Oversold & Underpaid

The title of this blog reminds me of a steel guitar-twanged country song about expecting too much and getting too little in return. And that’s exactly the mood this small fraction of the blogosphere is bound to wreak with.

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!

Sugar Water

My junior and senior year in college marked my entrance into the world of zealous creativity and unfettered wordplay. I quit basketball, penned monstrously outrageous boy band parodies, and dived into an ocean of adage and slogan writing. I was a Communications major with an emphasis in Professional Writing and PR & Advertising.

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 Religion

God, damn all these rules
God, damn all these lies
God, damn the monuments that keep you out of sight
Damn the wolf religions that wear a good disguise
That imitate a shepherd to herd us to a heist

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

Goodbye, Jackson…

Hometowns are like magnets, and their populations like piles of familiar paperclips. This week, I did the impossible. I ventured out from my geographic center of gravity without any hoopla or ceremonial “farewell” parties.  The sincere eye to eye “good luck’s” and “God bless you’s,” followed by handshakes and firm anaconda squeezes said enough.

“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.”

Engagement Pics & New Wedding Date Announcement

Check out our sweet engagement pics by Allie Goodrow. You’ll see our new & final wedding date announcement at the end of the blog along with a Allie’s website, which has more of our pics.

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

Integrity

“Integrity is following through on commitments even when it hurts.”
– National Humility Award Winner… Rob Vischer.

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?

Lying to God

Over the past fourteen years, I’ve promised God so many random things. “Lord, I won’t kiss my wife ’til we’re married.” “Lord, I won’t watch a single movie this year.” And most notably, “Lord, if you wake me up at 10:32 tomorrow morning, I’ll try out for my high school football team.”

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.

Most of us only dream anymore…

After plopping on the headphones to listen to my new Christmas single, “So in Love at Christmas Time,” a number of friends and family members reacted in a similar manner. While I bobbed my head to the seemingly soft and distant melodies that blared in their ears, they tapped their toes, gave me the affirmation of a thumbs up/smile combination, and gave their critique with obnoxious volume, “WOW! THIS IS GOOD!… WAIT, AM I TALKING TOO LOUD?”
I’d smile and confirm their lack of decibel control with an     overdramatic nod and a mimed laugh.

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.

New Shoes

A few days ago, my fiancee’ JoAnna and I went shoe hunting at a mall in Boardman, Ohio. After a year of selling cd’s door to door, playing shows, and pounding the pavement in multiple states, my kicks were way past the age of retirement. With gaping black holes on the sides of each shoe and a thin layer of rubber barely hanging onto the bottom, the comfort factor my gray VANS sported a couple months ago slowly transformed into a painful nuisance.

Although, I couldn’t wait to replace tweedle dee and tweedle dum with a new pair of comfortable counterparts, I became strangely nostalgic as we drove to the mall. In between Jo’s humorous stories of her third graders’ unpredictable classroom antics, I silently stared at the passing signs and yellow lines of the highway. For fifteen or twenty seconds at a time, I flashed back to the various sidewalks, churches, and camps where my beat up shoes lost microscopic amounts of their tread.

I purchased them in Huntington Beach, California at a VANS store before my first day of waiting in line at American Idol. It may sound strange, but switching out shoe styles, getting a haircut, and buying a fresh pair of blue jeans plus a t-shirt are all personal rituals I go through when I sense that I’m entering a new phase of my life. And since I legitimately thought I might become the next American Idol, I decided it was time to exchange my old slip-ons for some real shoes. A few days later, the same gray VANS surf shoes I had acquired with such hope still clung to my feet as I silently made my way through the loser’s exit of the stadium into the parking lot, where I walked to my car with a pace of bewilderment wondering why I had come out to L.A. in the first place.

Later on that week, they cushioned my feet while I paced, prayed, and figured out a plan for making it as a full-time musician. And over the course of a year, they made it through snow, rain, and tons of abuse while I sold cd’s at 2,000 doors, in 10 malls, and in hundreds of businesses and salons. They danced with me as I worshipped God at the International House of Prayer in Kansas City. They walked with me through airports on my way to and from Florida, Texas, and California. They rested on the gas pedal as I traveled highways that led me through the many towns of Michigan, Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Ohio, Missouri, and Pennsylvania. They ran with me on basketball courts, kicked stones with me as romantic relationships fell through, and held me to the ground when I experienced true love’s first kiss.

In short, the holes that mark these shoes aren’t like the fabricated holes that are factory-cut into pairs of American Eagle or Abercrombie & Fitch jeans. The worn-out look my VANS display isn’t a style to be bought. It’s a trophy of hard work and experience. One of my favorite philosophers, Forrest Gump matter-of-factly stated, “Momma always said there’s an awful lot you can tell about a person by their shoes… Where they goin.’ Where they been.”

As Jo and I browsed through PacSun for some new shoes, it was easy to pick out the new pair of grey 6.0 Nike Chukka’s. I didn’t choose them because of their name brand or because I thought they’d make me run faster or jump higher. I chose them because I could imagine them running onto stage with me at my cd release concert, crossing the threshold with me as I carry Jo into our first house, and standing with me as I preach, teach, and sing the good news of Jesus Christ.

