Everyone Has an Inspiring Story

In 2007, this popular singer-songwriter almost lost his voice. Not long after, he started singing your stories.

By Matthew West, Franklin, Tennessee

As appeared in

Every day someone tells me their story. They come by the thousands over Facebook and my website. Stories about people’s struggles with divorce and alcoholism. People who’ve lost their jobs or just lost their way. Hearttugging accounts from veterans still fighting battles here at home.

They’re not all sad. Many are tales of triumph. Of hope. Or faith. But behind every one is a person who more than anything wants to be heard. Everyone has a story.

I’m a singer-songwriter by trade. Folks send me their stories hoping I’ll tell them through song. But it never would have happened had I not first told my own story one night not long ago.

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I was wrapping up a concert, the final notes from my song “More” fading away. It had been a great show, but there was something I urgently needed to say, an urge that was on my heart.

“You don’t know how grateful I am to be here,” I said when the applause subsided.

“Seven months ago doctors operated on my vocal cords to remove a polyp, a growth in the lining of my throat that had made it so I could barely speak or sing. That was scary. But the worst part was when my doctor told me what I had to do to recover.”

At least I thought it was the worst part at the time...

I was still groggy from the anesthesia, sitting in my hospital bed, that spring of 2007, just able to focus on the doctor beside me.

“The surgery went well,” she said. “Now your vocal cords need time to heal. You must remain completely silent for the next seven weeks. Until then there’s no way for me to know if you’ll be able to sing again.”

Are you crazy? I screamed in my mind, suddenly alert. But all I could do was nod obediently. Already I’d gone a week without talking in preparation for the surgery. That was bad enough. But this felt like a kind of solitary confinement, being unable to give voice to the thoughts and fears rapidly multiplying inside me.

What if I still couldn’t sing? What if I didn’t sound like me? My fans bought my music expecting to hear a distinctive voice, the Matthew West sound. No one would pay a dime to hear me if I sang like Kermit the Frog. I had a wife, Emily, and a young daughter who depended on me. Singing was all I knew.

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I went home that afternoon. But there it seemed as if I were more an observer than a member of the family. I’d always had a lot to say on pretty much any topic—an opinion, a witty aside, a story or favorite memory. And when I wasn’t talking I was singing.

Not that I always had to be the center of attention, but expressing myself—through words and song—was who I was.

Every morning at breakfast, Lulu, my two-year-old, would stare at me, bewildered at what had become of her once oh-so-talkative father. “Talk, Daddy,” she said over and over. But all I could do was smile and shake my head.

“Daddy can’t talk right now,” Emily tried to explain. “He has a boo-boo that needs to get better. But he’s still the same daddy.”

I got a whiteboard to write on, but it wasn’t the same as having a conversation. Mostly it was a tool for me to vent my frustration. “This is driving me NUTS!” I scrawled to Emily.

“I know,” she answered. “You just have to be patient and trust that God has this under control. It’s all going to be good. You’ll see.”

I rarely left the house. I didn’t want to be around anyone when I couldn’t talk. Most days I retreated to my music room, the place where I’d written so many of my songs. My latest release, due out in January, was called Something to Say. As if!

I couldn’t even bring myself to pick up a guitar. I spent hours writing in my journal. One day I tried to make a list of other careers I could pursue. What was I good at? Singing. Writing songs. Singing....

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My mind went totally blank. That was it. That was all I knew how to do. Why is this happening to me, Lord? But God was as silent as I was.

I stopped going to church. I couldn’t go there, not with everyone singing around me and asking how I was doing. But one Sunday Emily insisted. I shrugged in resignation.

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Wow, Its Amazing, this story is thrilling.