Choosing to SEE Page 4

  A few months later, during spring break at his parents’ house in Paducah, Kentucky, Steve took me to a park gazebo. He sat me up on the railing and asked me to marry him.

  I quickly said yes and laughed. Back then we had a game we would play with each other. Steve would ask me a hundred times a day to marry him, and as fast as I could, I would answer yes.

  I thought this was like any of those other times. But then, as I put my hand on his chest to jump down off the railing, I could feel his heart thumping wildly.

  This was the real proposal!

  Out from behind his back came a little red jeweler’s box. I started crying.

  “Yes!” I sobbed.

  “Aren’t you going to open the box?” he asked.

  Steve had just gotten a royalty check for a song he’d written that had been recorded by the Imperials . . . and so he had splurged and bought me a $900 ring. I cried some more, we kissed, and then we began to plan our future together.

  He’d been told that he needed to be in Nashville to further his chances in the music industry, and so we decided together that I’d drop out of Anderson and he’d enroll at Belmont University. I had already realized that nursing school was not for me – since it involved vomit and bedpans. And my parents were kind enough to understand how I felt . . . particularly since I was moving on and they wouldn’t have to pay for three more years of college.

  Steve and I got married at my home church in Ohio on October 13, 1984. The reception was in the church hall, with nuts, mints, ham and chicken salad and pimento cheese triangles my mother had made, and a lovely cake with a Precious Moments bride and groom perched on top.

  They looked a little more confident about their future than we did.

  We had a grand total of fifty dollars in our bank account and no time for a honeymoon, so we spent our wedding night at a Clarion hotel in Cincinnati. We thought it would be cool since it had a rotating restaurant on the top. Then we went to the Cincinnati Zoo, where the zoo staff let us in for free since our green Ford Pinto was still covered in sticky gobs of shaving cream, bedraggled streamers, and a “Just Married” sign.

  While this is a lovely zoo, I don’t necessarily recommend it for a honeymoon. It was pouring rain that day, and all the animals were hiding in their habitats, depressed. As we strolled in the rain, we realized we were about as far apart in personality as two people could be. We cried together on the drive back to Nashville. The wedding was over, and reality was upon us.

  We had known some of this while we were dating, of course, but dating is the Land of Magical Thinking. Once we had moved to the Land of Matrimony, we realized that Tigger had married Eeyore. Steve’s bouncy-bouncy, glass-half-full perspective was now linked till death do us part with my glass-half-empty, “Oh bother” outlook, and rarely the twain would meet.

  I was nineteen years old. I’d been consumed by the fun of planning the wedding, and now, in the wet zoo, reality hit. I realized that although I was in love with this man, now “real life” was starting, and all I had to look forward to was working hard to put my bouncy, blond husband through school.

  He was confident that all would be well. I totally believed in him and knew he was great. I was his biggest cheerleader. But sometimes life felt scary and bleak. Sometimes my hopes for the future were thin and gray, barely holding, just like Eeyore’s tacked-on tail.

  5

  When the Puppy Eats

  Your Birth Control Pills

  God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform.

  William Cowper

  We had fifty dollars in the bank, a green Ford Pinto, and we were livin’ on love.

  We found a dingy, three-hundred-square-foot apartment in not the greatest part of town. The price was right, and I scoured the apartment with Clorox bleach until it was spotless.

  Steven was a full-time student at Belmont University. He had auditioned for a college group called the Belmont Reasons. They told him he wasn’t good enough to be a vocalist, but they wanted him to play guitar. He also continued working on his writing and developing as an artist at Benson Records.

  I got a job at what was then Westside Hospital. I was secretary to the comptroller. I loved reconciling numbers, admittances, and whatever else could be neatly added or subtracted and come out equal in our accounting records.

  I was beginning to realize, more and more, that musicians are nothing like accountants. They are more . . . abstract. Two plus two doesn’t necessarily equal four, if you know what I mean. Musicians operate out of a place in the brain that I’m pretty sure I don’t have.

  I was very organized and punctual. To me, “on time” meant you needed to be at least ten to fifteen minutes early. Steven thought that thirty minutes late was fashionable and acceptable . . . even for scheduled appointments. It made me crazy! He seemed to march to the beat of his own drum, and I was beginning to feel that the world was supposed to fall in line with that rhythm. I felt frustrated and angry at his carefree, Tigger attitude.

  We both loved Jesus, and we both wanted a Christ-centered marriage. But I thought – in my twenty-year-old Eeyore maturity – that this sure wasn’t going to be easy, to die to myself and take up my cross and live with the most self-centered man on the entire planet!

  I was working eight to five, and was in an efficient, regular routine. Steven was an artist accustomed to staying up late with bursts of creativity, which couldn’t be scheduled. We were working toward a common goal, but nobody could frustrate me like that man!

  I couldn’t communicate the way Steven could. (Believe me, I still can’t!) He was frustrated and was trying to fix me. I didn’t think I needed fixing.

  When we would fight, he’d quote Scripture at me (he would later admit that this was a huge mistake). So he’d say things about how we couldn’t let the sun go down on our anger, and I would say “Oh, yeah? Watch this!” And I’d lie down and fall instantly asleep.

