Spared for a Purpose
As a child, I discovered the joy of performing—school plays, choral programs, and later, orchestra. I played a goldfish in a shimmering lamé suit my mother sewed, wore a Bavarian costume for a Christmas play, and mimicked accents from German to Scottish with ease. Singing came naturally, my boyhood voice clear and pure until puberty forced me to relearn my craft, guiding me toward country and bluegrass. Instruments like the violin, mandolin, and guitar challenged me, but gifted musicians mentored me, shaping my talents. One night, performing alongside William Hurt, I saw how his passion for storytelling mirrored my own call to share God’s love through art. These abilities, I believe, were God’s gifts, preparing me for a purpose revealed early in my life—a journey that has led me to perform alongside Oscar other winners like Gary Oldman and Emmy winners like Carroll O’Connor and Bill Cobbs.
Before my story really began, it took a dramatic turn when I was a toddler, a tale I share as my late mother told it. One morning, around four or five years old, she called to wake me, but I didn’t respond. She found me in bed, eyes fixed, “walled back in my head,” not breathing. Panic-stricken, she threw me over her shoulder, phoned my pediatrician, and sped through every red light in our blue Chevy Malibu to his office, 4.5 miles away. When she arrived, I was unchanged. The doctor, grim, said, “You should’ve gone to the hospital; there’s nothing we can do.” My mother insisted, “He’s here—do something.”
The nurse fetched a shot, likely adrenaline, while the doctor, my mother, nurses, and anyone nearby gathered around the exam table where I lay. They prayed fervently. That little boy, absent from his body and in the Lord’s presence, was called back. My chest rose, my heart beat, my pulse returned. How long I was gone—before my mother found me, during the drive, or through the prayers—only God knows. By all accounts, I should’ve stayed with my ancestors, but God had a mission for me, one that unfolds daily.
That day wasn’t the only time God spared me. In my 20s, after a late-night performance, I was driving my pickup truck too fast through mountain roads I knew like the back of my hand. Around 2 a.m., with windows up and music playing, an audible voice in the cab yelled, “Slow down.” No one was around, no houses in those wooded hills. I hit the brakes, and just over the next rise, a herd of deer stood frozen in the road. My headlights spurred them off, but had I not slowed, I’d have crashed, likely with fatal results. Years later, God’s Spirit filled my hospital room when doctors told my mother nothing more could be done. A prayer chain, sparked by her faith and joined by family, friends, and music fans, carried me through. I lived, a testament to His grace.
Every note I sing, every role I play, is a gift of time to serve Him. I recently attended a Spirit-filled revival led by Evangelists Mark and Sugar Klette in a country church with my friend Pastor Carroll Allen. The Lord led me to share His raising me up as a toddler, my voice strongly carried these powerful moments that changed my life forever as the congregation’s amens lifted me. Someone in that congregation needed to know that fervent prayers can still bring God’s healing. Their faith renewed my own dedication for God’s purpose. I don’t always meet this calling—doubt and missteps linger—but each day offers a chance to try.
Do you need a miracle to know God has a purpose for you? Perhaps not, but for me, He made it clear early on I remained in this world for a reason. As Ephesians 2:10 declares, “For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.” My life, my talents, my second chances—they’re all for His glory, a stage to share His love. What’s your stage? Listen for His call today.
