Clucky says, "Eggspect a miracle!"

   Aaron-Jeoffrey

 NASHVILLE - Five years ago my son Aaron was graduating from high school.  Like any father, I was curious about his plans.  Aaron was a National Merit scholar and a terrific soccer player.  It seemed like a good time for a father-and-son chat.

"Aaron, I know you're experiencing a lot of emotions and feelings," I began, "but I'd like to talk about what you want to do with your life, and what God wants you to do, as well."

Aaron took the longest time to respond, and then he said, "Dad , I feel called to become a singer - just like you."

I had been involved in the music ministry for 14 years, and like any father, I was flattered that he wanted to follow in my footsteps.  Yet I felt apprehensive because I knew the pressures of the music business.  I had experienced the highest highs and the lowest lows.  I knew how elusive "success" could be.

"There are a lot of people doing what you want to do," I said.  "To be noticed by a record company, you either have to be first, great or different."

I finished speaking and knew I was in trouble when I saw "her" walking toward me at the podium.  I have done enough public speaking to be able to recognize the look on her face at 100 yards.  She cornered me and said, "Do you think it's wise to encourage children to eat chocolate just before they go to bed?  Their teeth will rot."  

Then a thought suddenly came to mind: Why doesn't Aaron sing with me?

"Aaron, don't answer me right away when I ask you this question.  There is no pressure to say yes or no, but I would like you to think about us becoming a duo."

We agreed to take two weeks to pray about it, and when we got back together, Aaron said, "Dad, I've really thought and prayed about what you asked me.  I would like to sing with you because I think God can use our relationship to touch people's lives."

His response thrilled me because God had been placing the same desire in my heart.  Still, he was 18 years old, and putting together a singing career would be a long-term project.  Aaron began attending Belmont University in Nashville, but on weekends he started traveling with me.  At first he'd sing only one song with me, "A Man of God", which always drew the biggest cheers of the evening.

For the next three years, we tried to get our duo - called Aaron Jeoffrey - off the ground.  We worked on developing our own sound, which I would characterize as "blue-eyed soul", but we were turned down by every major Christian label in Nashville until Star Song caught the vision of where this thing could go.

Since then, we've recorded two albums.  Lyrically, we're positive and fun to listen to.  We've created records that we love, and it's music that every generation can enjoy.

As we've toured, we've been amazed to watch our father-and-son relationship affect our audiences.  After one concert, a 35-year-old man came up to Aaron, and with tears running down his face he said, I just lost my dad a few weeks ago.  I wish I could have had what you and your dad have.  I'm going to go home and try to be a good father to my son."

"My relationship with you means more than making records.  If it ever gets to the point where making records overshadows our relationship, I want to quit."

That's why we make appeals to fathers to be shepherds of the family, but we're not heavy-handed, since we've experienced our own ups and downs.

About a year ago, our relationship went into the tank.  We were caught up in petty disagreements about when to make a record, who was going to write the songs, how much we should tour, things like that.

Since I can be intense and Aaron is laid-back, I was wearing on him, but he was also wearing on me.  Instead of dealing with it, we continued to ignore each other.

I remember sitting in the office of our manager, and she looked at both of us and said, "I just have to ask you two something.  Are you okay?"

"No, we're not," replied Aaron.  I agreed with him, then things became really emotional.  We had stopped being vulnerable.  We were not fun to be around.  I looked at Aaron and saw a 21-year-old grown man who was married and about to become a father.  All those emotions swept over me, and I reached out to hold my son.  Then we wept and got down on our knees in that office, and through our tears, we prayed for reconciliation.

Afterward, I said to Aaron, "My relationship with you means more than making records.  If it ever gets to the point where making records overshadows our relationship, I want to quit."

I meant that a year ago, and I still mean it today.

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