Why am I rambling about this one little molecule of language? Simple answer. I’m helping my fiancee’ plan our wedding. Regardless of what I used to think of eloping, its seduction continues to look more and more attractive. Who knew when you ask a girl to marry you, the cost of the ring doesn’t even accurately foreshadow the cost of the wedding. Whether parents chip in or not, I keep thinking to myself, “All of this money would be ours if only we would…” Yes, that once taboo yet glitzy word now sparkles like a little bit of problem-solving magic.

No. My fiancee’ JoAnna and I don’t plan on making a last second dash for the courthouse. And too much money has been doled out to justify slipping off the suits and white dress to head to Vegas. But I have thought about it. As April 14 sneaks up on us like a highly trained ninja, the suspense mounts. There’s bridal showers, bachelor and bachelorette parties, invitations to send, marriage counseling, reception plans, a music playlist to pick, flowers to approve, vows to write, and a host of other things I never think about when attending someone else’s special day.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m thankful. I’m not complaining. You should see the help we’re getting. By ourselves this would be a catastrophic mess. But we do have moms, sisters, aunts, friends, cousins, groomsmen, bridesmaids, and Grandmas. You notice there weren’t many categories associated with the male gender in that list? Yeah, I understand why. JoAnna said that she wouldn’t have many preferences with the wedding. I no longer pretend to understand how she defines “many,” because she definitely has preferences.

And I digress. The rabbit trails of wedding planning have transformed into an endless maze with continual surprises and “oh, I never thought of that’s.” I’m eternally grateful that JoAnna’s parents didn’t raise her to be a tear-jerked bride-zilla, because every new detail offers her the opportunity to be a smalltown version of Narnia’s White Witch.

Yet she’s very gracious even in her tears. She’s definitely the kind of girl I’ve always dreamed of strolling down the aisle toward me on my wedding day. Don’t fault me for beginning to imagine that the aisle is in a courthouse or a Vegas chapel. It’ll never happen. The wedding’s too close, and besides, we don’t have the money to fly to Vegas. I checked.

Our wedding: April 14, 2012 3:30 pm
Reception: 7:00 pm
Location: Somewhere in Ohio south of Cleveland

We’ll be sending out invites in the next week.

Recently I found myself in a hole- a cellphone dead zone. I could still chit chat with my friends and relatives at any time without interruption, but the data plan Verizon boasted swam throught the airwaves like a paraplegic version of Michael Phelps- and that wasn’t winning any gold medals for my customer satisfaction. So, I researched and then switched to AT&T. To Verizon’s credit, a technical support agent quickly agreed to nix my legally binding two-year agreement and ended the conversation with, “If you’re ever in a better coverage area, we hope you come back.”

Happy ending? I think not. That’s where AT&T comes into the picture. My hours of research, window shopping, and sales talks led me to the conclusion that my new cradle of residence would be rocked by AT&T’s 3G data network. Not so, my friends. Once I unwrapped my pristine Iphone 4S and began flipping through Google searches, it only wrangled in a slightly faster signal than my old Verizon Iphone 4. Pissed doesn’t relay the accuracy of what I felt. More like, extreme disappointment and frustration. I threw at least 10 hours in the trash by calling AT&T stores, tracking down information, and ultimately driving a half hour away to grab my new prize of an iphone in Huntington, IN.

Let me be fair. Every employee at AT&T was extremely helpful, but the bogus data map still annoys me. On the coverage map my address looks like it’s in the epicenter of a 3G earthquake. Instead, my reception barely receives aftershocks. Will I stick with AT&T for two years? Probably. Out of necessity mostly. Will I go back to AT&T after my contract is up and there’s a Verizon Iphone 6 on the horizon. Not a chance. As long as Verizon is in the air, I’ll always remember their technical support guy who let me off the hook without a charge and said, “If you’re ever in a better coverage area, we hope you come back.” I will, Verizon. I will.

In the end, the companies that I’ll swim with are the ones who don’t oversell their product and underpay with their delivery. Treat your customers like you would want to be treated. It’s that easy. I know I terminated our first contract, Verizon. But in the words of another Terminator, let’s just say, “I’ll be back.” Thanks, Verizon!

