Poisoned Apple

The other night I went to a Nickel Creek show. The raw talent that was exhibited simply blew me away. Fiona Apple was a special guest singer for the evening and I was quite curious to see what she was all about. Her lyrics were honest and her voice was good even though severe trilling is not my personal taste. However, during the entire show Fiona was dancing and wiggling in the most odd fashion. Her second to last song seemed to scream truth as she declared, "When I get low I get high."

From the crowd it was easy to make fun of her lack of chreography. In fact, I was amused at the spectacle. However, after the show my attitude towards her completely shifted from one of mockery to absolute sorrow.

The Nickel Creek members signed autographs and I was one of the giddy fans who received a morsel of attention from the fiddle player, Sara Watkins. Fiona came out and offered her name upon any parchment that would suit the fancy. My heart was wrenched when I saw her up close. She was a frail little woman with a sagging face and a glaze over the eyes that probably once sparkled. I was cut deep by the pain that she was experiencing. Obsessed admirers screamed and yelled out superficial and fleeting I LOVE YOU's. As she signed my ticket, I became ashamed. My actions were no different than those of anyone else.

You see, what she needed to hear was that Jesus loves her and that the drugs and impersonal appreciation will not heal the true problem. She would manage to show a slight grin when a picture was taken and a thank you was muttered, yet the smile would fade as quickly as it had come and she fell immediately back into her lostness. I could sense that she hated the true state of her soul. Nevertheless, the praise came to her despite her pain so there was no reason for change. No fan cared deeply enough; they all wanted to gaze upon her celebrity. To see her heart would be to see someone in need and, of course, our most acclaimed heroes cannot be in need for they must fulfill our own.

But, there I was getting her autograph, taking her picture, and adding to her despair. I went home broken for the hearts of the lost. Fiona Apple was no longer an untouchable celebrity to me. I prayed for her as I would for a homeless man on the street. The truth is that she is no better than me and I, being saved, am no better than her for we both need Christ and we will both bow before Him one day. The question changes from whether or not I am worthy to pray for someone so popular to whether or not this child of God will be seen as worthy before the throne. The subject of my prayers do not constitute their validity but rather the sincerity of my heart as I lift up my requests to God.

I sincerely desire to see Fiona Apple come to the Lord and experience healing. Even broader than her, my heart is continually broken for the lostness of this world. My prayers will not fall upon deaf ears. To think that someone else will most likely pray for the sick is to gloss over the impact of a young college student from a small town. God doesn't promise to use a certain age, only a certain heart. From Fiona to the prostitute on the corner, my prayers must equally go out. No one is entitled to their sinful life, not even someone who is praised for it. We all need to be washed in Christ's blood.

After all, it's just a piece of fruit. We surely will not suffer from of a little nibble...