The day started like any other: tired feet hitting the cold hardwood floor, jarring me awake somewhat quicker than I’d like. Stumbling down the hallway, I listened to the sweet, beckoning sound of liquid, any liquid, coming from my refrigerator. Milk, water, it didn’t matter. As the sun poured into the kitchen, its beams fell upon the same thing it does every morning: a large poster of David Phelps.
Yes, Christmas is upon us, and today is the day he finally comes to Ashland, Kentucky. Looking toward my watch, I wanted to see how many hours I had until I would have the honor of being on the same stage as the Emcee for the evening. Unfortunately, my watch still lay, tick, tick, ticking on my bedside table.
No matter, I thought to myself. Might as well start getting ready for the big night. Whenever David Phelps is within "a country mile" of Ashland, things get a bit hectic around the Keeton household. I began praying that the concert would touch hearts and encourage those who needed it most. I prayed that the Lord would keep at bay the chronic stomach problems that seem to plague me whenever I expect it least (which were held off until the end of the show, which I praise the Lord for!). I prayed for the safety of all those who would travel to our fair city to hear the music of such talented and blessed artists.
And then, I prayed for my son. David (yes, we named him after Mr. Phelps) is a three-year-old bundle of love, energy, and outright terror when it comes to those moments when you absolutely do NOT want a crazed toddler running amok. Please Lord, I prayed, just keep him calm for those few hours.
With everything taken care of in the prayer area, I went about my day, getting things done that needed attention, and mentally preparing for the spotlight now just hours away (I’ll talk more about the spotlight a bit later).
My grandmother had wanted to attend the concert, but didn’t know until Sunday evening that she already had a ticket and would get to go after all. When I handed her the ticket after church on Sunday, she said, "I’m so excited I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight." I don’t know how her slumber was, but a couple of hours before time to leave, she began getting ready, repeatedly asking, "Now what time are we leaving?"
Suit pressed, tie straight, every hair in place, child calm and jacketed, the family finally began the arduous journey to the Paramount Arts Center, a full four minute drive. After parking the car, we made our way to the main doors, the lobby of the Paramount already packed to the bursting point with anxious fans awaiting the festivities to begin.
Being the Emcee has its advantages, so we made our way through another entrance and on into the beautiful and historic theater. Having lived in Ashland my entire life (thus far, anyway), I have attended events at the Paramount numerous times, sitting in every section there is. Tonight, however would be different. We were privileged to be seated in front of the front row, at the "Sponsors Tables," mere inches from the stage.
With final preparations made, scripts in hand, I made my way backstage to await the big moment, nervous only about embarrassing my family and church congregation who were in attendance, although that would be just an added bonus. Standing in the wings of the stage, the artists began making their way out of their dressing rooms and readying themselves for the concert to start. I had very pleasant conversations with the members of the group Anthem Avenue as well as Daren Streblow. They, and David, were getting their microphones and packs all ready, making sure the batteries were fresh, their voices warmed up. Then, the moment arrived. It was time to start the show.
I walked out on stage, removed the microphone from the stand, moved to face the near-sold-out theater, and the spotlight turned on. "Good evening!" I said, welcoming everyone to the concert. However, my retinas were melted by the brightness of the follow-spot. I’ve been on stage many times for my own music performances, for theater projects, and various other reasons, but never have I received a tan from the spotlight.
I now know why deer have that look when headlights hit them. They have no ability to squint. I was doing plenty of that, but much to my dismay, it didn’t matter. Holding my script down, the light was too bright to see anything, including my prime seat just a few feet away. Holding the script up just a bit, and the paper became translucent, the words just appearing as dark smudges on a glowing page. I’ve never seen firsthand the effects of radioactivity, but I’d almost guarantee that a Geiger counter would have picked up something from the pages in my hand.
At this moment, I wished I had read the scripts a little closer, because now I had to wing it. Fortunately, I think I faked my way through it well enough not to be noticed too much. After leading the crowd in prayer, I welcomed Anthem Avenue to the stage, my work for the evening complete. Walking around behind all the stage accouterments I made my way back to my seat, picking up my camera to get some photos of the concert. (Anthem Avenue, I might add, is a terrific group, and I encourage everyone to pick up their new album the day it enters the stores.)