One day in class as I lazily swiveled 30 degrees from left to right in my luxuriously padded rolly chair, I heard my teacher nonchalantly make a point that set off my conscience’s alarm like a smoke detector after I’ve burned the frozen pizza. “Advertising is about creating a need,” is all that she said, but in my world of black and whites, this grey area seemed a little too black. “Creating a need” was too close of a relative to lying for me to embrace it.

Since then I’ve rarely struggled with the ethics of advertising because I decided that despite my affection for catchy slogans and product lines, I would never work for an ad agency. Why? I never wanted to create a need for things that aren’t needed. It seems like a soul-killing endeavor for both the creators and consumers of full-page spreads and Super Bowl- style television spots.

Advertisers have effectively convinced many of us in recent years that we need the most asinine of products. Carbonated sugar water, credit cards, chia pets, the Abflex, alcoholic energy drinks, and 60 inch plasma televisions – just to name a few. Many of the products named promise fulfillment to our taste buds or to our out of control craving for entertainment. They definitely deliver some temporary satisfaction, but often leave us fatter and lazier than before.

I’m going somewhere with this, and it’s not the typical “the average American spends this ungodly amount of time in front of the tv” talk. Even though I agree with the sentiment behind those motivational speeches, I’ve rarely seen any real fruit grow in my own life as a result.

Instead of aiming the proverbial microscope at your life, let me place it over mine…

Why I stopped buying pre-ripped jeans:

In the late 90′s and early 2000′s, I was the college kid who strutted around campus sporting the factory-shredded jeans from American Eagle. After spending five too many years in “bro-mode,” I read an article about “buying the experience.” The brilliant piece shed light on the theory that the holey jeans fashion trend was born out of a desire to look like a “working man” without actually doing any hard work. Instead of purchasing life experience with blood, sweat, and tears, most young men and women were content to buy the counterfeit from a trendy store in the mall.

After reading the article and hearing songs like “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?,” I decided I’d rather be a cowboy than look like one.

Why I never sold sugar water:

After college, as I became more and more intrigued with Apple Products, I read a story about how Steve Jobs recruited one of the main guys at Pepsi to step over to Apple. His game-changing question went something like this: “Do you want to spend your life selling sugar water, or do you want to change the world?”

The man’s answer was a no brainer. To me, that story was like the ray of sunlight that finally makes a flower bloom. After reading up to the little black dot that signaled the article’s ending, I paused and thought, “I’ll only work for businesses and causes that better the world.”

These are only two examples of why I do what I do. Tonight, I don’t have time to explain all of the reasons for why I live how I live, but I can point to almost anything I do or don’t do and tell you why. I’m not issuing a challenge for you to agree with me. I’m simply inviting to shovel through the clutter and find the roots of your habits, your personality traits, and your character flaws. In the finite space of these paragraphs, I can only scratch the surface, but you have the opportunity dig the depths.

The point of my thoughtful rambling goes something like this: I don’t want you or I to wake up some day and find out that we’ve been selling sugar water.

God, damn the plastic beads we market as your pearl
Damn the twisted seeds we threw into the soil
Damn the moral codes that make us ornate caskets
And damn the lemming faith we follow without askin’

God, damn the fallacies we offer you as crutches
And damn the safety nets that shield us from your clutches
Damn the power games that sneak into the system
When we try to make ourselves the god of our religion

God, damn theologies that turn you into mammon
And damn prosperity that leads others into famine
Damn the dirty rags we hold up as your banner
Lead us to a kingdom where your love is all that matters

Copyright 2009 Robert Andrew Vischer

“Who says you can’t go home?” is the question posed by a popular Bon Jovi song. The answer? I say so – at least for now. I’m not leaving Jackson, MI behind. I’ll be back to visit friends and family maybe a little too frequently, and the hodge podge of generous faces that I met while selling my cd’s last year won’t be forgotten. But a few things are worth lamenting and celebrating with a nostalgic smile and a glazed over stare as floods of memories replace the objects my eyes randomly focus on. I’ll never again “visit” my parents in their big white farm house for a few months at a time. Most of the guys in my wedding will no longer live within a 15 minute maze of familiar streets. And I’ll never be able to use the currency of being a former local high school basketball star or the hometown boy.

