A Journal Entry from January 2009

Here is the bulk of the text from a journal entry I made on January 21, 2009, just over a year ago. In the hopes that it might help someone (or at least help someone understand me), I'm copying most of it here.

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I blogged the other day about R.J. Neuhaus, and how he told others the “secret” of his ability to read and write so voluminously was the fact that he started each day, without fail, with prayer. I must admit that I'm motivated by that story. I think I should be motivated to more prayer primarily by a desire to know God better. And as I think it through, knowledge that such a practice would lead to a greater closeness to God is definitely a positive, desirable thing. But the facet that is likely to make me make it a cornerstone of my schedule is the idea that, having prayed, having opened myself more fully to the presence and guidance of Almighty God, I will be more truly guided and more fully enabled to do what God has gifted me for. That is exciting. I would love to do more of the things that God has made me to do, to be more fulfilled in the events that fill my day.

Yet again this morning (or maybe it was last night) I felt the pull of the questions about my calling when I read an article about Rich Mullins (though by Reed Arvin) from the book “home.” In it, Arvin characterized Mullins as a prophetic voice, especially when Rich would rail against big oil companies, televangelists, or politicians in general. The sidebar focus quote is “If Rich Mullins were better adjusted and better behaved, a lot of art would not exist in this world, and a lot of truth would still be unspoken.” He goes on to say that “prophets occupy the space between the risk and the payoff and that's where Rich Mullins lives.”

He then asks, “To tell or not to tell? What would you do? Suppose you had this crazy gift, this prophetic vision that compelled you to be the one to point the finger, to tell the tales. Would you want it? Or would you shirk it, preferring to be liked by all rather than sincerely admired by a few?” He talks for several paragraphs about the decision-making process that went into choosing the songs on the Songs compilation album. After describing the painful love song “We Are Not As Strong As We Think We Are,” he says:

And so the tradition continues—what most of us shut up about, Rich speaks. It gets him in a lot of trouble, but it gets him a lot of adulation, too. And caught in that tension he keeps on, taking his place in a treasured line of artists who speak the unspeakable.

Somewhere in the reading of that article I somehow came to the thought (or perhaps the temptation came to me) that maybe one really can miss one's calling. Maybe God gave me multiple chances to go down the road He really wanted me to travel—and I missed it. Maybe Greg was right about me needing to leave the Milligan area, to “cut Mama's apronstrings” and move, by myself, to a big city. Maybe God was urging me then to move to Nashville. It's easy to think in hindsight that I could have pulled it off, with God's help, of course.

And what if, even though He kept urging me to move, kept nudging me to take that leap of faith, I stubbornly decided to stay here? But, since He loves me, He has helped me make the most of (from His perspective) a bad situation by making me stable enough to marry, and then leading me to Danielle, and down this road I've traveled to where I am today. But (this speculation wonders) what if this really wasn't His first choice for me? What if my songs were meant to be prophetic, meant to be widely disseminated, to enrich, to enthuse, to challenge, to edify the many? What if I've been a disappointment to Him?

There are some, of a certain temperament, who, upon reading this, the eleventy-something-teenth time I've wondered this sort of thing, that I've been burdened by questions about my identity and calling as a songwriter and what God really wants of me, would instinctively move into action. "No time like the present," they would say. "Let's get your music out there, let's make some phone calls, send some emails, build a fan base, get signed up with Taxi again, do those demos, post them on your site, give the songs every opportunity for exposure we can possibly come up with."

Here's the strange thing: just the simple act of creating that last sentence put my brain through processes it's never been through before. I don't think I've ever actually, seriously tried to apply the items of information I've learned about the music business to try and create, even in an embryonic form, a complete strategy for promoting my music. Why? Fear of success? That seems to maybe be the tip of the iceberg, in the sense that that broad, general concept hints at something very personal inside of me, something I've yet to really uncover. I don't want to try and be famous. I am rather certain I would fail. I don't want Reed Arvin to listen to my music, read my lyrics, and tell me the multitude of ways I'm most certainly not another Rich Mullins (I'm certain he hates even the thought of that kind of comparison/evaluation of any new-to-him artist).

I feel good as long as I can be the judge of my songs, as long as I can draw the line, the boundary on who will tell me what they think about them. I understand intellectually that we get better when experts, those with more extensive experience (both derived from experiri, Latin for “try”), tell us what's wrong with our work, so we can address those aspects and improve either our skills or the individual works or both. Nonetheless, I don't want that. I'm comfortable and warm in this bed. I don't want to get out, where it's cold. I don't want the pain of growth. I don't want the discomfort of knowing just how bad I've been, or how long I've been that bad while believing I've been better than that. I like having friends tell me, in essence, “you can stay in that warm, comfortable bed.” 

