On Thursday night, a long-time dream of mine was fulfilled. I finally, finally saw Tim McGraw and Faith Hill in concert.
I’m going to bare my soul a little bit here. When Faith rose out of the stage (in a one-piece, sequined, halter jumpsuit, no less – now THAT is confidence) to sing her opening song, “Wild One,” I started crying. I’m not one for hysterics, especially over something as trivial as celebrity – and indeed, that was not what was moving my spirit. Rather, it was the fact that I first heard that song when I was about 12 years old, and it was one of the first songs that really sealed the deal between country music and me. I couldn’t help it – I just cried. I love that song, and it somehow reminded me of a home that I have not yet experienced.
For 3 hours, the entire show cocooned me. To me, it felt like worship – to be in a place where I was completely surrounded with the music that I have loved for so many years. I didn’t have to think or analyze or evaluate; I felt at home.
During a killer version of “Stronger,” full of amazing backup vocals and plenty of soul from Faith, it dawned on me: if I want to be a part of the country music business as a backup singer, it is not up to me. It is not riding on my voice or my charisma or my look or even my connections and relationships. This dream is such a long-shot that it takes all of the pressure off of me, and loads it straight onto a higher power.
Now, I am not a big believer in “meant to be.” I think that our lives can take many different forms depending on the choices that we are free to make… and I am sure that God has bigger fish to fry than “Annie’s dreams.” But as I was reminded in My Utmost For His Highest this morning, “Nothing happens in particular unless God’s will is behind it, therefore you can rest in perfect confidence in him. Prayer is not only asking, but an attitude of mind which produces the atmosphere which asking is perfectly natural.”
And so I am praying. Although I cannot say why, I can no longer deny the tug in my heart that is pulling me toward Tennessee. I can’t turn off the voice that is calling me away from Seattle. I am moving forward with equal parts confidence and trepidation, heading toward the unknown with nothing but a “sense” that there is something out there for me. Things might not turn out the way that I have envisioned them, but I’ll be damned if it’s because I didn’t try.
It’s official: I am moving to Nashville in January.