All I could say was, “Thank you.” I planned out what I wanted to say. Thanks for your music. I couldn’t have made it through my childhood without you. I’m a songwriter. You inspire me to keep pushing forward. And other things I can’t remember.
But all I could muster was, “Thank you,” as I shook her hand and introduced myself. I felt like I was 12 again, trying to act like a mature adult. That didn’t last long, as I then explained how I got my unique name. “My parents were hippies. They smoked a lot of pot. That’s all I’ve got.” She laughed as she spelled it out in the autograph.
I’d finally met Terri Clark.
I was introduced to her music in 1995. I was 12. “Better Things to Do” came on the radio, and I was hooked. I bought her CD as soon as I could get my hands on it. (Look that up, kids. CDs were life-changing.)I had every song memorized. I think “Catch 22” was my favorite.
I wish I had pictures to show you of my bedroom walls. They were covered with cutouts from Country Weekly Magazine. I wanted to be surrounded by Country Music because it was my safe place – a reminder that despite all the pain, I could still dream.
When her picture showed up in my latest edition, I tore it out and hung it up next to Minnie Pearl’s picture. Ahh.. yes… another reminder to dream more.
And dream I did. I’d dream about hearing my own songs on the radio. I’d dream about writing a song with Terri. And when the reality of the past kept creeping in, her music would help drown it out.
So, why in the world could I not say anything besides “Thank you” when I finally had the chance to meet her? Perhaps that was all that needed to be said. Maybe it was just enough.
Thank you for your music. It was a saving grace for me when trying to escape the harsh realities of sexual abuse and rape and the shame tied to keeping the secrets.
Thank you for your music. It was a salve to my soul through the abandonment, rejection, and addiction of a dad who was too broken to love me the way a daughter is supposed to be loved.
Thank you for your music. It reminded me that I wasn’t alone when I couldn’t connect with my mom because she was just trying to find her own way through the brokenness of her past.
Thank you for your music. It helped me stand taller and say, “Hey, I can chase my dreams, too. I can be a songwriter. I can make a difference in the world.”
Thank you for your music. It pushed me forward to say, “I don’t have to stay where I am. I can do something different.”
It took me years to get there—to actually get past the shame, secrets, and self-sabotage and start chasing my dreams. But the fire in my heart never died. And when I walked out of the pit of the past and said, “I’m done talking about chasing my dreams; now I’m ready to build them,” her songs were still there to inspire me to keep building.
As I drove to Nashville, knowing I would meet Terri Clark, I listened to every album on the seven-hour drive, thinking about the different stages of life I was in during each album release. And I cried a little—okay, I cried a lot.
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And then I got to her latest album, Terri Clark: Take Two, and I smiled through the tears. Because this stage of life is really, really good.
Because I’m not just dreaming about being a songwriter; I am a songwriter.
Because everything I’d used music to hide from is no longer sitting in the darkness. God has pulled me out of the pit and set me free.
Because I’m no longer living life afraid.
Before the meet-and-greet, she did an intimate 45-minute set, and before she sang “No Fear,” I swear she was reading my mail as she spoke because she said something along the lines of, “It’s never too late to chase your dreams.” Words I needed to hear.
So, I guess as I stood there and met one of my musical heroes, nothing else needed to be said. Just a simple yet profound “Thank you.”
Then, I started the seven-hour trek back to Branson. And I put Terri’s music on again and cried a little—okay, I cried a lot. Tears of joy. Tears of gratefulness. Tears that turned into prayers, thanking God for putting me on this musical journey as a songwriter.
I used to hit every wall there was / I used to run away from love / All I ever wanted was right here / But I had to reach way down inside / I had to have faith I’d find / No fear.
Thank you, Terri. Your music matters. Never forget it.