I love Jackson, MI, but a few months ago, I told my soon-to-be best man Gabe that a substantial change would come with the harsh winter winds.  It involved a move. God told me in a prayer time. I didn’t know the details. I just knew I was moving.

Change usually isn’t a big deal to me. I quit a job to bike across America. I left for Martha’s Vineyard to write songs for three months. I rode to Kansas City last year before New Years without knowing how I’d get back. Over the last few years, I’ve left footprints on most of the states in the Union, but I never let Jackson slip from its “home base” status.

For those of you who never have visited Jackson, MI. It’s a city/town of about 60,000. 75% of Jacksonian teenagers complain that “there’s nothing to do on a Friday,” when really there’s two movie theatres, a plethora of restaurants, golf courses, a skate park, and a variety of other attractions. It’s the town where you can’t go to Applebee’s without spotting a friendly face from the present or the not too distant past. It’s a little nippy in the winter, like any Michigan city, but it’s a spectacular place to raise a family, even though some of it’s residents lovingly refer to it as “Prison City.” In short, it’s a small town with a lot of people who think they’re “big city” folks- kinda like any “not so metropolitan” city in America, and I love it.

Jackson, this year I need to pay tribute. I refuse to be the guy that forgets the place and the people that laid my life’s foundation. I’m not gonna wait until a national awards ceremony or a retirement party to go through my “thankyou list”… Next week, I’ll be starting a blog called Envelopes. In it, I’ll write about the somebodies who made or make a difference in my life.  I’m convinced that no matter how much I write, I’ll never get through this life-changing list, but I’ll try. I don’t care if everyone or no one reads the new blog. All I know is that I need to say, “Thankyou.”

To my friends and my family in Jackson- “I love you. I miss you.  And most importantly- Thankyou for investing in me. Come visit JoAnna and I at our sweet new trailer in Wabash, IN. And before then, we hope to see many of you at our wedding.”

Allie’s not just a stunningly creative photographer. Her and Ben, her husband, are two of our best friends. They’ve done so much in helping us get ready for marriage. No pun intended, but Allie is one of the most engaging photographers I’ve ever worked with. This is shameless promotion of her and her business because she’s a great friend, and she’s amazing at what she does. If you pick her for your next event, you’ll be more than happy with the results.

Our new wedding date is… April 14, 2012 at 4:30pm. Mark your calendar.

For more of Allie’s photography, go to allierosephotography.com

I hope you liked my quote. I made it up all by myself. Well, that’s not entirely true. I formed the sentence, but the idea- well, we both know it’s not oozing with originality. I heard someone say once, “Originality is hiding your sources,” but since this is a blog about integrity, that kind of “originality” would really be hypocrisy.

A few weeks ago, I wrote about how I’ve lied to God multiple times. And it’s hopelessly true. My track record with God is worse than a politician that promises change and actually gets elected. If the pundits on FOX or CNN scrolled through a checklist of my promises to God and reported the delivery rate, my heavenly approval rating would dive into the doldrums.

Fortunately, God is merciful. And the people around me are too. But I don’t want to keep acting like forgiveness is their duty. I wanna take some responsibility. So this year, I’m committing to a few simple things. Most of them relate to my music career.

1. I will be on time or early to all appointments. I will call asap if there are circumstances beyond my control.

2. I will release 1 blog a week on Thurs. at 9 a.m. & 1 worship song a week on Wed. at 9 a.m.

3. I will begin and get halfway through the process of writing a book.

4. I will attempt to play at 1 church a week and at 1 venue a week.

5. I will workout 5 times a week if physically possible.

6. I will take my voice lessons seriously and practice 4 times a week.

7. I will practice guitar 1 hour a day.

8. 1 twitter feed a day around 12 p.m.

