Kentucky Traveler (47 page)

“My mother never told me a word about that!” She had died with that in her heart.

I pictured Mama on the phone, hoping to surprise me. She was ready do whatever it would take just to get me the mandolin that was now in my lap forty years later. The precious heirloom hanging around my neck every time I go on stage. Here was something about my mama I didn't know, and what a wonderful revelation it was. Getting Pee Wee's mandolin wasn't an answer to
my
prayer; it was an answer to my mother's prayer. Well, I lost it right there in Hazel's living room and just started crying like a three-year-old.

I
t's taken me a lot of years to find my true purpose as a “musicianary,” a term I first heard from a great friend of mine, Ray Hughes, who taught me the true meaning of that word. Those Free Will Baptist preachers up in eastern Kentucky who prophesized over me, they sure were right when they said, “Son, God is gonna use you someday for His purposes.” It just took a while for me to realize just how He'd do it.

My heart beats for the marketplace and the lost souls who are out there in the world. I want to bring joy to people with the music I play, but I also want to bring life-changing truth in some of the songs I sing.

And I can take the gospel to the marketplace, and I can be a musician in the world without being of the world. I want to bring such a truth through the music that it can bring conviction, so that the songs can help people to know God. That was the main reason I recorded my album
Mosaic
. Not exactly bluegrass and not exactly country, just some worship music from the heart and lyrics that are full of truth.

'Course, no matter what side roads my musical journey takes, I'll always be playing bluegrass. I feel even more of a mission now than I did when I returned to the fold fifteen years ago. With the passing of Earl Scruggs last year, the old fathers of bluegrass from that “Fab Five” have all gone home.

I feel like I need to be as good a father to the new generation as the elders were to me. Every man was born to be a father, either natural or spiritual. Sometimes, though, I think I've got some pretty tough acts to follow between my dad, Mr. Monroe, and the others who came before me. I think to myself,
I'm just a plain ol' country boy
. But then I realize that's what all the old bluegrass elders were, too, and that was all they needed to start a revolution.

Recently, when I celebrated my thirtieth year on the Opry, I thought about all those fathers and mothers again. But now I was the elder statesman, with the gray hair and the senior moments. (But I'm not as forgetful as Grandpa Jones just yet!) With age comes certain privileges, I'm happy to say, so I got to choose my own special guests for the show. I felt like,
It's my party and I'll pick if I want to!

It was truly an unforgettable experience, with family and friends joining me for a night of celebration. Little Jimmy Dickens came out and represented the old-guard elders of the Opry. Jimmy is past ninety now, but still as ornery and salty as ever. He told a few jokes (often not G-rated), and then he turned the show over to me.

I couldn't help but take a deep breath and just let the moment sink in: a lifetime full of music, and now to be able to stand here and reminisce, so full of gratitude and joy I was ready to bust! I was so thankful. I felt the presence of the people who had helped me along the journey that brought me to the Opry when I was twenty-seven, and I thought how I'd love to tell them, one more time, thanks for their faith in me, and for keeping me on the right path so I could soldier on and do Mr. Acuff and Miss Minnie and Mr. Monroe proud by staying loyal to the Opry all these years.

I knew that out in the audience there were folks just like Hobert and Dorothy Skaggs with the same hopes and desires for their kids to be on the Opry that Mom and Dad had all those years ago. It was pretty overwhelming to think that fifty-two years ago, when the Opry was still held in the Ryman Auditorium, I had sat in the audience in those hallowed wooden pews and dreamed that one day I'd be on that stage—and now I was here. It was almost more than I could handle, and luckily I had my guests to help me get through it by singing and playing.

First I had the Whites come on stage and win the crowd over with their special brand of country and gospel music, while I sat in with them, just like we did when we first started working shows together back in the late '70s. “Here's a family group from Texas,” I told the audience. “You can always tell a Texan—you just can't tell 'em very much.” And Mr. Buck said, “Ricky, you don't have to. We already know it!” It's so great to be a part of the Opry with my family, the Whites. I kinda know a little bit how Johnny Cash must have felt marrying into the Carter Family—like country music royalty.

Then I welcomed an up-and-coming group, Edens Edge. This young trio from Arkansas represents the modern sound of country music, and I joined them for a couple of songs, including their huge single “Amen.” Then it was time for me and Kentucky Thunder to take a trip down memory lane with three of my country hits from the early '80s. With “Honey (Open That Door),” we had the audience singing along, and that was only the first hour!

Next I introduced Dailey & Vincent, and we sang the Stanley Brothers classic “A Lonesome Night.” I've known Darrin Vincent since he was a kid in his family band, the Sally Mountain Show, back when he stood up on a chair and played the bass with his mom and dad and his sister Rhonda. Darrin spent ten years in my band, and since he started his own group with James Dailey, they've carried on that spirit of evangelization to take bluegrass and the Gospel out to the people. They kinda symbolized the seed I planted and the fruit of that seed, and they've done very well for themselves and for bluegrass music.

Then my buddy Josh Turner, one of country's brightest young talents, came out and did a few songs, and I joined him in a duet on “Me and God,” the hit single he sang with Ralph Stanley a few years ago. Josh and his wife, Jennifer, used to be in our home Bible-study group.