  After all, when I was growing up that was how we dealt with conflict. We avoided unpleasant conversations, and then in the morning it would be a new day and a fresh start. I would only realize later how much bitterness and resentment was building up inside of me.

  One winter night, it was snowing outside and we’d gotten into an argument inside, no doubt about our calendar and our schedules. I was furious and just wanted out of my three-hundred-square-foot apartment. I got up, leaving Steven behind, and walked out the door.

  “Where are you going?” he yelled.

  “I am walking to Ohio!” I yelled.

  Crying, I made my way down to the sidewalk, walking to Ohio. I felt something nearby, and there was Steven, driving slowly beside me . . . in my green Pinto, I might add. I kept walking. He kept driving.

  “Get in the car,” he said. “I’ll drive you to Ohio, if you need to go home to your parents!”

  Somehow we made it back to our own little home that night.

  It was at this point in our lives that we met Geoff and Jan Moore, who would become lifelong friends. Geoff had recorded one of Steven’s songs as a demo to be pitched to other artists. When I met Jan later, we became instant friends. We’d spend hours at their condo, visiting and dreaming about the future.

  When I had interviewed at Westside Hospital, the last thing my future boss said before he hired me was, “Now, you’re not going to get pregnant anytime soon, are you?”

  “Of course not,” I said. I had a plan. “I just turned twenty years old, and we aren’t going to start a family for a long time.”

  The only baby we had was our puppy, Peso, who was officially a Pekalhasaapsopoo. We’d gotten her from a shelter, a little ball of Pekinese, Lhasa apso, and poodle fluff. She was also teething, and chewed everything.

  My grandmother had given me some old, old bedroom furniture. We had painted it an ugly blue. I left my birth control pills on the little blue table next to my side of the bed. They were in a blister pack, but that didn’t stop our puppy. Peso chewed up the whole thing, cardboard, plastic, and pills,
and then moved on to whatever else she could ingest.

  I called the vet and explained what had happened. “It shouldn’t hurt her,” he said. “But she may be a bit moody.”

  I went to the pharmacy the next day, got another pack of birth control medication, and didn’t think much about it. After all, I thought, I’d only missed one pill due to Peso’s little snack.

  Did you know that missing just one itty-bitty pill can cause pregnancy?

  There we were, six months into Holy Headlock. No money. A moody dog. A happy Tigger bouncing around writing great songs, not worrying about much because God was gonna work it all out. And Eeyore, the main breadwinner – that would be me – gradually growing great with child . . . and fear.

  I had to tell my boss. That in itself was scary. I had promised I wasn’t going to have a baby so soon, and here I was, pregnant. He was a great boss, but he also could throw a phone across the room, and we didn’t have cell phones back then.

  To my surprise, when I met with him he just said a few words under his breath and then said, “Let me guess, you’re not coming back to work when the baby is born, right?” Well, the $250 I made every week was about the only source of income that we had. I told him I didn’t want to, but that I might have to.

  During all this time, Steven had signed a development deal with Benson Records. This meant that he would continue to write songs for them and they would eventually develop him as a recording artist. It looked as though there might be a beginning to his ministry/career, and just in time, as our little Chapman would be arriving soon.

  Then, when I was five months pregnant, we were standing in the parking lot of the record company. We just happened to run into the executive who was working with Steven. He told us that Benson had been sold to a big company in New York. “And all of the main executives,” he continued, “including me, have been let go. Don’t worry, everything will be just fine.”

  We didn’t see him again for years.

  Now we were realizing that Steven’s contract could potentially keep him involved for about fifteen years . . . in a company where all the people who knew him had been fired. He was in limbo.

  When Steven originally signed this contract, we didn’t have the money for an attorney. We had earnestly prayed, asking God to do what He wanted with Steven’s career, read the fine print as well as we could, and signed away. All was well until that day in the parking lot.

  What we didn’t realize was that by God’s providence Steven had a “key man” clause in his contract. This essentially meant that if any of the main people who were directly responsible for signing him and working with him were let go, then his contract was considered null and void. These kinds of contracts don’t exist today because of all the changes in the music business. But thanks to God’s provision for us, we found out we were not contractually bound to Benson for years to come.

  What a relief!

  Still, things weren’t looking so great, as far as a planner like me was concerned. Let’s see, I was working to put Steven through school and help pay the bills while he developed as an artist. Now I was five months pregnant, and the recording company had been sold, so we had no recording contract, no future for me working, really, and pretty much a failed plan.

  About this time, Steven decided not to go back to school in the fall so that he could concentrate more on doing concerts. He also went back to work at Opryland USA, a Nashville theme park where he’d worked in the summers. They quickly hired him back to do the Country Music USA show for three to five performances a day.

  I’d waddle out there, very pregnant, and lie in the back row of the theater, singing right along while Steven impersonated various country greats. Little did I know that when I married Steven Curtis Chapman, I also married Lester Flatt, George Jones, Porter Wagoner, and an awesome clogger.

  But down deep, I was afraid that clogging wasn’t going to get us very far.