9. I will follow through on these even when it hurts.

Photo by Allie Goodrow

Yup, this aint a top ten list. The not so magical number “9″ attains the prize of my blog’s limited spotlight. This year I’m also making a few secret commitments that are more personal and relational in nature. And by the way, it’s obvious- I’m not setting my sights unrealistically high. This isn’t the year where I’ll be striving for a record deal or publishing contract. This is my year to love God and faithfully steward the gifts He has given me.

Pandora fed me an interesting song with these lyrics: “These words are my diary screamin’ out loud.” I know this blog wasn’t super artsy or clever. I’m okay with that this time around. I don’t need to be crazy cool or super hip this year. I just need to be faithful.

It’s okay if I never win a Grammy. It’s okay if I never become famous. When I think of one word I’d like to associate my name with, it would be integrity.

This is the year of following through… especially when it hurts.

Oh, and since this is a blog about integrity… I never won the National Humility Award. If I did, do you really think I’d put it in my blog?

Engagement Photo by Allie Goodrow

Hi! This is Rob. I’m taking a break from blogging this week to give you the pleasure of reading our love story from JoAnna’s perspective. At the end of the blog, you’ll see the picture I framed and gave her when I proposed, and there might just be a wedding date announcement right below it. Enjoy! My soon-to-be other half has a knack for storytelling.

Okay, so ever since Rob posted his beautifully written blog about how we met, I’ve received numerous requests for my version of the story. While I may not possess the same wonderful writing skills as my very talented fiancé, I will do my best to put into words the anticipation, nervousness, and excitement that led up to our first date.

My story also begins with Sean, my persistent brother.

“Jo, I seriously met your future husband” were the first words out of Sean’s mouth when I answered my cell phone. My brother was in the middle of his week as a counselor at Quaker Haven Camp, and he went on to explain that he had met Rob, the camp’s worship leader. “Okay, Sean…” I dismissively replied. “Jo, you guys would seriously be the most beautiful couple! And he has the coolest voice ever.” After making Rob’s voice sound like an individual who possessed some major speech delays, my interest hadn’t exactly peaked. However, Sean continued to explain Rob’s musical talents, athletic ability, and genuine love for the Lord. Although I was openly resistant to the idea – after all, I was sort of seeing someone else at the time – there was something inside of me that drew me to wonder more and more about this… “future husband.”

You’ve got to understand, my brother doesn’t usually do stuff like this. He’s always been persistent, but mostly about discouraging me from dating anybody. I could usually tell when he disliked a boyfriend from his expressions, his words, and one time his baseball bat even served as a clear indication. All this to say, he does not go out of his way to play matchmaker, so you can imagine why romantic possibilities immediately began running through my head.

I continued to dodge Sean’s dating service by digging up all of the reasons why this relationship would be impractical and nearly impossible. But he continued to provide evidence that we would be a good match. “HE WENT ON A BIKE TRIP ACROSS AMERICA!!!” The words seemed to burst out of his mouth with the same enthusiasm as that of a 5 year old kid who just sat on Santa’s lap. I paused for a minute with complete awe, and then, a lot more consideration. Biking across America has been a dream of mine for a long time and upon graduating in another semester, I was beginning to seriously consider when I could transform the dream into reality. “Jo, you gotta to talk with him,” Sean said persuasively. “You guys can Skype and me and Tyler (Sean’s friend) will do it with you guys so it’s not awkward.” Sean obviously had a skewed idea of what would constitute as “awkward.” While this conversation ended without a plan of action, Sean’s persistence remained throughout the week, both on my end and on Rob’s.

