After worship services one Sunday night, I stepped outside and heard someone strumming his guitar and singing on the church patio. Man, he’s really good, I thought. It made me think about my own dreams of being a musician. I’d been writing songs since I was eleven years old. My goal was to write a song that would be recorded. But in thirty-five years, it never happened.
Truth be told, I wasn’t really sure how to make it happen. You can send your song to a place like Nashville, Tennessee, and hope someone likes it, but after years without a response, you tend to wonder if anybody has listened to it. It’s a little like playing Ping-Pong by yourself.
After the man’s performance, I walked up to him and struck up a conversation. I said that I had heard good things about the kind of guitar he was playing. He said that he wanted another, but didn’t know where to buy one. “I know a great guitar shop around here,” I told him.
The next day I took him to the shop. While we were looking at guitars, I asked him if he ever collaborated with other songwriters, and he suggested that we write a song together. Two days later we met, and made some headway on a nice song.
That’s when he dropped the bombshell. He told me that he was just about to sign with a record label. “This song we just wrote could very well be on my first album,” he said.
His album did come out and, yes, I was credited with co-writing a song. I now have a relationship with a publisher who listens to all my songs. People congratulate me and call it an accomplishment. But I know better. It’s a miracle.
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