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I think another part of the problem is that I like the life I have. I know my limits, and stay within them. I know what I can do to gain praise, who I can go to for that praise. I probably know instinctively who would criticize me; so I avoid them.

Even as I write all this, I'm reminded of Fig's comments last week, when he said that this kind of questioning on my part tends very strongly to fail to remember the guidance and direction God has given me before. He said that I tend to forget my own integrity and history, allowing myself to believe that my life has been marked by meandering more than by purposeful, wise choices. Of course, I heard echoes of that even as I wrote above about “maybe I should have gone to the city.” It's been my belief for many years now that putting down roots in this small town has far more value, at least for me, than it would have for me to go to the Big City and try to Make It there.

So let's give Fig credit. Let's assume that I didn't just float or meander to this “place” in life, where I'm a father and husband, an enterprise-level IT guy, an active member at Hopwood, and a some-time songwriter.

• I'm very happy I decided to marry Danielle. I'm glad God guided me to her.

• I'm very happy with our decisions to adopt Miriam, Evan, and now Katie. I believe God has actively guided us on those journeys (and continues to do so) as well.

• I'm glad I've got my job, even though I wonder sometimes what my “ideal” job really is, and how it ever might be possible for me to get that “ideal” job.

• And, all things considered, I'm satisfied with our presence and involvement at Hopwood. We have contributed there, and they have given to us; I haven't heard any word from God that we should go anywhere else.

So that just leaves the songwriting. If all the other major elements of my life have roots, have a solid pedigree, then what am I supposed to do with the songwriting? That's been the main sticking point through many of these questioning times. The thinking says that what my songwriting is and has been is not what it should be. It says that my songwriting should be:

1. more central to my life. I should be spending more time, day by day, week by week, on it. It shouldn't be surprising for a person who has known me for any period of time to learn that I'm a songwriter.

2. earning me money. I should be developing my composing and songwriting skills towards the end that I can give up my “day job” and completely focus on writing songs and developing that career.

3. gaining me recognition. The songs really are good, says the logic, better than the majority of the stuff that's “out there.” That quality, that “goodness” should be acknowledged by the general public, not just hibernating in a three-ring binder in my house, or gathering virtual dust in some friend's iPod. The experts and publicizers of quality music and Christian thinking should know who I am, and should be mentioning me, my ideas, and my songs on a regular basis.

4. playing a bigger role in the life of Hopwood. I need to either figure out what the worship committee wants that I haven't given them so far, and give them that, or else just get more intentional, more explicit, about putting myself in the middle of worship planning and creating at Hopwood.

So, what is my songwriting? Is it “just” a hobby? The dictionary says a hobby is “an activity done regularly in one's leisure time for pleasure.” Well, that fits. But I don't just do it for pleasure, do I? Actually, perhaps it is most accurate to say that I write songs for my own pleasure. The problem arises upon the acknowledgement that the created item has a value beyond my own pleasure. I don't usually (if ever) think about a particular audience or target group that I want to listen to or learn from my songs. Nonetheless, my approach to songwriting virtually ensures that a number of people could benefit by listening to or contemplating the lyrics of my songs.

So, on the one hand my songwriting is a hobby. I should thus pursue it in my leisure time, for my own pleasure. I shouldn't feel pressured to do any particular thing with the products of my hobby, my leisure time. If the product or process pleases me, then its full purpose has been served.

On the other hand, in our society songs may serve a number of purposes. They may be recorded, and the recordings sold, earning money for their creator/performer(s). They may be used in conjunction with other entertainment (TV, movies, plays, etc.). They may be used in worship services. They may be used as propaganda or for other educational purposes. They may enter the repertoire of songs played by people in informal gatherings, like folk songs traditionally have. It is conceivable that some song(s) of mine might play any of these roles.

What I have thus far been unable to discern is whether I should be pursuing the distribution of my songs into any of these areas, for any of these purposes. Detailing these possibilities is of some benefit, but ultimately the core question (as, again, Fig pointed to) is “What does God want me to do (with the songs)?” Though this journal entry has not been a waste (I think I've gained partial, small insights that I hadn't come to before), I still haven't answered that crucial, core question.

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It is helpful, though, to say with certainty that, whatever else my songs may be used for, whatever else my songwriting may be, it is definitely a hobby. It does fill that definition. There is nothing inherent to my songwriting process, or the desires that drive that process, that automatically pull any kind of public distribution of the end product into the picture. I don't write with the hope of fame, or with the assumption that many will hear or sing these songs. The part of me that longs to write, that is satisfied when I do write, is not disappointed in any way when those songs do not go on to broader recognition or acclaim. I write because I like writing, or more precisely, I like having written something well to completion.

