So there I was minding my own business, just living my life, and the next thing I know – I’m old! I mean, “Why was I coming into this room, again?”, old. Like “Who’s that old guy in the mirror?” old. But really it’s no surprise – because that’s the way it works. I got my ticket punched, and I’ve taken the ride, and now most of that ride is over. Before I make those final few turns into the home stretch, where I’ll step off this ride to find out what that next ride might be like, I begin to ponder what I’m leaving behind and what my legacy might be.
Back in the vagabond poet days of my early 20s, I was kicking around writing songs and playing music venues – wherever they’d have me. The idea of thinking about leaving a legacy never occurred to me . . . that is until I met and married my wife of 40 years, Doreen. I continued to write songs and perform every chance I got – recording and producing music projects for other singer-songwriters and bands.
Meanwhile, my wife was busy giving birth to our 7 children over a 15-year period – invariably setting the stage for what my life would look like from then on. So needless to say, my little tribe experienced plenty of crazy wonderful terrifying days – but like leaves blowing in an autumn wind, most of those leaves have fallen. In some ways, those days are a blur to me now, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t left their mark on me – shaping me into who I’ve become.
But remembering the past doesn’t work the way we think it does – not even close. The past isn’t a vault full of our recorded memories, as if we could just simply pull them up and push play. Our memory of the past is far more compressed, filtered by the emotional state we infuse them with at each remembrance. And all of these compressed moments, whether of elated joy or soul-crushing despair, aren’t significant to us because of their forensic accuracy, but rather because of the way they have imprinted on our psyche. So self-evaluation is not only a completely subjective process – it very often becomes the substance of the psychological pathologies that often dominate our own sense of self.
So the measure of our legacy doesn’t arise from self-examination, rather it is measured in the footprints and fingerprints we leave behind. Which is to say, our legacy is better measured by what we leave behind in terms of the lives we have touched and the people we’ve impacted. For me, this begins with my wife, 7 children, and 9 (as of now) grandchildren. Then, of course, it would be my extended family, all of the wonderful friendships I’ve enjoyed, and acquaintances I’ve made. And lastly, it would be everything that I’ve created and placed into the world – like this “Chasing Light” blog you are currently reading . . . as well as all of the music I’ve written, performed, and worked on.
It has been my Christian faith sojourn all along since I was a child, that has been the subtext of who I am and what I’ve valued most . . . and I’d like to think that this has been evident in all of the lives I have touched. But not as a propagandistic sales pitch, or pseudo-spiritual persona, but rather as a genuine expression of how God has been changing me in real time – in the way I think, and what I do. It’s all just part of the amazing way that God inhabits our willingness to seek first his Kingdom, in what Charles Williams calls “co-inherence” to explain how God works in and with us – in this regard, I have witnessed the faithfulness of God in my life. So I now commit into His hands what my legacy might be – knowing that he is the redeemer of all things . . . ever drawing us all to Himself.
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I guess it was about 10 years ago, my daughter Jessica asked me point blank “So what happens to all of your songs when you die – are they just going to disappear?” So about 4 years ago I got serious about recording my songs. And given that I’ve been a recording engineer/ producer for most of my life – I’ve got the necessary skill sets and equipment. I also have all of the wonderful friendships I’ve made with musicians over the years – who were all good enough to donate their tremendous talents to the effort of creating with me a four-album, 40-song anthology of original music . . . of which I’ve also included a few songs written by my brothers, Jeff and Gary, songs of theirs that I’ve been performing for years.
So in answer to my daughter, and with profound gratitude to my family and friends, I’m happy to say this entire song anthology project is now available wherever you stream music . . .
. . . here’s a song from my most recent release.
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