Video Shoot In Louisville

Click on the picture to see more images from the "Clancy" premiere & "Precious Memories" video shoot (and then click on the right hand side of the photo to advance to the next one!)

Will Anyone Ever Pick Me?

It has become very important for me to identify what the Evil Voices In My Head are telling me. If I don’t, I just feel overwhelmed by fear and stupidity.

For instance, as a writer I hate walking into a bookstore. Part of me wants to find something interesting to connect with, some new writer that will affect my life like Anne Lamott or Eugene Peterson. All the covers plead for me to judge their contents by their prettiness. Truth is, sometimes you can judge a book by its cover. But instead of discovering beautiful new literary connections, I get bowled over by the silence. Like leafing through page after page of a dating service notebook filled with women last named A-G. So much muted potential, prettied-up with a fancy exterior. But mostly, it’s the overwhelming silence of all those unsold books that is so deafening to me. And I really want to be one more of the unsold authors stacked on those disorganized shelves? What could possibly be wrong with me?

All those words on all those pages. All those hours spent by someone somewhere, hoping their efforts would have some value. All those months waiting for a publisher to pick up their manuscript. All those hours wondering if that publisher will ever do anything to promote their dang book, or if it will just get lost in the shuffle of their better-selling, celebrity-driven, ghost-written titles.

It’s very similar to going into a record store and seeing all those unsold CDs just sitting there, patiently waiting for someone to give them a chance. So much unnoticed music. At the same time, there are so many artists that sell a ton of records. So many authors who sell a ton of books. And still, so many artists and authors who have personally affected me. I’m grateful they chose to throw their heart down the chute of creativity so that I could have my life changed by their expressions.

This, I believe, is truly what is compelling me to create—to write, to sing, to communicate. Because I still have a glimmer of hope that it’s possible to affect another person with what I create. People usually throw out the flippant cliché de significance: “Even if just one person was affected by what I created, it will have been worth it.” Bleck. I agree in theory. But if one person was affected, couldn’t there possibly be one million more people who could be affected as well. Wouldn’t that be better for everyone? And by everyone, I mean my bank account.

There’s significant symbolism in desiring to have my voice heard. So much in society tells me I’m just like everyone else, that there really is nothing special about me. I can’t escape the feeling inside of me, though, telling me I am actually a very unique and special individual. Heck, that even you are a very unique and special individual! That indeed there is a very special story being written with my life, and that by telling that story, other people can be inspired and encouraged to live out their own story with more clarity and significance. That by my sharing how I’ve been awakened to the power I have to love and serve others, and the incredible consequences of living life that way, that just maybe you might want to join me on this journey as well. And that just maybe, the heavy load you have been asked to carry around will somehow get a little lighter. That somehow one or two layers of onion-skin-like filters will be peeled off of your eyes so you’ll be able to see more clearly the beauty of this life. For that reason, I keep creating. To say thank you to those who have gone before me and changed my life, and trusting that something beautiful happens when I shed my fear and (alleged) stupidity, and simply step up to the challenge of telling my beautiful story.

I learned a great lesson from my dog Kirby on the very first day I met her. I had just bought my first house and knew I needed to add a dog to the picture. So I visited the local animal shelter to take a look at the most needy, abandoned dogs.

They know. The dogs know when a potential master walks through the door to all their  pens. They can smell it, I believe. So they do what I would do if I was in that same predicament. The door creaks open, and they start barking at the top of their lungs. “Me! Me!! Over here!!! Way in the back!! Don’t forget me!! Pick me!! I’ll be awesome, I promise!” they yip and howl. I was just browsing, trying to hold my heart in check. I walked past one obnoxious dog after another. I didn’t want a housemate who would drive me crazy with her incessant noisemaking. Then I saw her. As soon as our eyes met, this most beautiful of yellow labs dropped her front legs straight in front of her, as if she was actually bowing toward me. She stretched for a brief second, and ended lying down flat, staring straight up at me with her huge brown eyes. Not a noise. Nothing but a gentle, noiseless plea to be chosen. Brilliant. The more the barking continued from all the other dogs, I knew I found the one for me.

There are many days I feel like I’m stuck in a cage, certain that if someone important would just pick me and my impressive creative projects, my life would be as it is intended to be. Full of joy and significance. The truth is that I truly am free. I am free to create and express my heart and explore this life, seeking ways to find understanding and truth through it all. I am free to live outside the cage of others’ expectations. And I am free to be a quiet participant on the bookshelf of life. There’s great value in my story and I trust it will find the exact audience that needs to read it, so there’s no need to worry about the days that pass when no one gives my cover a second glance.

But between you and me, it sure would be fun if someone would just pick me.

Nashville - A Gold Digger's Town

Nashville is such a city of promise. It reminds me a bit of the California Gold Rush of mid-1800. Some lucky random guy found gold in an old mill, and before long, 300,000 men, women, and children flocked to the Golden State from all over the country, and even as far away as Latin America, Europe, Australia and Asia. A handful of people recovered millions of dollars worth of gold, but most people went home none the richer. As you can imagine, the boom brought with it a considerable amount of economic good for California.

Unfortunately, the Gold Rush wasn’t without its negative affects, as Native Americans were attacked and pushed off their land, creating race and ethnic tensions. Not to mention environmental harm caused by prospectors literally overturning every stone, trying to get their piece of the pot.

When I first heard there was gold in them there hills of Nashville, it wasn’t long before I knew I needed to pack up my wagon and trek across the country from Minnesota to see what I might uncover.

Heck, I had as good of a chance as anybody, right? I remember thinking a well-intentioned, charismatic, halfway-decent singer like myself stood a pretty good shot at a record deal. I had bought records and seen concerts by artists who appeared to be a lot more mediocre than me. People say the record industry just puts out crap. I say, why can’t they just put out my crap?

I packed my wagon (a tiny Plymouth Horizon that used to belong to my Grandma Bob) to the gills with my CD collection and enough underwear to last a week. I was lovingly sent off by an extremely encouraging group of people who had probably never met a prospector. Sure, they’d seen them on TV or in the movies, but a real life dream-chasing gold-digger? Probably not one. I know I hadn’t. I had no role models.

It wasn’t long after I arrived in Nashville I learned that finding opportunities in the music biz is a bit like panning for gold. You can fill your pan up with all kinds of sand and rocks, sifting through it all with a fine-toothed comb, hoping that one little fleck of something shiny might emerge. After a long while of finding nothing of value, it’s easy to begin wondering if the problem is actually me and not simply that I’m looking for gold in an already scoured riverbed.

Did the empty-handed forty-niners who left California realize the randomness of finding the gold, or did they possibly think there was something inherently wrong with them? I’m not saying that's how I felt. But it was.

Without any prospects, I basically had to constantly sniff around, turning over all kinds of stones, looking for opportunities. Or friends. I found out early enough that you had to pick one or the other.

There was one guy I had met early on in my time here in Nashville who was a considerably successful songwriter and was part of a group that was doing pretty well on the charts. We hit it off as friends and started hanging out. I met his wife and kids—it was that level of hanging out.

One day as we were driving somewhere he told me, “Mark, I don’t think I can be friends with you. You don’t fit into the business side of my life, or the family side of my life.”

Sure, he was busy, and was probably just trying to create margin in his life. But I was floored. It wasn’t enough that we enjoyed each other’s company, and experienced a unique interpersonal connection. I just didn’t fit into his purpose-driven realm of relational possibilities. I’ve experienced rejection before, but never for such awkwardly verbalized, heart-blocked reasons.

Someone wise once told me, “Friendship in Nashville—don’t take it personally.”

I’ve held onto that gold nugget of wisdom for years.