The desire or call for “something more” comes after the song is written. It's the analysis that looks at an “attic” full of finished songs and says “So, are you ever going to do something with these, or are they just going to sit around and collect dust up here? Let's get this place organized.” I.e., the songs need to get “functional,” or get lost.

...And God stays strangely silent.

Lord, I have tried to be Your faithful servant. I have tried to turn every aspect of my life over to Your care and guidance. I have rejoiced in the blessings You have given me, in church family, wife, children, friends, gifts, and of course these songs. My desire is to be a faithful steward of all of what You have given me. In other areas of life, what that stewardship means is fairly clear. But I don't have a clear sense of what I am to do now, or next, with the songs. I certainly don't know what You have in mind, long-term, with the songs.

I know that all I am supposed to look for is the next step (and I may not even get that). I know I can't expect to perceive or understand what the big picture is (though on occasion you give us that). Maybe I am more hungry than I should be for some kind of reassurance for what the long-term goal or vision is.

I want to know what my identity is as a songwriter. Am I good? Am I great? Am I as good as Rich Mullins? Is that a patently ridiculous question? Am I a rank amateur (emphasis on “rank”)? Do I have the potential to write as well as Rich Mullins, Mark Heard, or John Mellencamp? What have I done? How good is it? What am I capable of? What is the “measuring stick”? What is good? How will I know if what I have written is “good enough”? How can I accurately assess the quality of what I've already written? Who can I ask, who can I turn to, for the answers to these questions?

Generally I just write. I write what I feel like writing, and try to do it as best as I know how. Occasionally I will write a few lines down, set it aside and come back to it later. Far more often I will start work on a song, get completely engrossed in it, and complete it, all in one session. I rarely get so stumped on a line that I put something plainly mediocre down on paper and have to come back to it at a later time.

My point in describing that is that I do have an internal measure of quality that I hold each note, chord, and word up to, deciding moment-by-moment whether that phrase helps me describe what I'm trying to describe. So, presumably, the end product should be, to some significant extent, in keeping with the quality level of my inner filter.

Since there's no external authority that puts a score or the like on each work, and since I tend to forget details about my own work, I tend to gradually come to the belief that my stuff isn't/wasn't all that good. No one is paying me anything for it, no one is clamoring for me to write more, no one is doing anything that says, for all to see or for all time, “this is great stuff here.” So daily life crowds out any positive feeling or assessment I may have had myself for any given song in the past. So I find I'm often surprised, upon playing a song again, just how good it is. It isn't that my standards have lowered, or the quality has improved with time. What's happened is, I just forgot how good it was. So I play it again, and re-experience the quality the song had all along, but which I had let drift into the mists of my memory.

So what about the complimentary things others have said about my songs? I forget those, too, usually. I haven't forgotten Lisa's comments, mainly because (1) she hadn't heard my music out loud in ages—the songs she remembered were strong enough to stick in her mind over time; and (2) she compared me very favorably with Andrew Peterson and Michael Card, two artists I have a great amount of respect for.

I need to wrap up this journal entry (supper is almost ready). The question remains: What does God want me to do with my songs? Well, since He has often worked in my life by just putting something in front of me, what are the songwriting-related steps that are in some sense “sitting in front of me” right now?

1. Complete the infrastructure on brianwest.com to add and index songs, including multiple demos, MIDI, sheet music, lyrics, author(s), date written, and additional comments related to the song.

2. (not sure about this step) Enter all the existing songs as lyrics with old demo, dates, comments, and keywords.

3. Continue to enter songs into Lilypond format, so that those songs might be placed on the website (including at least lyrics, MIDI, and sheet music).

4. Use the MIDI files as a foundation for developing more professional-sounding demos in GarageBand. Once those demos are completed, add them to the website.

5. Once there is a “critical mass” (this needs to be defined at some point) of songs on the website, then start to make connections on the Taxi and other forums, toward the goal of finding a mentor and networking to promote my songs.

6. If all has gone well, I'm getting promising feedback from a variety of sources, and I can see listings on Taxi that my music would fit into, I can justify spending the money on a subscription to Taxi, in the hopes of actually earning some money from my songs.

Well, that seems to be a fair outline of the way forward. And supper is ready. So I'll stop there for now (6:45pm).

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That was a year or so ago. I will try to blog in the days ahead as to what has changed since then. In short, not much, but some.