 One evening, while I was babysitting, Sean called again. “Hey Jo! You wanna talk to Rob?” Sean eagerly and loudly announced. “Hmm… did he just hear you say that?” I replied, with little desire to chat. “Maaaybe…” Sean responded with a tone that implied Rob was waiting right beside him. “Well suuure…” I hesitantly agreed, not wanting to openly shut Rob down. The first thing I noticed was the sound of his voice. Sean’s earlier imitation didn’t exactly do it justice, but I could see what he meant. I talked with Rob for just a couple minutes about his bike trip across America, a topic that easily generated thoughtful questions from me and inspiring responses from him. After hanging up the phone, I quickly noticed that I had a big cheesy grin stretching completely across my face. I could have been mistaken for a less scary and saner version of “the joker” (without the clown makeup or the green hair.)  I entertained the thought of Rob and me for a little while, but tried to focus on the reality, which was that it was probably… just a good thought.

Sean made it home from camp just in time for our family’s annual reunion. Still hyped up that he had found my future husband, he approached me with a hug and a poster. This poster had a large picture of a tall, dark, and handsome man located just above a signature. So this was the man I was going to marry… Not bad… That’s pretty much the most I thought about it that night. In fact, the rain and muckiness of the day mixed with my carelessness pretty much destroyed the poster, and I threw it away just before I left for home. Let me defend myself for a moment before you think that my heart is all dried up and cold.  I thought the poster was something Sean had gotten for free, and the busyness of the day probably distracted me from thinking much about it at all. Either way, I did not maliciously intend to destroy Rob’s poster. I didn’t do much stop it though. The incident didn’t put an end to Sean’s continuous matchmaking tricks. In fact, my sister Madeline even got in on it. On a four hour long trip to and from Columbus, Ohio, they blared Rob’s CD The Best is yet to come the whole way.  Madeline and Sean knew every tune by heart and passionately sang each love song, inserting my name where they thought necessary. I must admit, by the end of the trip I was humming right along.

After a few days, I received a friend request on facebook along with a short message from Rob. I decided to participate in some tasteful online creeping, like any other person in my position would do. After stalking through a few of his pictures, I was a little confused. Most of these pictures didn’t look like the serious guy from the poster. He was just as handsome, but he was smiling and looked like he was a ton of fun, and maybe even a little goofy (this was a much better depiction). I wasn’t exactly sure how he would turn out in person, but I increasingly became more curious as I let my imagination get the best of me. My wandering daydreams about this new man gives you a pretty clear indication as to how interested I really was in the guy I was seeing.

The message Rob sent implied that Sean had talked me up quite a bit. I wondered for a minute what Sean would have said about me. Did he tell him that I resembled a lama? That I was abusive when I laugh (yes, often I’m that obnoxious person who unintentionally throws a few love taps when something’s funny)? Or maybe Sean said that I would never be as good as him in any sport no matter how much I tried. Yes, these were some of the playful, loving jabs that Sean has usually thrown my way, so I was interested in discovering exactly what Rob had heard from him.  I replied to his message and so began our lengthy facebook conversations. We wrote back and forth more than Will Smith’s daughter whips her hair. Naturally I over-analyzed each message both ways and felt it necessary to call my sister, Madeline, to run everything by her as well as share it with her in my excitement.  Obviously by this point my interest in the guy I had been seeing completely dwindled. It was about the third message in when Rob asked if he could take me on a date and finally toward the end of our facebook relationship, he asked for my phone number. I accepted and we exchanged digits with the agreement that because of my busy schedule- working two jobs and taking two summer classes- we would have to wait until August to meet.

The first time Rob called me, we talked for about 4 hours. Each phone call after that usually lasted at least that long. With each conversation, the anticipation grew to meet him. In fact, there’s no way I was going to wait for August to meet this guy. So on July 15, 2011 we met at my sister Madeline’s house in Wabash, Indiana. My mom, sister, brother-in-law, and I waited anxiously, staring out the window for his arrival. When he finally pulled in, I went out to greet the guy who had consumed my thoughts for the past month or so. Only… he took forever to get out of his car. I contemplated walking back in the house and pretending that I had just walked out. “No, that would be stupid,” I whispered quietly to myself. “But would it be more or less dumb than me standing here totally silent forever?… Okay, say something,” I thought. Then I thought. Then I thought about thinking. “uhh… Can I help you with something?” I finally spit out. Walking toward me with a giant grin and flowers was the handsome, loving, God-fearing man that just a few months later would ask me to be his wife.

