix here (once you get to the page, click on the "Events " tab):

http://www.itickets.com/artists/27150/Rich%20Mullins%20Film_concert

The long-awaited return of Rick Elias with Jōb

It was a chilly April night in 1990 when I met Rick Elias for the first time. The venerable Exit/In rock club in Nashville was hosting a showcase of various artists as part of the Gospel Music Week convention.  A few weeks before, I had received an advance copy of Rick Elias and the Confessions from Frontline, a small west coast label, and was quite fond of what I heard.  It was guitar-driven Americana with gritty vocals…akin to Springsteen, Mellancamp or Petty…not comparisons often heard in Contemporary Christian Music.  But it was the penetrating, gutsy lyrics that were so honest that really set it apart. Most CCM was rather banal when it came to its message…you really didn’t want the “gatekeepers” to question anything about one’s reality in sharing the gospel message thru song.  It was always best to keep hard questions, doubts, and insecurity out of the equation.  That’s what made this bold album from this unknown entity so compelling, And it only grew with repeated listening.

Rick was kind of hard to miss when he sauntered into the loud music room. He was an imposing 6’ 6” with flowing black hair in a sort of pompadour cut, chiseled features, and covered head-to-toe in black (well worn leather jacket with tassels, frayed jeans, and scuffed biker boots).  He looked like his music sounded: ready to fight for what he believed. Once again, not your typical preppy-looking Christian pop act.

His handlers had flown him in for the convention, but hadn’t landed him any performance slots.  So he was just trying to understand this whole new industry.  He’d been in the southern California club scene for years, close to some major label deals on several occasions, but never quite consummated.  His disappointments had been punctuated with some severe substance abuse issues, and it was in recent years that he had been able to find some peace and hope via a renewed faith that he had abandoned in his late teens. All of this led him to be somewhat flummoxed by all the professional Christians he was encountering at this Music City confab. 

Recognizing him from the cover of that debut CD, I walked up to him and introduced myself, telling him that I thought his album was truly terrific. We talked on and off throughout several sets by other artists, and at one point stepped outside so we could better converse.  He asked what I did, and I shared that I worked with musicians who had a concern for the poor who might like to partner with Compassion International to find sponsors for needy children around the world.  He was intrigued. Thus began a long friendship.

Within weeks we began phone conversations, and I was able to get him added onto an Artist Vision Trip to Guatemala several months later. I thought this particular grouping had great potential to bond significantly.  Rich Mullins and Geoff Moore had both been friends of mine for five years, but had never met. I thought their Midwestern sensibilities to their music along with their desire for realistic discipleship would blend well.  Chuck Tilley, a famed concert promoter, and my boss, Devlin Donaldson (also a much-published rock critic) were also along. My hope was Rick would find some cohorts in his yearning for honest communication, too. We all had a meaningful time engaging with the poor of Guatemala, but also in the fellowship of our own poor-in-spirit conditions. Everyone hit it off right from the get-go, and the rest, as they say, is history.  Not only did deep connections begin across the board, but the seeds for the “ragamuffin band” idea that Mullins had rolling around in his head were birthed on that excursion.

Within a year, Rick and Rich were heading up said band, touring across North America and recording award-winning albums. Rick also did two more solo albums of his own, and made major alliances on soundtracks for films like That Thing You Do, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, as well as TV shows. His notoriety as a producer grew as well.  After Mullins’ tragic auto accident five years later, Rick helped carry the flame with several more Ragamuffin Band albums. 

But with the demise of the CCM industry and ever-tightening playlists at Christian radio in the past dozen years, Rick has been unable to move forward as an recording artist.  He continues writing, producing, and occasionally playing live shows. He’s also a professor at a music school here in Nashville, passing on his deep knowledge of art, craft, and business sense to younger musicians. 

It’s been 13 years since Rick has been in a studio to work on any of his own compositions. Seeing some of his contemporaries launch successful Kickstarter campaigns to raise money for self-released projects, he decided it was time to give that a shot.  The money came in from eager fans that have waited well over a decade to hear more from Elias. And, despite a serious tumble that caused a debilitating shoulder injury in the midst of production, he was able to get his first solo album in over 15 years finished this year, and it is releasing to the public this week.

