I sat back on my living room couch that day last December, glad to have a chance to catch my breath.
I’d just gotten in from doing a run of concerts, and in two weeks I was headed to Iraq for my first USO tour—close to 30 shows in 11 days. I was excited about performing for our troops, but things had been crazy busy lately.
From out of nowhere words popped into my head: Baby, there’s more stars out here than I could count… I grabbed a pen and paper, the lyrics coming almost faster than I could write. But if I could I’d pull them down…and paint your face across the skies… An entire first verse and chorus to a song flowed across the page. I’ve been writing and performing country music since I was a teenager, but lines never really just come to me like that.
I reread what I’d jotted down. Okay, clearly this song was about my feeling lonely on the road, missing my girl back home. I started on the second verse, but now every word I thought of seemed off. I crossed out and rewrote and finally came up with a second verse. But it didn’t quite go with the first. Now I wasn’t sure what the song was about anymore. What had been the point of me even writing it?
The next two weeks went by in a blur of rehearsals, packing and briefings about Iraq. Somehow I found time to get into the studio and record my new song, even though I still wasn’t happy with that second verse. I left for Iraq in early January with my songwriting-singing buddy Jamey Johnson and country star Kellie Pickler. Kellie, I knew, was the one our troops really wanted to see. Jamey and I were the warm-up acts. But that was okay. I just wanted to be there to support our men and women in uniform.
When we stepped off the plane there was no doubt we weren’t in Nashville anymore. It was sweltering, even for a southern boy. Within minutes we were issued Kevlar jackets and helmets. “You’ll need to wear these anytime you’re outside,” said the soldier who greeted us. Our tour was taking us to isolated combat outposts far from the huge bases in Baghdad, places entertainers rarely ventured.
From the minute I walked onstage that afternoon the soldiers were on their feet, cheering, singing along at the top of their lungs. They never once sat down. I’ve done hundreds of concerts, in packed arenas. But this was like nothing I’d ever experienced. Their energy practically lifted me off the stage. Looking into the smiling faces of these soldiers—some of them only teenagers—I felt pure joy surge through me. It reminded me of when I was first starting out, just me and my guitar, the sheer wonder of playing in front of a few appreciative people.
Afterward, I signed autographs. “I’m a huge fan,” one soldier said. “Me and the wife went to see you in Alabama on one of our first dates. We got married right before I came over here. Wait till I write and tell her that I actually got to meet you.”
“Man,” I said, “you’re the hero here. I ain’t nothing but a guitar picker from Mississippi. You’re the one doing something that matters.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said. “It’s just so great to see someone from back home.” There were dozens of conversations like that. It blew my mind, these men and women risking their lives every day to defend our country, yet they were grateful for a simple concert.
The next day I was going over my set list again when, for some reason, I thought about my new song. I decided to throw it into the mix. Halfway through the set I said, “I want to play y’all something new…a song I’ve never sung in public before. It’s called ‘Here With Me.’”
A few words into the first verse, a hush fell over the crowd. You could have heard a pin drop when I got to the chorus: And you’d be there on a cold night in Georgia. And you’d be there when it’s raining in Tennessee….
Cheers rang out as I sang the name of each state, like amens punctuating a church revival. I could see some of the soldiers choking up. I hadn’t meant the song to be a downer.
I made my way through the second verse—it still seemed a bit clunky—and this time some of the soldiers joined in when I got to the chorus. I finished to thunderous applause.
At the autograph session afterward, the first soldier in line took a snapshot out of his wallet and held it out to me. “This is my girl,” he said. “That new song you sang…it meant so much to me. Those were the words I’ve always wanted to tell her.”
The next soldier had a picture of his wife. The one after that, her high school sweetheart. It dawned on me that the song wasn’t about me, that it was, in fact, a gift for these servicemen and women. I played it in every concert after that, always with the same incredible reaction.
On the long plane ride home I kept thinking about the soldiers I’d met. I was so caught up in my own busy life that I rarely stopped to really appreciate the sacrifice that our servicemen and women make for us. Until this USO tour, I hadn’t tried to see life from their perspective. Now that I understood who this new song was for, I knew what to do to fix it.
Back home I got out my notepad and reworked the second verse. It didn’t come as easily as that first verse, but it didn’t take long: Sometimes I hold your picture oh, so close to me…
I was almost done when I realized there was still something that needed to be sung. This time I knew just the words: But I know God can hear me way up there, sending up an old familiar prayer.
With the second verse in hand, I went back into the studio and rerecorded the song. It’s on my album coming out in September. You’ll see my name listed as the songwriter, but the real credit goes to the One who hears the prayers of our men and women in uniform and gave me the words to thank them.
Read more of our inspiring stories by your favorite country music stars!
Randy Houser joins other country music stars in the My Country: Smash Hits CD which benefits Fisher House—housing for the military, both active and retired, as well as the families of military personnel who are receiving treatment at a military medical center. Buy My Country: Smash Hits in our shop!
