The Selfie that Slipped Away

I’ve never asked a celebrity for a selfie, but have you ever had a celebrity ask you for one?

Let me explain. My favorite solo Christian recording artist is, without a doubt, Steven Curtis Chapman. His incredible guitar skills, poignant storytelling through lyrics, and Grammy-winning songs drew me to him early in his career. His cassettes and CDs were often playing in my car or in the pastor’s study. A dear friend even asked me to sing and play one of Steven’s songs at her father’s funeral. I stayed up late learning all the nuances of his guitar playing in “My Redeemer Is Faithful and True.”

So in 2017, when my son-in-law asked if I wanted to attend a Show Hope Conference in Franklin, Tennessee, where he and his colleagues from TCU would equip adoptive parents with TBRI principles, I jumped at the opportunity. Show Hope is an adoption support organization that provides navigational help for adoptive families. It was founded by Steven and Mary Beth Chapman after their own experiences with international adoption proved significantly helpful to others. That was where I first met the Chapmans.

The night before the conference, the TCU presenters and Show Hope staff gathered at the home of Dan and Terri Coley for a pizza dinner. While many found a place inside the house to eat, I retreated to the covered, screened-in patio with several other guests. The Chapmans arrived late, but Steven opened the kitchen door with a plate in hand and announced his arrival to us outside by saying, “Is this where all the cool kids are?” He and Mary Beth then sat across from me at the picnic table.

Somehow, the conversation shifted from “cool kids” to our own awkward middle school experiences. After sharing several stories, I recounted the time an evangelist had breakfast with all the church youth. My mother volunteered to help in the kitchen and left the house before I got up that morning. Once there, as I sat with my best friends, my mother came in to serve us. I was aghast when she greeted me with a family nickname I despised. When she said, “Good morning, Chuckie Baby,” I’m sure I turned red and then had to endure weeks of teasing from my friends.

The story was well received at the picnic table, and I thought that was the end of it. However, as Steven and Mary Beth were leaving that evening, she singled me out and said, “Good night, Chuckie Baby.” About two months later, my son-in-law was in a planning meeting with her, and Mary Beth asked, “How’s your father-in-law doing…Chuckie Baby?”

Subsequent encounters with Steven have been close, but not conversationally so. I saw him at an intimate house concert in Dallas in 2020, a Show Hope fundraiser, and met his daughter, Emily. In 2023, a friend who works for Steven’s recording label, Provident Label Group, secured a photo pass that gave me front-of-stage access at Hoyt Sherman Place for the Still Tour.

His most recent appearance in Des Moines was last week for the Speechless Tour. Although I had planned to be out of town and didn’t purchase tickets, I answered the call for Show Hope volunteers. On my way to Des Moines, I reached out to Dan Coley, with whom I had kept in touch since 2017. After catching up on various matters, I let him know about my plans to volunteer with Show Hope. He replied, “Tell him [Steven] hello from me…and that I’ll be calling him soon to meet again for breakfast.” I responded, “Not sure I’ll be in close proximity, but I’ll pass on the message if I can.”

I arrived two hours early and walked the grounds of Hoyt Sherman Place for a while. Deciding to sit in comfort, I walked over to Unity Point Hospital and settled in the physician’s office atrium. While crossing the event center’s parking lot, I spotted Steven walking by himself with a cell phone in hand. My first instinct was not to interrupt, but then I thought, “I have a message to deliver.” So, I approached him, introduced myself, and conveyed Dan’s message. As I was about to leave, I remembered the Chuckie Baby story and said, “Tell Mary Beth that Chuckie Baby says hello.” This prompted a quick recounting of the story. After I finished, he said, “Let me get a picture to send to her.” I posed with him while he snapped the photo, thanked me for volunteering, and we parted ways. As I walked halfway across the parking lot, it hit me: “I could have gotten a selfie, too!”

So, Steven or Mary Beth, if you haven’t deleted it yet, please send it my way! Otherwise, this will just be my poor substitute.