It is entitled Jōb, and the moniker is appropriate, not just for the long-suffering chronicled above, but also Rick’s desire to probe a thorny theological issue. It isn’t just the ancient Old Testament story that is examined, but also contemporary--perhaps even autobiographical--musings on the purposes of pain and disappointment that are brought to the fore.

Opening with “Do Ya,” Elias serves as a guide of sorts, leading us into places none of us would choose to go. The plaintive acoustic guitar is joined by a slowly building cadre of instrumentation and layered voices blowing across a dusty soulscape.

Who am I?

Do you know me?

If you know

Well then tell me

Ring those suffering chimes

Tell me whose fate is mine

Do ya feel like an angel?

Or a pawn in a fable?

Son of Jōb

Son of betrayal

There are no strangers at this table

Ending with one of the coolest chords since the beginning of “Hard Day’s Night,” the stage is then set for the ripping title track, which is easily the top rock song of 2013.  Delivered with the edginess of late 60s Rolling Stones but the ferocity of  mid-tempo Metallica, this slide guitar-fueled cruncher lifts the downtrodden questions into a realm of righteous anger.

Naked I came from my mother’s womb

And naked I will return

My serpent skins shed in the tomb

And a lover’s heart that still burns

A spoken word section halfway through, reminiscent of Bono’s laments in “Bullet the Blue Sky,” was written and voiced by Rick’s old high school chum, the illustrious Luis Alberto Urrea, now a Pulitzer Prize nominated and New York Times Best Selling author.

Templars in the alley performing esoteric rites

Junkies howl their hosannas in the galleries of night

Gathering upright citizens running from the light

Just another blind boy, blessed and cursed, with visions instead of sight

And I’m still walking…

If I fell down in the city would I make the slightest sound?

One the sidewalk where the saddest of the seraphim can be found

Where the children of the morning chalk their scriptures on the ground

And sing their hymns with the voices of the drowned

I hear them talking…

“When It All Comes Down” follows next as protestations begin to turn inward, examining how sometimes we help create our own quagmires. The sophisticated arrangement and cool elements like a backwards guitar, stark keyboard textures, and Tim Chandler’s lyrical bass figures broaden the pallet that provides paint for the picture.

I watched the level rise

Debris brought me to my knees

With all my crimes

And all my lies

I circled the drain

Like a spider going down the sink

When it all came down

It was like a mist that tuned to rain

Until the rain

Became a stream

The stream a river

An open vein

Bleeding out across the lowlands

Swallowing summer and spring

When it all came down

It took everything

Willing inner deception is also spoken of in a lament about divas and drama queens, and the men who are pulled under their spells in “A Kind of Brilliance.”

Critics, fakes, and cheap alcohol

Clumsy, mumbled dialogue

Would never bring her down

She’s lost in her soliloquy

Her lonely, bittersweet elegy

To love lost, not found

While here in the shadows I am bleeding, baby

But you can’t even hear my voice

And I admit

It requires

An exquisite

Kind of liar

A kind of brilliance

To believe

Melancholy and nostalgia soaked in resignation characterize the aching account of the years of a marriage; good, bad, and indifferent. Surely “When We Built This House” is one of the frankest songs I’ve heard about the ongoing challenges of life-long commitment.

Those were the days

When grace threw long shadows

And light filtered through

Now we see through a haze

Smoke and dust from a battle

Ghosts wander from room to room

I told you, “Love is never abstract

It will break your heart and never look back”

Then you ask me how I am

Well what do you see?

One heart left to chance

And the other to bleed

Two souls in a dance

A fait accompli

Then I remember

Your eyes, your laugh

You smiled and the world was right

And I still remember

When we built this house

A reworking of “Help Thou My Unbelief,” originally on the Prayers of a Ragamuffin album, continues the flow of recognition within the heart of Jōbs and Thomas’s everywhere that there is, indeed, a loving God in the midst of the trials and apprehension. A gentle, earnest plea for anyone that is wrestling with uncertainty.