I cannot explain how thankful I am for Rob. On July 15^th I went on the most playful, romantic, and spontaneous first date I could have ever imagined or planned. And I would say that that weekend was the best weekend of my life, but every weekend with him seems to trump the last. I still thank God that He orchestrated these events so perfectly and that I get to spend the rest of my life with most beautiful man in the world.

The chapel is booked! We’re getting married on March 24th, 2012!

We look forward to all of our friends & family being a part of our special day!

Merry Christmas! Click on the video below to listen to the love song that Rob wrote for me  this Christmas season… It’s currently on the radio!

Yeah, the last one really happened. The summer after my junior year in high school, I had an aching desire to go out for the Northwest Mountie football team. I was a self-proclaimed basketball specialist- a single sport guy. And I’d never played organized football in my life, besides one short stint with a flag football team in sixth grade. While I tried to hide behind the “I wanna make it to the NBA” persona as an excuse for not trying any other sport out, I was really afraid of looking stupid and/or getting injured. The truth is I always wanted to be a football player. In fact, after I graduated college, I had this huge epiphany. “I’d rather throw on pads and a helmet than shorts and a pair Air Jordan’s.”

As soon as I uncovered my secret longing, I started rattling off emails to a plethora of small college football coaches with the subject line, “6’6″ 200 lb. Former Basketball Player Interested in Playing for you.” Every coach I contacted immediately replied. They even searched the NCAA and NAIA rule books to see if I could join their team while going for my master’s degree at their school. Each of them emailed me a second time and disappointedly announced that since I had already graduated, I would never be eligible for college football. It was too little too late.

Sometimes I wish that I had the same opportunity as Nicholas Cage’s character in Family Man- a movie where a successful executive gets to live life as it would’ve been if he hadn’t left his college sweetheart for a lucrative job opportunity. Except in my script, I’d be a junior in high school again and say, “God, if you wake me up at 10:32 tomorrow, I’ll try out for my high school football team.” After waking up at the prescribed time, which actually happened, I’d decide to try out instead of wimp out. Maybe the next scene would be a twenty-two year old version of playing for the Michigan Wolverines, or in the NFL draft, or maybe not. It’s really anybody’s guess.

Although I’m thirty years old and re-imagining a moment in my life that I’ll never get back, I’m no Uncle Rico. I don’t mope around all day, crossing my arms so that my biceps look bigger or blame all my current shortfalls and broken dreams on the decision that I made that morning. I’m a happy guy- a full-time musician. I have an intricate network of family and friends. And I’m getting married in three months. I love life. God is good!

That’s why I’m getting so sick of lying to Him. I barely ever lie to others, but I lie to Him consistently. “Lord, if you do this, I’ll…” or “Lord, I’ll never…” fill in the blank. Then I end up renigging on my promises or doing the exact things that I promised I wouldn’t do. And when my temporary short-term amnesia clears, it’s only because I’m drowning in the ice cold water of regret. Just last week, I flashed my middle finger at an opponent in a pickup basketball game. Tonight, I finished off a whole pizza out of greed, not hunger. Some of the commitments that I list might seem insignificant and even laughable to you. I don’t care.

They’re important to me because I’ve realized making little stupid decisions in life is like turning the wheel of your car a little bit off center. Pretty soon you end up in the ditch. Think of the guy who devours a few too many Kit Kat’s and Mountain Dew’s each day and ends up with diabetes. Or the family who spends so much time in front of the television they know the characters of their favorite shows better than the person sitting in the recliner next to them.

Our individual lives have so many directions and ditches to fly off into. After all there’s 359.99999 degrees in the circle of life that are wrong. There’s only .000001 degree that’s complete truth. Turns out “the straight and narrow” is extremely narrow.

