I think it's pretty common for people in the public eye to sometimes wonder about their audience and even about their friends. If I slip up will they support me? If the next record bombs are they gonna stick around? This might come as a surprise, but I'm as insecure as the next guy. Some people can't see past those bright lights of fame to realize that we musicians are vulnerable. They might think we can walk on water, but we can't.

I know some people think of us as role models, and that puts even more pressure on us to stay spiritually focused. Not that we don't accept that responsibility, but I wish more people understood that the world is watching all of us. Being called to be "the light of the world" makes every Christian into a role model for someone. And the other thing people should keep in mind is that we don't stand or fall based upon what anyone else thinks of us. We stand or fall based on what God thinks of our lives.

"What if I Stumble?" ask what are you going to do if someone around you takes a nose dive. The song is not some kind of a prediction. We're just saying that some already have fallen and it's not just people in Christian music. We've got injured Christians all around us. I heard a man say that the Army of God is the only army that shoots it's own wounded. That's a shame. Jesus told us that we should be recognized for our love for one another.

God forbid that I stumble, but if I do, I hope you will be there for me. I'll do my best to be there for you, too.

A few weeks ago, I went with four of my friends to the Smokey Mountains to do some rock climbing. We came to this little town, kind of in the sticks, just outside of Knoxville. I wanted to pull over and get something to drink and I saw a little country store ahead. The ironic thing was that, just as we pulled up I said, "Guys, no telling what they might do to a black man around here." I was just kidding. Even though I've felt subtle prejudice in my day, thank God I've never had to live with the kind of racism that was common a generation ago. All the guys laughed, slapped me on the back, and said, "Don't worry, Mike, we white guys will take care of you."

Well, I walked in and there were three guys sitting there giving me looks I have never seen before. The older of the three said, "You don't belong around here--boy."

At first I thought, "Is he talking to me?" Then I realized he was. I knew my dreds made me look different than the locals, but hair style wasn't what this was about. He was talking about the color of my skin. I couldn't believe my ears when he said, "You stick around here after dark and we'll hang you." I was thinking, "Man, we're sending rockets to Mars and there are still people living in this kind of blind ignorance." It was as if I had been beamed back to the fifties. Suddenly I was experiencing hatred, the kind of bigotry that I had only read about or seen on TV. I will never forget how I felt in that little country store. For just a split second I felt less than human. I felt alone.

No, I didn't lose it. I just calmly and articulately explained to him that racism is a thing of America's past. I was even surprised myself at the restraint I showed. I knew Jesus would not have lashed out. And to tell you the truth, I think my calm made that man madder than anything else I could have said or done.

I'm okay now, but for the next hour of the drive I didn't want to talk about it.

If any good came from the whole experience it was that I found a deeper respect for those of my race who struggled for civil rights. I also answered some questions about myself. I've always wondered how I might respond to prejudice aimed directly at me. Now I know.