That one time I accidentally sold merch for my favorite singer

Not an expert of much except songs about hope

I’m still doing my series ABC’s of survival.

Friends, this is quite the commitment. Do you know how long the alphabet is?

Thanks for sticking with me.

E is fun and tells a story from circa 2011.

E for Ellie Holcomb.

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I’m not an expert of anything except songs about hope.

One day this paid off.

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I lived in Raleigh, North Carolina for almost a decade and it will always be dear to my heart. It’s where I grew up after I grew up. AKA my 20’s.

Raleigh is the place where I definitely journaled more than I do now, went through a lot of health ups and downs, lived on my own in a small apartment, and met some of my best friends.

One of Lulu’s Godparents and one of Sammy’s Godparents live there (hello sweet Traci and Liz!).

I did a lot of solo adventuring in my 20’s, but, not too adventurous if you follow. I have always been spontaneous, but I mostly was accounted for at least by my acquaintances at Whole Foods (my 20’s was my Whole Foods era).

This isn’t a story about how I managed to get myself lost, as I have many of those, it’s a story of when I felt found.

Can you feel found? This is a strange idea, even to me, who likes to daydream and has spent time wandering in the clouds at least 50 percent of her life. Do I even want to be found? What does this even mean?

It sounds trippy, but one of my experiences in my mid-20’s when I was searching for who I really was became more clear at an Ellie Holcomb concert.

I really love the singer/songwriter, Ellie Holcomb. I know all of her songs, ridiculously well. I love how she sings songs that are like prayers, and each one pointed me back to remembering God’s truth, his strength, kindness and grace. Her songs gave me hope in some seasons that felt very dark while I was in them.

I didn’t realize until the day I sold merch for her that I knew every.single.song.

Okay, how does someone randomly start helping out at a real band’s merch table?

You have to understand…these things happen to me a lot.

I make friends at gas stations. I just do.

Plus, I had a lot of time in my 20’s. I didn’t think I did then. But I did.

I could linger after an event. I could talk to strangers and not feel afraid (because of my Greek side. I always blame the Greek side). I could say yes to selling merch when some volunteers who didn’t actually know Ellie’s music got caught in a bind with potential customers who were asking about her albums.

Insert me.

Both Ellie and her husband’s band, Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors (which she has also been part of during the years) were performing that night. A lot of the volunteers were connected with Drew’s music. Some of the band was at the merch table, and I got to talk with them a lot, which was very cool. The band kept getting pulled in different directions, so that left the actual volunteers.

One of the volunteer merch sellers saw me talking to a customer, giving recommendations on which albums would be helpful to her, and she asked me if I could jump in with them.

Suddenly, I was swiping credit cards and handing out t-shirts as well. I also got to tell a lot of people who were first time listeners to Ellie about why she was so good. Her voice, yes. If you listen to her work, you can tell she’s a very solid artist, who writes her own music. Directly from Scripture.

She helps people remember it. She fights the darkness with truth about the light. Every song has a story in it, but more than that, it speaks of hope and love amidst a broken, broken world.

Real talk:

If your brain is mush because life has hit hard, and someone (maybe a young 20 something at a merch table) tells you about Ellie, stick around for awhile. Buy a CD (remember this is 2011!).

Even in 2024, look for the beauty of this artist and others like her.

As a counselor, I don’t give much advice. If I do, it is usually to myself.

For instance:

Julie, this was supposed to be an essay about how you survived, not a plea to listen to a certain singer and buy her albums. Well, what can I say, once a merch salesman, always a merch salesman…

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I really love the story of selling merch. I did get to meet Ellie and it was lovely and I’m pretty sure the band introduced me to her at the end of the night as an accidental volunteer. She was excited and thanked me and probably those kinds of random things happen to her a lot.

As much as I enjoy talking about merch, what I hope is clear was that this was very fun. And natural somehow. Hello, band and friends, nice to sell merch with you.

It wasn’t gimicky or all about money, obviously, because they asked a stranger to take credit cards for them.

