What? You say. Grace, you are off on a tangent again. You crazy. While that is demonstrably true, these things are all related in my tired brain. (I got the idea--or rather, remembered this little event in my life--here)
I must have been in about seventh grade, and I loved Garth Brooks. Okay, I still do. I own all the CD's, and I can sing along to all of them. He came to Buffalo, and apparently, he always buys out the front row tickets, and then has members of his band walk around the concert hall beforehand and hand out the tickets to unsuspecting people (I suspect the formula for this is young, pretty, and likely to sing along). My sister got us tickets (mind you, this is a seventh grader and her sister who is seventeen years older) and we were desperately hoping this would happen to us.
I think I prayed my eyeballs out that night. I mentally begged, pleaded, prayed, made deals, promised, and finally fell asleep on the end of an Our Father.
The next night, my sister and I were roaming the arena halls, and lo and behold, a man walks up to us and starts chatting my sister up. And then he says, "I'm Jimmy from the band. Want front row tickets?"
Do I want front tickets? Why, yes, sir I do!
That was the best concert ever. I have Garth Brook's guitar pick and great memories of standing with my elbow on stage, singing "Two Pina Coladas" along with my sister. Amusingly, Garth Brooks has a song about unanswered prayers. Whenever I hear that song, I smile and think about my answer.
I prayed my little heart out that night saying thank you for The. Best. Night. Ever. Now, I look at that night and thank God for giving me such a wonderful memory with my sister.
And, of course, a Garth Brooks guitar pick.
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