This is a hard post to write, because anyone who knows me well, or has been in my house any length of time, knows the trio "Selah" is often heard playing. I have been a fan of theirs for nearly 20 years now, back when it was Todd Smith, his sister Nicole, and Alan Hall and now with Amy Perry. Their music was so uplifting, voices so powerful, and the message so strong. It helped get me through a lot of tough spots. I'd even performed some of their songs at a few conferences.
I rarely got to see them in concert when I lived in Virginia. They never were any less than a 2 hours drive from me, so I only got to see them two times. But, I supported them by buying every CD at pre-release, playing them often on Spotify, and sharing the music with others. One of my biggest excitements about moving to Central Tennessee was that I'd be within 90 minutes of several dozen popular concert locations and so many big churches my favorite artists would perform at.
In the midst of my cancer battle, as I was wrapping up the Red Devil and Cyotaxin combo and taking a two-week break before starting Taxol, Selah was going to be having a Christmas concert just an hour away. It would be my FIRST concert in Tennessee. I was thrilled!
I knew, with my disabilities and cancer battle, pre-planning had to happen to make the night a success, and I jumped right into it. Churches tend to have these mini rows in the back for the disabled. As if tucking us back there is safer, and keeping us out of sight is easier on all. But it's so hard to see from there unless the sanctuary is built on an angle, and so many of us have vision issues or it's hard to hear and focus with the entire crowd in front of us. I was trying to avoid that.
Immediately, things went south. Within 48 hours of sales opening, all of the premium tickets were gone. Those were the first few rows of the church. I later learned they weren't even offered to the general public. The church bought them out immediately. So, I bought the regular ones for myself and those coming with me and made note of when the church said doors were opening for general seating. We planned to arrive 30 min before that, though hoped it would not be needed. My next step was to message Selah's contact on their website, the hosting church, and the sponsoring radio station. I told them of my disabilities and the issues many face in smaller venues like churches and asked what could be done so I wasn't stuck in the back rows. I also shared my love of the trio, cancer battle, and the hope that maybe something could be arranged so I could meet them.
Silence. From all three. As the day approached, I tried again and even messaged their Facebook page. Silence. From everyone. It was crushing.
The day of, I was anxious. Would I even be able to find a seat where I could see them? The chemo was making a mess of my vision, and I was using my forearm crutches to get around. We arrived super early... only to find the church had opened the doors to their regulars even before the announced time. Then, in the windows, I could see people meeting and talking to Selah - all smiles and laughter. My emotions dropped as we entered the 2/3rds full sanctuary and tried to find enough seats so we could be together and I could at least be on the end to lean over and see maybe part of the stage. Where we sat had an overhead fan blowing cold air, so we had to keep our coats and gloves on. I started to cry.
My mother, knowing I had taken all of these steps to make the concert experience safer and better for me and how much I love the trio, got up and went to start talking to whomever she could find. It took a few tries before one of the radio hosts told her she had to buy a CD and get in line after the concert in order to meet Selah. He told her that when a certain song came on, that was the end of the show and I should head out then to be one of the first. Being I already own all of their CD's she picked a duplicate and came back to tell me. I love her so much! It was at least something. I'd be able to briefly see them up close.
The concert itself was grand. While I could only see the piano and Alan and not much more between lights and people, the sound was great! I enjoyed the music, stories, and the video segments on the big screen. My hands were in the air for a few songs, and for a bit of time the trials subsided.
We made our way out at the start of the final song. I was first in line and spoke to the radio host while waiting. He was pretty friendly, though distracted. Finally, Todd, Amy, and Alan took their seats, but were immediately rushed by line skippers and VIPs. So, leaning on my crutches, I waited. When it was time, I got to say a few things to Alan before Todd reached for my hand and asked about the cancer and spoke very kindly to me. I tried to introduce Amy to my niece, who is adopted from foster care - knowing she is a foster mom, but she didn't seem to note it. Alan was super sweet to her, though! As we gathered to take a picture, I brought up how long I'd been listening to their music and how my last concert was when Amy had been with the trio for just three weeks. I had my years off, though, and the only words Amy said to me was to snap the correct years. It was too much. The group pictures have me tearing up in them. And by the time we got to the car, I was crying once more.
Almost a year later, this experience has lingered with me. I've not attempted to see anyone else in concert, though so many happen around here. And, when Selah announced a date in Nashville, I made a reply on their Facebook about how I'd like to see them, but the last experience had me still sad. Amy Perry popped on immediately with a defensive comment about how the concerts are usually fun. I replied that I'm sure they were, and I'd be open to discussing the lengths we went to to make sure it could be for me. Then, once more, I sent a message off to Rixon Enertainment Group. And there's silence.
What's worse? I was removed from their Facebook page. Christians are their own worst enemies... and a disabled person trying to make sure seeing her favorite Christian artist and being treated like that is just wrong. I'm gutted. It hurts to hear the songs that once uplifted me. It brings tears instead of joy. I've found myself removing many of their songs from my Spotify list, tucking their CDs away instead of playing them in my stereo.
And I don't know if anyone will do anything about it. For 18 years of support, one sentence, and an invitation to speak on disability access and service to those who support you, after trying so hard to get that accessibility at a show... and gone.
And so we Pause. As their name states Selah.
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