I got on the plane.
"How can I do this?"
"How can I leave them behind?"
"Is God just punishing me?"
My mind raced.
Sitting next to a guy just as big as me in a 2-seat row by the window didn't help.
An overly chatty 20-something without a care in the world.
"I'm trying to hold it together over here!"
The look on my face betrayed my annoyed thoughts.
Which made him even chattier.
A jolly empath is a great thing.
But not that day.
Not in my state.
26 long hours later it was over.
But it had only just begun.
All by myself.
Alone.
Couldn't even get a hint from heaven.
"Am I doing the right thing?"
"My wife will never forgive me... assuming she survives."
5 solid months.
Praying my guts out.
Fasting.
Begging.
Heaven as dry as the Saharah.
Not a drop of Spirit-nudge.
No confirmation.
Nothing.
We put all our belongings in storage.
Moved the family from Cincinnati to Utah.
My parents took my wife and 3 kids in.
And I flew off to Poland.
For 9 months.
While the nation paid tribute to the terror of 9/11 on its 10th anniversary...
I was sick.
I'd abandoned my family.
For what?
9 months of insanity?
Maybe.
Sure seemed like it those first 3 weeks.
And finally, General Conference Saturday, the floodgates opened.
Finally!
Answers.
He DID hear me!
"My ways are not your ways..."
Yeah, yeah.
I got it on paper.
But when it actually happened?
OUCH!
Looking back, it's as clear as day.
I was meant to be in Poland.
I needed this crucible.
It prepared the rocky soil of my composer heart.
It harrowed the fleshy coronary fields.
I never would have heard my Polish teacher's words the same way.
Not without the new ears I earned passing through the refiner's fire.
And when those 5 words crossed his lips?
A soul's tectonic plates shifted.
"WE. MUST. COMPOSE. FOR. GOD."
Everything changed.
I finally knew who I was.
31 years old, and I finally knew.
One lesson after another.
The refiner's fire continued.
Through autoimmune diseases back home.
Passed a spleen extracted from my wife's abdomen.
Over job-hunting diasters.
Under torrents of self-doubt.
My ears sharpened.
My heart softened.
My eyes opened.
He led me.
Walked with me through the fire.
To a place I couldn't imagine I'd ever find.
Deep.
Right down to the secret bottom of a stranger's heart.
Where one listen.
One piece.
One performance.
Filled a crack in the heart of a humble priest.
All the way from my private TERROR on 9/11 in 2011...
The day my musical mission to Poland began...
All the way down to a stranger's most private internal regions.
"Your music helped me to pray."
And the veil finally dropped from my eyes.
That's why.
These scars mean something.
I'm just an instrument.
He's the master.
And I finally let him play me.
Guess I was pretty stinkin' heard-headed.
Had to go through all that to figure it out.
It was worth it.
And now?
I have the privilege to help others make that journey.
Like the ladies in my hymn-writing workshop.
I'm so proud of each one.
Just this week they've finished composing their own original hymns.
Every single one is GORGEOUS!
I have no doubt these hymns will reach some as deeply as my music reached my priest friend.
Yes, we reverence those we lost on 9/11 today.
But I also reverence the Master.
For His great plan.
For His patience with me.
For His way of helping me understand.
Music?
A tool in His hands.
What a gift.
That's why I care about sharing it with you.
Inside the Latter-Day Musiversity app.
In the live hymn-writing, hymn-arranging, Primary-Song-writing workshops I hold.
You never know who needs to hear YOUR heart.
And now you have the tools to bring it to life.
In music.
In His hands.
Join me.
Let's bring the world His truth.
Here's a great place to start, if you haven't had a chance yet to get the free app.
https://douglaspew.ck.page/842cbedb0c
Best,
Doug