Then after a little while, David Phelps comes on stage, and as they say, "The crowd goes wild." Applause and cheers fill the air, mingled with the voice everyone came to hear. There was an almost electric atmosphere, perhaps caused by the spotlight, but nevertheless, it was great. Being so close to the stage afforded me the opportunity to get some terrific shots of the concert. During one of the "talking breaks," however, I noticed in the viewfinder of my digital camera a somewhat stern look from Mr. Phelps, accompanied by an ominous, eerie silence. Out of reflex, I slammed my camera down, unaware of the transgression which warranted what my wife referred to as the "evil eye." After the concert, I realized that my digital camera looks menacingly like a video camera, and I myself had just a few minutes before told the audience to refrain from using video or flash photography. So, I’m guessing that was what was going on.
With no video taken, and with the flash effectively disabled, the concert continued, as did my photo-taking and musical enjoyment. As usual, David Phelps performed magnificently, singing some of our favorites, unleashing some new songs, and having a great time. There were moments of great appreciation and emotion which brought about several standing ovations and great roars of applause and praise to the Lord.
As the lights came up for halftime (intermission for those of you who require a bit more class), several members of the Message Board members from davidphelps.com came up to the front of the stage and we had a great time together. Being able to put faces and voices to the names so familiar to many of us was one of the best events of the evening. Many kind words were spoken, hugs exchanged, and photos taken to remember the event. It was both a pleasure and an honor to meet these wonderful people, and feel as though I was among friends I’d known for years. My prayer is for continued blessings for each of you I met, and that we continue to be friends, even if it is only through the world of cyberspace.
During the second half of the concert, David asked all the children in the audience to join him and his own children on stage (David’s children themselves performed to the delight of the audience), for a performance of "Santa Claus, Get Well Soon," a great and hysterical song for those who have never heard it. My three-year-old, previously described, had actually fallen asleep during the first part of the show. As he joined his friend (Olegoat’s son, for those of you on the Phelps message boards) and climbed the steps to the stage, I turned to my wife and said, "He’s going to run. I just know it." Having burst forth with what I call "Toddler ‘Tude," the attitude that any parent is powerless to stop when a tired child gets that exhaustion-induced, sugar-like high, I figured it would be my son who made a scene. (The previous year at my sister-in-law’s high school, during a serious speech by a local celebrity, the speaker said, "What can I do for you," and my son yelled, "NOTHING!" causing the crowd to loose it and thus becoming a legend at a high school in a different state. That’s my boy.)
At the conclusion of the song, the kids returned to their parents, relieved no doubt that no scene was caused. The audience sang along as the concert continued, they listened to more of the comedy of Daren Streblow and the music of Anthem Avenue, David Phelps, et al. At the end of a remarkable evening, after giving his best once again after an already grueling tour schedule, the audience stood and cheered until he returned to the stage to do an encore of "End of the Beginning," which again got the audience going. My son was entertaining some of the performers on the stage with his own exuberant cheering during the song. Then, the evening was over . . . except for the crowd in the lobby.
As usual, the throngs of people waiting to purchase merchandise and get a quick picture with David were as thick as a preacher’s convention at a fried chicken buffet line. And as always, David was gracious enough to sign autographs and speak to the fans, no matter how tired he must be after days on the road and a performance where it is apparent he gave it everything he had. With his wife Lori at his side, making sure everyone was taken care of, the evening came to a close much as it had began, with the thrill of knowing that this concert experience was about more than great music and talent, but about experiencing the Lord’s presence in a powerful and personal way. David has been truly blessed, and he has chosen to use that gift to praise the One who gave it, and if nothing else is apparent, the Lord’s hand can clearly be seen.
Talking with the members of Anthem Avenue one more time before we exited the building, we finally made our way outside, Winchester Avenue (no relation) now in front of us. We walked to the parking lot, got everyone strapped in to their proper seats, and then it was back home again. Months of anticipation, waiting for this magical night, and for me looking forward to sharing the same stage with a man I admire as much as David Phelps (if only for a brief moment), were now at an end, replaced now with two things: the euphoria of being part of all the events of the evening, and looking to the future, asking the question, "When will David Phelps once again bless us here in Ashland?" It may be a while before he comes back, but he is always welcome.
Thank you Anthem Avenue, Daren, David, and all the folks who make sure these shows work the way they’re supposed to work. May God continue to use them all to bring glory to Him, and to touch those who need it most with their talents, their love for their fans, and their love for the Lord. If you ever get the chance, even once, I encourage you to see David Phelps live in concert (and that goes for seeing Anthem Avenue and Daren Streblow, too!). You will be glad you did.
Check out some of the photos taken during the show. I hope you enjoy them. Just visit this link:
http://picasaweb.google.com/pastor.chris.keeton/DavidPhelpsAshlandChristmas2006
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