instruments and vocals: T.S. Taylor
backing vocal on the outro: Deborah Taylor

note:
Looking back on my years of almost constant touring, I believe that a certain weariness, stemming from the pressure of having to “perform,” began to take its toll. The kind of performing I am referring to is the kind that took place largely off-stage (the meet and greets after the show, the post concert restaurant gatherings, the homes of the families who put us up for the night, etc.) where the watchful eyes of a Christian public, often prone to scrutinizing and passing judgement, were constantly assessing our every move. This was especially true in the early years of Daniel Amos, (due, I believe, to the high degree of Christian pietism existing at that particular time), then it ebbed for awhile until the Horrendous Disc controversy stirred things up again and the band, as a result, went through the most difficult period of its existence.
In recent years, Mike Roe and I have taken to calling our post concert gatherings with the fans “the show after the show,” but this is meant only in a humorous and affectionate way. Meeting our incredible supporters after the show is one of the great pleasures of touring for everyone in the Lost Dogs, and I look forward to the time we can do it again. Even when the Horrendous Disc controversy was in full swing, along the way I met an incredible number of wonderfully kind and encouraging people. Unfortunately, we had our critics as well, and at times they could be vitriolic in their condemnation, openly spewing their displeasure at us in front of shocked and confused fellow concert goers. Of course I would defend myself and the band as lovingly, but firmly as I was able, and this was a miracle in itself considering the embarrassment and anger these confrontations engendered in me. The weariness this produced was a kind of mental exhaustion, which was quite different from the physical wear and tear one ordinarily associates with the long drives, the endless unloading and loading of equipment, the late hours and bad food, and so forth. While it was a pleasure and an honor for me to be a working musician with a platform to share my faith through song, it took me a long time to get it through my head that I simply could not please everyone, no matter how hard I tried. And, God knows, I did try. If I was sleep-deprived, had a headache, a cold, or was struggling with strained vocal chords, and felt about as social as a pimply faced wallflower at the spring dance, I would still put on a happy face, laugh at “who’s Daniel and who’s Amos” jokes, be kind to people who asked me when we were going to get back to our “country roots,” and even managed to keep my cool when, as happened more than once, I was being accused of “losing my first love.” In the early days, being a Maranatha/Calvary Chapel band, all of us were expected, by certain types, to be joyful at all times, humble, pious, funny, attentive and conversational, wise and instructive, articulate in our faith, extroverted and inexhaustible. In other words, we had to be “on” at any given moment i.e. “The show after the show.” Anything less, and we ran the risk of being perceived as snobbish, dismissive, condescending, mean,…..unchristian. Were the majority of the people we performed before guilty of setting the bar so impossibly high? Certainly not. I thank God for all of those dear understanding souls who didn’t take our exhaustion, our occasional crankiness or insensitivity, our…..humanness, as a personal affront, or an affirmation of our rock star arrogance. I’m no psychologist, but let me venture to say that some people may be guilty of assessing the enthusiasm of a band’s followers as something like an idolatrous obsession for which it is their Christian duty to expose or perhaps, out of some misguided sense of jealousy at seeing anyone but themselves in the spotlight, they are driven to tear down the straw man they have themselves erected. Unfortunately, being the sensitive type and somewhat of a people pleaser, how inordinately it stung me when, on a few of occasions, some sin sniffer would call our pastor and launch a complaint about the band’s general “attitude.” “They didn’t seem to have much joy,” was one such complaint. I know for a fact that we were as close to exemplary in our interactions with the public as any motley group of young Christian musicians can be expected to be. Night after night I saw my band mates interact with the public after the show with humor, kindness, grace, and humility, even after a long drive and a particularly grueling schedule. It is no wonder I grew weary of something as benign as a misinterpreted “look” or “tone” becoming the catalyst for condemnation and a call to our pastor. Apparently “snitching” is one of the lesser known fruits of the spirit.
And so it was that I grew tired of the pressure, and tired of wearing a mask of good cheer when I was often hurting inside. Being away from my family for such long periods of time was also taking its toll. I loved my supporters and was grateful for them, but even the remotest possibility of having to justify myself ever again to even one naysaying critic in the crowd, filled me with weariness and dread. If, for financial reasons, I was forced to tour, well then so be it; I would just have to cross that bridge when I came to it, and then do my best out there in the minefields to minimize public contact as much as was humanly possible.
It was the late great Gene Eugene who lovingly got me to tour again. Bless his heart.
“It’s not like it was back then Terry,” Gene told me one afternoon over the phone,” The people that you and The Lost Dogs will be playing in front of aren’t hostile and judgmental like some of those people were in the early days. The people we’ll be playing for love you Terry. You’ll see.”
And he turned out to be right. Nothing but kindness, grace, encouragement….love. It continues and grows to this day. How thankful I am.
So it was, back before The Lost Dogs cured me of tour-itis, I wrote “Here I Am” out of pain, loneliness, and alienation. “I really bleed,” I say in the song i.e. try to get past whatever role you have assigned me (singing evangelist, on fire for Jesus), and try to see me for who I am: a broken human being and, just like you, a sinner saved by grace, a wounded soul needful of the healing balm of love, empathy, mercy, kindness, and grace. I promise to do my best to see you in the same light. I will not pre-judge you, compartmentalize you, or assign you a one dimensional role for which I expect no variance (adoring fan, obnoxious critic). Lord willing, and as much as is humanly possible, I will see you as Christ sees you with all of your strengths and all of your weaknesses, your triumphs and your defeats, your saintliness and your sinfulness. And even at your worst, I will be here for you. I will seek to love you as Christ loves the church in all her threadbare splendor; “dressed to kill…. in her rags of light.”
Considering the dark cloud of circumstances we currently find ourselves in, our ability to recognize and honor the image of God and the face of Christ in everyone we encounter, no matter how obscure it may be, has seldom before been so crucial to who we are becoming as individuals, as a nation, and as a world community. Here I am: your broken brother, your wounded sister. There you are: my hurting brother, my wayward sister.
The lockdown during this current pandemic is bringing out the better angels in some of us, along with the potential for evil that lies (mostly dormant, thank God) in the heart of every man and woman on the planet. A very bad cop (by all accounts) killed a young, helpless black man last week. As a result, there are protests and riots going on right now in almost every major city in the United States. Concurrently, many continue to lose their lives to this ghastly pandemic. People are rightfully demanding justice. They are angry, fearful, out of work, out of money, out of patience, out of answers, and some are under the mistaken and deadly impression that hate can defeat hate. “We touch not, we are not even near…here I am, there you are…I’m crying.” It is through Jesus of Nazareth that the enmity and alienation between ourselves and God, and between each other, is removed, (“There is no longer Jew or greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male or female; for all of you are one in Christ”); Here we are. It is the meek who shall inherit the earth. It is love alone that will heal our wounds. “But if we say we love God and don’t love each other, we are liars. For whoever does not love his brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen…..God is love.”