Father you led me as I crossed the wasteland

Conquering the mountains, the rivers, the lowlands

But you would not conquer me

Abba you touched me, you heard all my cries

I sat at your table, I lay by your side

But as Thomas, no Judas

It’s you I denied

Still, you loved me

Bringing everything to a close is “Jōb, Naked,” and addendum to the title track that starts as an edgy acoustic Steve Earle-like thumper. The ultimate questions still resound, but there’s an allowance for clemency from the great beyond, and a hope for the coming redeemer.

Well, yer straight out of luck

The hand’s dealt from the bottom tonight

Deals have been struck

And the seersucker suits came to buy

After all their manipulations

Yeah, all those clever moves

Comes a single act of mercy

As a child in a young mother’s womb

The final several minutes morph into a middle-eastern whirling dervish, reminiscent of the eclectic instrumentation utilized on the Page-Plant Zeppelin Unledded tour back in the mid-90s.  The interaction between Elias’ frenetic guitar and drummer/percussionist Steve Hindalong’s accents builds in hypnotic intensity.  The rising string section adds to the mounting crescendo, that ends with an Olympic droning sustain that washes over the whole procession.  As it fades, one is reminded that Yaweh does speak, usually as a whisper, through the howling winds on occasion.

Sonically, Jōb is by far the best sounding album Elias has done. Rich in texture, warm when needed, stark in the right places.  Little instrumental flourishes and sweeteners from accordion, organ, piano, vibes, mandolin, etc. lend just the right grace notes. The contributions of the aforementioned Hindalong and Chandler, who make up the rhythm section of The Choir, are stellar. Their band mate, Derri Daughtery, does a premium effort engineering and assisting on the mix. But it is Elias, who plays nearly every other instrument, and blends in many intriguing harmonies alongside his ardent lead vocal, who carries the day.

All said, Jōb is such a satisfying listen, and worthy of the wait.  It is certainly one of the strongest releases of the year.  And all of it combined begs just one more question: how long until the next one?  I’m confident that Rick has much, much more to offer, and can hardly contain myself in anticipation of more to come. Lord knows, we need his brand of literate, seasoned, and fervent rock to help us navigate the thorny questions.

You can buy Jōb as a digital download here (as well as hear samples):

http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/rickelias

You can also purchase it at iTunes (as well as hear samples):

https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/job/id742173399

If you want a physical CD (and maybe some other swag such as a signed album art poster, autographed B&W pic, comp CD, etc.) go here:

http://www.rickelias.com/store/#!/~/category/id=7020679&offset=0&sort=priceDesc

I Miss Rich Mullins

Being St. Patrick's Day,  I've been thinking of some of my favorite Irishmen.  Though Rich was not born there, his name and lifestyle certainly reflected much of the Irish flare.

I miss Rich’s beaming smile and furrowed brow.

I miss Rich’s pop sensibilities blended with eclectic instrumentation.

I miss Rich’s quick laugh and his barking anger.

I miss Rich drinking eight glasses of water a day to “counteract” his smoking habit.

I miss that Rich read the Bible not to understand God but to encounter Him.

I miss Rich singing the “Star Spangled Banner” acapella to open a show but being outraged at U.S. foreign policy.

I miss Rich’s contrite heart and his assertions to, like Martin Luther, “sin boldly.”

I miss our extended chats about the rebel Jesus and our arguments over theology.

I miss Rich’s focus on the needs of others and his recurring challenges with absentmindedness.

I miss Rich’s wrestling with fame and his willingness to confess openly his darkest problems.

I miss Rich’s love for the Church and his aversion towards westernized churchianity.

I miss Rich’s servant heart and his uncompromising stance with record label suits.

I miss Rich quoting lengthy passages of scripture and swearing like a longshoreman.

I miss Rich’s longing for purity and his struggles with celibacy.

I miss Rich’s attraction to “high church” and performing his concerts bare foot and in tattered clothes.

I miss Rich’s love for Amy Grant and his disdain for the majority of her fans.

I miss Rich’s zeal for what moved him (like seeing Dances with Wolves twenty-seven times while it was in theaters) and his equal frustration with pop culture trends (like obsessive dieting).

I miss Rich’s desire for meaningful friendships and his frustrations with loneliness.

I miss Rich’s clarity that realized taking pride in poverty was equally as wicked as taking pride in wealth.

I miss Rich’s blunt rebukes and gentle grace.

