Gabby's Excess

 GABBY’S EXCESS

 

 

“Is creative inspiration a spiritual experience, the manifestation of the positive mission of man? The poet may be a great sinner and fall very low, but at the moment of poetic inspiration and in the kindling of the creative spark he rises above himself and the level to which he has fallen.” 

Nicolai Berdyaev

 

Waking in a haze, Gabby immediately had two thoughts, “where am I?” and “my head is killing me.” Stumbling to her feet, she searched out the bathroom in hopes that someone would have had the foresight to leave a bottle of aspirin in it.

 

“Thank God,” she mumbled as she dry swallowed four pills in hopes of swift relief from the pounding in her head. “Now, where am I?” As the haze of delirium began to clear, she recognized that she was in a hotel suite. “But what hotel? What city?”

 

The night before, Gabby had stood center stage at the sold-out Hollywood Bowl. A stage where so many greats had performed over the decades, she sensed the presence of some of them: The Beatles, Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Elton John, Pavarotti, and so many more – but tonight the name on the marquee that shined over Highland Avenue outside the bowl was hers – “In Concert – Gabby Gonzales.” For two and a half hours, she sang and danced, telling the occasional funny or insightful story and entertaining the 17,500 people who had been fortunate enough to snatch up tickets. Accompanied by her own band and backing vocalists, along with a portion of the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra, she held the crowd mesmerized as she sang hit after hit.

 

Far above the Bowl, God smiled. “That’s my daughter,” He said proudly to the gathered angels, “Take care of her. I’m not done with her.”

 

The crowd screamed approval demanding yet another encore. This was a night Gabby would long remember.

 

Except for this horrible headache. “Oh, man, I drank too much,” she moaned in agony retching over the toilet bowl. “Last night I’m adored by thousands, this morning I’m puking my guts out in a toilet. How far I’ve fallen.”

 

Gabby found herself on her private jet by midday flying to a little island she’d recently purchased in the western Caribbean. “It was a good deal,” she teased her always worrisome financial manager. Feeling somewhat human again midflight, she looked forward to the serenity that she always found on her island.

 

The next morning, Gabby tossed on a bikini and took an early morning swim in the warm Caribbean waters. Reinvigorated, she made her way back to her mansion to enjoy a cup of fresh brewed coffee and a plate of fresh fruit. Finishing her meal, she poured herself a second cup, grabbed her notepad and entered her music room in search of her muse and to write new music. “I’ve so very much been looking forward to this,” she told her chief of staff as she was closing the door, “I am not to be disturbed for any reason.”

 

Sitting at her custom concert grand piano, she took a few deep breaths and a couple drinks of coffee and began the process of creativity. Within a few minutes, an idea for a love song emerged and she found the melody. Two hours later, with tears running down her face, she knew that something magical, something far larger than herself and something that would touch tens of millions deeply had been created. A song now existed that didn’t exist only moments ago.

 

And God smiled, “That’s my daughter. I’m so proud of her.”

 

Time after time, Gabby would tap into a mystical power of creativity that was utterly inexplicable. “It’s grace,” she’d explain, “that’s all I can say.”

 

And time after time, Gabby would also tap into the self-destructive patterns so often associated with the creative. Excessive spending, excessive gambling, excessive drugs and alcohol. And she’d spin out of control to the point that those people who were close enough to see it despaired for her very life.

 

But then, she step back into her music room or the recording studio, or the concert stage, and magic would happen. The media reported that her music continued to get better song after song and concert after concert. But they also began to report rumors of the underbelly of her life.

 

But God smiled. “That’s my daughter. I’m so proud of her.”

 

The inevitable storm for such a person as Gabby happened. The details aren’t important, but the consequences are. Coming to, she found herself strapped to a hospital bed. Crying out for help, the nurse on duty stepped into her private room. “Ms. Gonzales, I’m your nurse, the name is Rebecca. You are in the hospital and you nearly died. But you didn’t. And I’m going to see that you don’t, at least on my shift.”

 

Gabby’s eyes grew frightened as Rebecca filled her in on the gross details of her condition, and the extraordinary efforts made by the ER doctors to save her from dying. “Sister,” Rebecca said, “You are lucky to still be here.”

 

But God smiled, “She’s my girl. She’ll be alright.”

 

As Gabby began to come to terms with what had occurred, she realized what her problem was. “God,” she began. “I’m a mess.”

 

“I know,” He replied. “What do you want to do about it?”

 

“I want to live!”

 

“You will,” He assured. “You are my daughter, and I am proud of you. I am the one who gave you the gift of music, but you are taking the gift and twisting it. Give me the gift, and you will live, and you will make music like never before.”

 

She did, and she did.

 

“Two years ago, tonight,” Gabby said to the crowd, “I nearly died from my own excessiveness.”

 

God smiled, “That’s my girl!”

 

“But that’s because I didn’t know something. I didn’t know who I belonged to. God reached down and told me that he loved me and that I was his daughter. And I believed Him. So, dear friends, if it’s okay with you, I’ve got a lot more music in me and you are going to have Gabby Gonzalez around for many years to come.”

 

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“And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, 
will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day 
when Christ Jesus returns.” 
Philippians 1:6