There’s an interesting passage in scripture that exclaims, “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring the good news!” By October of next year, I hope my shoes are beautiful, but not because I’ve pampered them or failed to use them. Just the opposite. I hope they are beautiful with the stains, rips, and wear that an adventurous life brings. I hope they’re beautiful because they’ve helped me spread the good news.

Note to readers: A new blog will be posted every Thursday. Also, I have a new Christmas single out called, “So In Love at Christmas Time!” Check it out after the pictures below, and if you like it, buy it on itunes! Thanks for spending your time reading my blogs and listening to my songs. It means a lot.

"Gaping black holes"

After One Year

New Shoes!

My Destiny: the lesson of my year

One night near the beginning of last summer as I lightly braked for a red light, I prayed desperately within the confines of my car, “God, is songwriting my destiny?” “No,” came the disturbing reply.

In that moment, as the unexpected answer echoed in my heart, I hurriedly questioned everything. Was that God? If it was, why the heck had I spent the last eight months going door to door selling cd’s from the trunk of my car? Why had I put so much hard work and time into something that I wasn’t even meant for?

Right before the red glare of the traffic light faded to green, God followed His “No” with three words- “I’m your Destiny.”

Over the course of my churchgoing existence, I’ve heard many preachers say things like, “God will help you fulfill your destiny,” “God wants you to get a vision,” and many other quotes that seem to downgrade God into being a stepping stone for each Christian’s great success story.

I’ve had big dreams throughout my life. I wanted to play basketball for a Division I college and ultimately for the NBA. Obviously, neither happened. I spent hours playing in every type of weather, including snow. No matter how hard I worked, God wouldn’t back it.

I gave up basketball, and now, I know that I’m meant to be a songwriter. And this year I had some big dreams, but they weren’t always God’s dreams. When I started the year, I was gonna sell 10,000 cd’s. I sold 2,000. I was gonna raise $35,000 for my Airwaves & Envelopes Kickstarter project. I raised $567. I was gonna win a Folger’s video contest with Ben & Allie. No dice. I was gonna have a tour set up for the winter. I don’t. I was gonna get a record deal. I didn’t.

I know God directed me on my journey as a full-time singer/songwriter to fail. He wanted me to go to American Idol tryouts in California and be cut. He wanted me to sell cd’s door to door, mall to mall, and salon to salon and end up broke at the end of it. He wanted me to try my hardest and reach for the things I desired the most and fall short. There’s one thing I’ve learned through all the facebook advertising, salesmanship, travelling, many failures, and small successes.

God is My Destiny. And because I’ve made Jesus Lord of my life, it’s not my striving that’s gonna get the job done. It’s His timing.

A few weeks ago, I finished selling cd’s door to door. On Thursday, October 14, I sold 41 cd’s to hairdressers at every salon in Kalamazoo, MI. After two years, I’m out of cd’s and out of money.

The last few weeks I’ve paid my bills by selling stuff that I don’t need and working on a drop ceiling in an office building with my girlfriend’s dad. So, after a year of living the dream, I can’t really call myself a full-time singer/songwriter anymore. For a few days, I was admittedly disappointed, and I laid in bed extra long wondering if I had wasted a year of my life chasing something that would never materialize. “After all,” I thought, “maybe I’ve screwed this up because I didn’t hear God’s voice clear enough.” I knew there had been brief moments where I did my own thing and ignored God.

As I prayed alone and whined a little bit, God said, “You can’t make it happen. I’ll make it happen. I’ll give you the platform.” God always speaks the exact words that I need. After He said that, I gave up. Turns out, I learned again that giving up is the best thing to do with God. Give up and put your life and dreams into the arms of your Heavenly Father. He cares more about the desires of our hearts than we do.

After a week or so of throwing in the towel, I felt God prompting me to call my sister and ask her if I could send her a worship song that I had recorded last year but hadn’t released. She’s working with her friend Eunice on a huge event called The Global Day of Worship, and I felt like God wanted me to ask them to air a song of mine on their worldwide broadcast. To my surprise, they instantly agreed.

I told them I’d make a video, and within three days, Rhino Media Productions in Kalamazoo, MI agreed to film the music vid for no money up front. A few hours ago, I sent in the final edit to globaldayofworship.com for a worldwide broadcast. It all happened so quickly.

I’m currently raising 750 bucks on Kickstarter.com to make sure the guys from Rhino Media get paid in a timely manner. God gave me this worship song after the “Destiny Experience” at the stoplight, and some of the verse lyrics claim inspiration from Francis Chan’s book Crazy Love.

If you want to be apart of this experience with me, I would really appreciate you partnering with me financially to fund this music video. The song is appropriately titled “My Destiny.” If you feel moved, contribute. If not, that’s cool. If there’s one thing I’ve learned- this is God’s project, not mine.

Click Here for Fundraising site and video: http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/robvischer/worship-song-music-video-my-destiny