I miss Rich’s intense self-judgment and his recognition of Christ’s deep fondness for him.

Yep…Rich was a complicated character, and a friend. When I read Rich Mullins: An Arrow Pointing To Heaven by James Bryan Smith I guess my emotions about Rich’s untimely death in 1997 were still a bit raw. But many memories started flowing…

Like when I met Rich the first time at Blanton and Harrell Management while I was a consultant on Amy Grant’s Straight Ahead Tour.  Mike and Dan had recently signed Rich to their new Reunion Records label.  He was just as scruffy as you would expect wandering the hallways, and had some definite opinions about the $15,000 Turkish carpets on the floors.

Or the time a few years later when I was helping manage the artist department at Compassion, and had worked hard with Rich on a printed piece to go into his second album, Pictures in the Sky.  He was excited to use his platform to help needy children in the developing world.  Unfortunately, I had just come from the parent record company, and the president of the label had decided not to allow the flier to be inserted after all. We were sitting in the old Shoney’s restaurant on Demonbreum here in Nashville when I gave him the news.  In an instant, his eyes flashed, he pounded his fist so loudly on the table that it lifted all the silverware and tipped a glass of ice water. “That bastard!” he screamed.  The bustling joint grew eerily quiet as Rich fumed further while I tried to calm him down. With our mutual passion for the insert, we eventually got those in charge to change their minds, and hundreds of precious little ones ended up with better lives as a result.

Then there was the time I was on the road for Compassion with the modern rock band The Choir.  One show was in Wichita at a second floor night club.  A terrible load-in for the band and crew.  Rich had become a fan of their music, and showed up early to assist with all the equipment and stayed late do the same.  The Choir and their crew had no idea Rich was with them, and since he was just wearing a dirty baseball cap with his hair pulled back, they never recognized him.  Later, on the bus as we were headed to the next town I asked if they had enjoyed meeting Rich at all. “He was there?!” they exclaimed. They were pissed that they never got to actually meet him, even though he’d been helping all night. Rich never went out of his way to introduce himself, even though it was his home town, and he helped fund the club where they were playing.   He was just thrilled that they came to play and were making an impact on some kids he knew.

Another time I wanted to introduce Rich to some of my cohorts at Compassion.  I had warned my boss and the others that Rich could be a tad unpredictable, and that he was never shy about expressing whatever thought process his mind was churning.  “Be prepared….and take whatever he may spout-on about with a huge grain of salt,” I cautioned with a wink and a smile.

We drove up to Boulder, Colorado to see him open for Amy Grant on the Unguarded Tour. Rich was not in a particularly good mood after his sound check in the cavernous Univ. of Colorado Fieldhouse was completed.  Once he got permission from the road manager to go off site with us to eat, he was grousing in the van about the idiocy of Amy’s fandom that were waiting like cattle in long lines outside the hall.  Rich claimed that he would enjoy going up to those pre-teen wanna-be’s who were all wearing their leopard skin jackets and black spandex tights and “slap some sense into each and every one of them.”  My fellow Compassionates laughed nervously.

We drove to several area restaurants, but they were all over-run with said fan base, and the waits were over thirty minutes to be seated, so we kept moving.  This did not assist in changing Rich’s demeanor whatsoever.  Since we had limited time before Rich had to return backstage, we had to settle for a McDonald’s that was, once again, full of Amy-ites.  My chums were doing their best to make small talk with Rich, but he was sullen and somewhat withdrawn.  My boss, Dave, looked at me as if to say, “What is this guy’s deal?” 

As Rich was munching on his fillet-o-fish and slurping some orange drink, he suddenly plopped the cup on the table top and declared with intentionality that would make Idi Amin flinch, “Ya know, I could pull out a sub machine gun and mow down every single person in this restaurant, and not feel one moment of remorse.” 

Trying to lighten the mood I interjected, “Aw Rich, you’re so full of it sometimes…just relax and let the kids have their naïve fun.”  

He then took another bite and mumbled, “I am so very, very serious. Get me a gun and I’ll prove it.”  More uncomfortable acknowledgement and tittering ensued from our group.  Thankfully, his mood began to lighten, and he apologized for being such a jerk just as we dropped him off at the arena.  To this day, I’m amazed that my teammates at Compassion were willing to keep moving forward with Rich.  But it was a tremendous partnership that grew deep and more precious over the next eleven years.