  6

  Smoke Signals

  Love and learn that’s what we will do

  Love and learn through the flood and through the flame

  This world will turn and the seasons will change

  But there’s nothing we can’t get through

  as long as we both hold on to

  The hand of God and each other and

  take a lifetime to love and learn

  “Love and Learn”

  Words and music by Steven Curtis Chapman

  I had always wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. My childhood was full of memories of my mom always being there for us. Now my prayer was that God would make a way for me to do the same for our children.

  The only problem was that we needed my salary from the hospital in order to do a few things like eat and live.

  Eventually, Steven met Greg Nelson, who produced Sandi Patty at the time. Greg believed in Steven and his ability to communicate. He introduced him to Lorenz Creative Services and talked to a few record labels in town.

  We were excited.

  They all passed on Steven, saying they loved his writing but weren’t interested in him as an artist.

  We were crushed.

  The Christian music business was going through cutbacks. White male artists were a dime a dozen, so the interest level was not high.

  Greg sent Steven’s stuff to a company based in California at the time, Sparrow Records. Billy Ray Hearn Sr., Sparrow’s CEO, didn’t want Steven as an artist. But he was interested in his writing.

  Steven continued writing for Lorenz and working hard. To earn extra money he would stay up all night and do what he called $100 demos. These were other writers’ songs that needed to be recorded so that they could be pitched to other artists to record. Steve would do the bass, vocals, keyboard, everything – and he got paid $100 a song.

  Somehow, some of these demos ended up back out in California at Sparrow Records. Billy Ray Hearn Sr., who passed on Steven the first time, was walking past someone’s office one day and heard Steven’s voice.

  “Who is that singing on that demo?” he asked. In the end, Billy Ray’s interest led to a co-publishing deal in which half of the publishing went to Sparrow and half went to Lorenz Creative Services, with the idea that Sparrow would develop Steven as an artist.

  Steven signed a contract with BMI – Broadcast Music, Inc. – which collects license fees on behalf of songwriters, composers, and music publishers, then distributes them as royalties when their works are performed. So Steven would get royalties each time one of his songs was played on the radio, in Muzak on an elevator, wherever.

  Around the same time, EMI Music, the third largest music company in the world, bought Sparrow Records. EMI gave Steven a second chance to prove himself as an artist and agreed to give him an advance on royalties, which tapped out at $250 a week . . . the exact amount I had been earning but would soon have to stop due to our baby.

  We saw this as God’s direct provision, and we were so thankful. We had moved into a little townhouse that had an extra room to decorate as a nursery . . . and once the baby arrived I could stay at home, just like I had always wanted. After a bumpy start, I thought that my marriage, and my life, were finally settling down to the orderly plan I’d longed for all along.

  On February 24, 1986, Emily Chapman entered the world by emergency C-section.

  I had just turned twenty-one. I tried and tried, and Emily wouldn’t, couldn’t, nurse. It hurt, and she seemed mad all the time. I felt like a complete failure. I was constantly on the phone with the pediatrician, my mom, anybody’s mom, even the La Leche League, trying to get nursing advice. I desperately wanted to be a low-key, calm mom, but I was full of anxiety because I was clearly doing something wrong.

  Then I gave up, bought some formula, cuddled her, stuck a bottle in her mouth, and all was well.

  That was fine for a while, but then Emily hit a stage where she’d scream from about 4:00 p.m. until about 8:00 p.m. every night. I would keep her in her little crank-up swing while I tried to fix dinner so I’d have it h
ot on the table when Steven got home. Emily would settle down, and then the swing would need to be cranked again. I’d turn the handle, it would make an awful noise, and Emily would startle, her little arms and legs straight out. Then she’d start screaming again, and the cycle would repeat.

  My plan of having the peaceful, perfect baby just wasn’t working out.

  One spring afternoon when Emily was six weeks old, we went out with a real estate agent looking for an inexpensive house. When we came home there were fire trucks all over our development, and our little townhouse was full of ashes.

  The bad news was that everything inside had been burned or scorched. The good news was that we didn’t have much . . . and of course, that the three of us were safe. A neighbor had not seen us leave, and so she had told the firefighters that we were still in the townhouse. In its charred ruins, you could see the black marks of where the firefighter’s hands had felt their way up the wall next to the stairs, through the bedroom, into the baby’s crib, feeling along the surfaces in the heavy smoke, trying to find and rescue us.

  As we stared at the ashes of our stuff, seeing those hand marks made me realize how much we could have lost.

  Wonderful friends gave us their basement to live in. Our dear friends Geoff and Jan Moore showed up with clothes from their closets. My mom and dad arrived within five hours of when we called them. They had paint buckets, ladders, brushes, and work clothes, ready to help however they could. They weren’t big on discussing life’s deepest feelings, as I’ve said, but they were great at showing up to do whatever needed to be done.

  My dad and I took all of Emily’s bedding and blankets and clothes and little stuffed animals to the Laundromat. We couldn’t afford to buy new things, so we had to wash everything over and over to get the smoke smell out. I remember sitting in front of the glass-front washer, watching the little stuffed animal faces going around and around. I felt like one of them, bouncing around in circles, pressed hard against the glass, subject to forces that were stronger than me.