I logged in for tickets one second after they went on sale for Bob Dylan’s April 6 concert in Green Bay. It was too late.
Weidner Center is the best auditorium within 100 miles, but it seats only a little more than 2,000, and Bob Dylan is Bob Dylan. With the film “A Complete Unknown” rekindling interest in the legendary singer-songwriter, we didn’t really stand a chance of getting in.
Disappointed as we were, I knew that Amy Grant was playing in Madison three nights later, so on a lark I checked to see if tickets were still available there. Sure enough, we were able to secure front-row seats in the balcony.
Talk about your “When God closes a door, he opens a window” scenario. I’ve been an Amy Grant fan for more than 40 years, probably ever since the first moment I heard that J.S. Bach fugue morph into the power guitars of “Sing Your Praise to the Lord” in 1982.
Then Mary found the first song Grant had released in 10 years after a series of personal setbacks, a lovely song called “Trees We’ll Never See,” with images of a gardener working in the dirt that immediately called back the memory of my beloved Red, and we both were in tears listening.
We now are looking forward to seeing Amy Grant more intently than we were looking forward to Dylan. Isn’t it amazing how He works.