The time that Phil Madeira and I put together the Mark Heard Memorial Tribute Concert at Belmont University also sticks out in my mind.  Rich had only recently come to be familiar with Mark’s artistry, and was moved by his sudden death the previous summer.  The concert was a rousing success as an artistic endeavor, the auditorium was packed, and we saw over $10,000 raised for Mark’s widow and daughter.  But we knew that another revenue stream that could not only help their financial straits, but also expand Heard’s heritage would be for artists to commit to covering Mark’s wonderful songs.  Rich was the first to pop up that night and promise to do just that.  His next album featured a powerful rendition of Mark’s “How To Grow Up Big and Strong,” and thousands more publishing dollars went to the foundation to assist the Heard family as a result.

I think my favorite story revolves around taking Rich on his very first overseas trek.  It was 1991, and I put together a Compassion Artist Vision Trip to Guatemala with Rich, Rick Elias, Geoff Moore, promoter Chuck Tilley, and my manager, Devlin Donaldson. None had ever really met each other before, and there was a great bond that formed during that week in Central America.  In fact, that is where the seeds of the Ragamuffin Band concept were sewn, with Rich and Rick became fast friends and collaborators from that introduction forward.

Whether we were trudging through Guatemala City’s massive dump, or clambering up Mayan pyramids at Iximche…whether we were sitting through an earthquake late one evening in our rattling little motel in Panajachel or skimming across the glass surface of the gorgeous Lake Atitlan… whether we were blowing bubbles with kindergartners in San Pedro La Laguna or Rich getting popped with a swinging stick from an overenthusiastic little piñata basher in Tecpan…whether we were watching naked kids splashing in a stream or he was leading a group of native teens in singing “Awesome God,”  Rich was radiant.  You could just see how this was impacting him from that point forward.

Before we had departed for the trip southward, Rich asked me if it would be OK to bring an instrument.  I assumed he meant an acoustic guitar, but he wanted to bring his large hammer dulcimer.  “Rich, that thing is worth a couple of grand and is pretty delicate,” I reasoned. “It may not survive the transport, and the kids at the projects are gonna want to bang on that thing relentlessly.”

“I won’t mind…I really want to bring it, and I certainly want the kids to try and play it,” he replied.  And sure enough, when we got there, once they saw the magic sounds Rich could bring out of it, they all wanted to try.  Most were none too dignified in their attempts to get notes out of it, but Rich was just beaming ear-to-ear with their efforts. I’ll never forget the images of kids crawling all over Rich trying to take turns pounding on one of his most prized possessions, and him being absolutely thrilled with joy. Before the end of the trip, a few strings were broken, and several chips were taken out of the fine wood finish.  But Rich simply didn’t care.  You could see his heart for wanting to teach children via music come to the fore during those moments…and that’s exactly what he committed himself to five years later when he moved to the Navaho reservation in New Mexico.

I like this summary of Rich from An Arrow Pointing Toward Heaven:

Growing into the person God created us to be, Rich thought, was the goal of the Christian life—not trying to sin less, but to be God’s more.  Mitch McVicker comments, “He would often say that the most holy thing he could do was to be completely human.  He was more interested in being genuine and real than being crisp and clean on the outside.  He said, ‘God created us human, and that means struggling, falling, admitting it, and being healed.’  A part of being holy means knowing that you are a struggling human and that you can be forgiven and healed by God.  He always focused on the hope on the other side of sin.”

Many of us are preparing to live rather than actually living.  Meditating on this may awaken us to the fact that we have one life to live, and the day—the moment—we are in will never be repeated.  In a sense, a well-lived life is the best way to cheat death.

“So go out and live real good,” Rich wrote late in his life, “and I promise you you’ll be beat up real bad.  But a little while after you’re dead, you’ll be rotted away anyway…it’s not gonna matter if you had a few scars.  It will matter if you didn’t live.”

Yeah, I still miss Rich Mullins and that thirst to drink in all God had to offer.  I still see Christ reflected in his sometimes awkward attempts to live fully.  With Jesus as my hope, may I humbly do likewise.