Next was my good friend Alison Krauss. She didn't bring her band Union Station; she just wanted to sing harmony with me and Kentucky Thunder. She told me she didn't want to do any songs that featured her. She said, “I'm here to celebrate with you tonight.” That's the way Alison is. She likes to stay in the background when it's about somebody else.

Well, I knew the fans would want to hear a few that spotlighted her voice, so I insisted that she pick something to sing lead on. After all, I told her, it was my night! So after some friendly arm-twisting, she agreed to do “Down in the Valley to Pray” if I would sing it with her. The audience loved it.

I'm so glad Alison came to help celebrate. It means so much to me to see how she's grown as an artist, and how the country and bluegrass fans love her. She has fans from all over the world. Pretty much anybody who loves good music loves her. Whatever stage she's on, all eyes and ears are on her, or whoever she's singing with.

The final guests of the evening were new friends: the modern-day hymn writers Keith and Kristyn Getty, a married couple who compose and perform gospel music for the twenty-first century. I just recently recorded a song with the Gettys called “Simple Living.” They represent my old, old family roots from ancient days. They hail from Belfast, Northern Ireland, where the Skaggs forefathers had lived before immigrating to America.

For the finale, I had everybody come out and sing a song together, the way they used to do at bluegrass festivals back when Bill Monroe or Carlton Haney would round up as many musicians as they could fit on the stage to serenade the crowd with one last hymn before everybody had to go home. It was a song the Gettys had written called “In Christ Alone.” It was an anthem for me on that night, for a special reason.

Before we started, I took a moment to try to sum up what I had learned on my journey from Brushy Creek to the Grand Ole Opry. I told the audience that when I'd come to the Opry thirty years before, I was full of myself, puffed up with the pride of youth, and all that. It was all about me and my career, my talent, my show, me, me, me!

I got very emotional, and I don't remember all that I said that night. But I do remember talking about how God had changed my heart those thirty years, and how my life is now so about Christ. And Him alone. There's nothing I can add to His sacrifice. Salvation is a one-time experience, but sanctification is a lifelong journey. I can add nothing to His finished work on the Cross. All I can do is accept it by faith and believe it in my heart (Romans 10:9). That's what the Father expects us to do.

The hymn the Gettys had written expressed what I was trying to say better than I ever could. That's the beauty of music. We projected the lyrics to “In Christ Alone” on the big screens, and I had everybody in the house singing with me. We had church for a little while at the Grand Ole Opry. What a way to celebrate thirty years of God's Grace! The ending of thirty years, and the beginning of thirty more! Why not? We got a lot of young kids to inspire and pour our lives into.

You know, none of the other awards and honors mean quite as much to me as my membership in the Opry does. It may well be the greatest achievement in my career, and the thing is, I didn't achieve it! It was bestowed on me, as a gift. When you've been given a gift, like the mandolin my dad gave me, or the musical ability God gave me, or the privilege to be an Opry member, you appreciate how precious it is, because it's a gift, and you can't bargain for that, as much as you might like to. It's God's grace and a blessing that I never take for granted.

I couldn't have asked for a better celebration. That night I was surrounded by my family, my friends, and that great cloud of witnesses written about in Hebrews 12:1. When I came off the stage, I remember apologizing to Pete Fisher, the Opry's general manager, telling him I was sorry for taking so much time talking about the past thirty years and how much it had meant to me. “Ricky,” he said, “that's why we love you here at the Opry. You're real, and you say what's in your heart. You don't ever have to apologize for that.” That night I was also thinking of the great young Opry performers who are coming up. Brad Paisley, Keith Urban, Carrie Underwood, and others in country music. They are the future, and they look up to me. Am I living up to the promise of pouring into the newcomers, and giving them the welcome that Minnie and Grandpa gave me? I hope so. And in bluegrass, too, there's a whole new crop with talent to burn. The Punch Brothers, Sarah Jarosz, Sierra Hull, and so many others.

I try my best, and I try to always remember the warmth and good humor Miss Minnie and the rest showed to me. I remember when Keith Urban became an Opry member. I couldn't make it to his induction, 'cause I was on the road. I knew how much joining the Grand Ole Opry family meant to Keith. So I sent him an e-mail to tell him how proud I was of him, and then I offered some advice: “Just a word of warning: Don't ever park in Jean Shepard's parking space. I've felt the force of that wrath, and it's not worth taking that chance.”

I have as much a debt to these new generations as I do to the departed. It's a blessing to have the chance to mark a special event in your life, as I had the honor of doing on my anniversary night, but it's the future that I'm most excited about.

I want to go out and play music where the people are, out in the real world. I love playing, and I think God made me to take my gifts as a musician and bring people some joy. This ol' world could sure use a lot more of that.

No matter what, I'm going to keep looking ahead and try to keep the music new and fresh and growing. Every spring on the ridge in the hills of Kentucky back home, you can see the greening of the mountains. It's that same feeling of rebirth and rejuvenation.

My grandpa told me one time, “Son, if you look back over your shoulder, you'll plow a crooked row!” Now that's the gospel truth! Always look up, not down. Keep your eyes on the Lord. His eyes are always on us (Psalms 33:18). I have so much more to do—more places to see, more music to play—and a lot of young people to inspire and pour my life into!

M
y great uncle Homer Skaggs playing the fiddle (right), and my uncle Okel Skaggs (left) playing the mandolin just a few months before he left for the war in 1941.