I heard someone once say, “Love God, and do whatever you want.” Do whatever you want? Wait a second… So maybe it’s not about all these promises or crazy commitments. Maybe it’s just about taking every second of every day to love God. And when I fall short, I’ll get back up again and ask for His forgiveness. If I love Him with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength, He’ll give me the courage to do the right thing. That’s why if I had it to do all over again, I wouldn’t say, “God, if you wake me up at 10:32, I’ll…” Instead, I’d just say, “Lord, I want to know you more. And as I get to know you, give me the strength and the wisdom to recognize and act on the desires you’ve put in my heart.”

Maybe “the straight and narrow” is more about an intense love and desire for God and less about rigid boundaries or committing to perfection. And maybe if I focus on God and His love for me and the people around me, I’ll start making the right decisions with the motive of love as the driving force instead of ambition, pride, or selfishness.

“Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.” Lately I’ve focused so much on the ditches that I’ve forgotten to keep my eyes fixed on God and His kingdom of love and forgiveness. While I want to be aware of the traps on either side of the path, I don’t need to stare them down. This only causes me to desire them or fall into other traps like legalism or pride.

I don’t want to make outlandish commitments to God any more or say “Lord if you wake me up at 10:32 tomorrow morning, I’ll…” All of these promises are born out of self-righteousness and pride, not love. And while perfect love casts out fear, pride and foolish promises invite regret.

That’s why I’m sick of lying to God. I just want to know Him.

All of the reactions have been along the lines of “PERFECT!,” “HOMERUN!,” and “I LOVE IT!” My mom even starts swaying her body to the swingy beat of the song’s Christmasy percussion. I have to admit, when I first heard the song on Home.fm, our local radio station, I felt like the Oneder’s in the movie, That Thing You Do- my heart pounding while running wildly through the streets dancing and shouting, “I’m on the radio!”

But, if I wasn’t listening, there’s a secondary reaction that I would’ve missed in all of the buzz and hype of having a new single out. It’s a subtle deception that wraps itself in a smile and a good-natured pat on the back. It goes something like this, “Rob, you’re such a romantic…” as if the lyrics that dance across the rhythmic melodies have no place in “real life.” “Romantic” too often becomes a polite euphemism for “unrealistic.” People dismiss it the same way they shrug off attempting something great by calling ordinary men “heroes” or “saints” or “entrepreneurs.” In order to stay sheltered from the sharp burning of hope and longing, they immortalize or condescend the actions of “ordinary radicals” (as Shane Claiborne puts it), and make them into something just short of Godlike or crazy.

When I was a teenager, “Rob, you’re such a romantic…” felt like a compliment. Now every time I hear it, I feel the slow throbbing heat of desire build inside my chest, and I want to explode with, “This is the way life should be! Romantic, dangerous, and wholehearted!” C.S. Lewis better describes the depth of my feeling when he writes, “I am almost committing an indecency. I am trying to rip open the inconsolable secret in each one of you- the secret which hurts so much that you take your revenge on it by calling it names like Nostalgia and Romanticism and Adolescence.”

For many, the songs and stories I and other authors put to paper or broadcast over the airwaves represent a distant or perhaps even an undreamed dream of a wholehearted, playful, and fulfilling life of love. Like the tragic character Fantine sang in the musical Les Miserables, many whisper unknowingly, “Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.”

I recently received an interesting comment on one of my blogs from a friend. “I enjoy following you!” she wrote. “It’s nice to see that you are so dedicated to living your dreams! I wish you the best! Most of us only dream anymore.”

Let that last sentence sink in… “Most of us only dream anymore.”

I imagine her typing it with the fraudulent smile of youthful nostalgia and a discontented sigh. I can picture her leaning back at her computer desk wishing for the good ol’ days when the world and her dreams seemed bigger. Then, in my imagination, she slowly gets up, forgets her dreams, and goes about her scheduled activities for the day thinking, “That’s just the way it is,” or perhaps, even more tragically, she doesn’t think much about it at all.

Maybe I’m reading too much into her simple statement. Maybe I’m reading too much into people saying, “Rob you’re such a romantic.”

Or maybe it’s true. Most of us only dream anymore.

I’ve included the youtube version of my new Christmas single. I think this is what married love at Christmas time should be like. If it’s not like this for you, stop dreaming. Start praying for what you could only dream of before.