I got a call from an old friend the other day.
We spent a while catching up, talking about life, family, and eventually… music.
Then came the inevitable question.
“Where do your songs come from?”
It’s a question I’ve been asked more times than I can count.
Most people expect the answer to begin with a guitar...
or maybe the first time I stepped onto a stage.
It doesn't.
The songs are part of my story.
They just aren’t where the story begins.
This is the story of where the songs began.
To answer that question, we have to go back to a little creek in Independence, Missouri.
A place called Willow Creek.
Long before there were songs, there was a skinny little kid who had just spent months recovering from rheumatic fever.
While other kids were running and playing...
I was learning how to be still.
At eight years old...
I didn't know that stillness would become one of the greatest gifts of my life.
Recovery didn’t happen overnight.
It unfolded over months.
During those months, Willow Creek became more than just a place to play.
It became a place to heal.
It became a place to wonder.
It became a place where curiosity grew… and where imagination was free to roam.
Looking back now, I realize I wasn’t just exploring a creek.
Looking back now...
I realize I wasn't just exploring a creek.
I was learning how to notice.
The way the light filtered through the willow branches.
The sound of water moving over limestone.
The stories hidden inside ordinary places.
I couldn’t have known it then, but something was taking root beside that little creek.
Something that would stay with me for the rest of my life.
So if you’ve ever wondered where my songs came from…
Come on...
Let's go back...
to Willow Creek.