I guess I write about this because I’ve been in another season of listening to Ellie on repeat. Okay, every season is that for me, but this one has brought me back to remembering how one day I found the music or it found me and was a balm for my weary soul. And then I sold merch for it. I know, I am very proud of this moment.*

Here’s something specific that’s not about merch. I’ve read some words by Ellie about her song, “As Sure As the Sun,” which was also an album (I told you, I’m not an expert on much, but…). She talked about how she had to repeat her own words, once again, mainly a prayer, back to herself, and to her babies, when they were very little.

I love to sing but I’m not the best singer in the world. I do sing this song to my babies sometimes, though. And I do put on Ellie’s music a lot for them, so they can hear something soothing and pure. Lu will ask for Ellie Holpin. Sometimes, when she says it, it’s almost impossible to decipher, but I’ve heard her say it enough that I know.

Sure, baby, we’ll play Ellie Holpin.

Speaking of sure things, did you know God’s love is as sure as the sun?

I appreciate that no matter what kind of night we have, we know the light will come, there will be new mercies every day.

And there sure are a lot of long nights with babies.

During Sammy’s hospital stay, I didn’t play her music a ton, because some of the albums my husband had downloaded (he’s the real music guru, I’m still over here with 15 year old CD’s) were the more fast paced and energy-filled albums. One such album is called Canyon, if you are wanting a rec for that style of music.

I couldn’t play it a lot with Sammy because we needed him to rest and heal from his heart surgery (surgeries). However, sometimes it played in the car on the way over to the hospital in the mornings or at night when we tried to leave for a few hours of sleep if we had a good night nurse.

I think this album was even playing in the car the morning I was in labor. Thanks to my husband who knows my taste.

I feel like it’s a good soundtrack to get ready to push out a baby.

Sometimes, the album is almost too loud for me, which is strange, considering I’m a loud person. Still, I would never criticize any of her albums. I think it’s just because I’m used to feeling really calm after listening to her other tracks. There’s one song on it that always sticks with me though. It’s called “Sweet Ever After.”

Here’s a part of Sweet Ever After:

Got a lot of bad days still coming our way
But it's sweet ever after
Wind and waves breaking over our walls
But the ship, it don't shatter…

The sun’s coming up on the stairway to Heaven

And it’s a sweet ever after

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Jesus was with us when Sammy was coming into the world. He knew my fright. How I couldn’t completely close my eyes during labor even with low blood pressure and the need to rest. I couldn’t stop looking at his heart rate.

We’re so close, Butternut. You’ve made it so far. So many storms you’ve already weathered. I want to see you this side of Heaven.

I don’t think the birth was that dicey, although the docs sent me into the OR to be nearer to the NICU, and Sammy was rushed off due to oxygen needs the moment he popped out. That’s enough to be scary, but compared to the scares we had earlier in pregnancy, being told that he might not make it, the birth ended up being a kind grace, a sort-of walk in the park. It’s all relative. I still wouldn’t wish any of that fear on anyone.

We made it through though. I wasn’t perfect at navigating fear. But words of truth, some favorite verses, and many songs came back to me during those times.

Even during the heart surgeries, there was a peace that surrounded us.

God singing over me then.

It doesn’t mean I still don’t fight feelings of sorrow for myself a year ago, so so nervous during pregnancy, wondering every day how it would all go.

It doesn’t mean I don’t also celebrate feelings of hope, the ways Jesus comforted us, how we knew no matter what He would get the glory and we would be okay.

Stories of loss hit me harder now, because of how near we were to it. I’m a counselor, so I’m trained to help people with grief.

I’m also human, that’s what I know. No one is immune from grief.

Hopefully, I can sing over people now acceptance and compassion and lived understanding for grief, AND sing some songs and tell stories of hope. Maybe if I’m lucky it will hit at the right time and be a balm for someone. The way I always needed it with Ellie’s music.

Chasing the darkness away by shining a bright light on it. Not dismissing the darkness. Not forgetting that there is brokenness. Not pretending the storm is sunny skies.

But not letting it break us.

I could write a lot more, but I started this Substack the way I still continue it tonight.

In the midst of literal darkness. When the world and my babies are asleep (I started it on a night when Butternut Sammy was inside me but I’m thinking he was asleep).

I write best when the world sleeps, and I can think. I write my little heart out, and then I need to pass out.

It’s almost pass out time.

I have a tiny light on in the bedroom so it’s not entirely creepy, but you get the point. There’s a time when you need to call it and go to sleep.

The night is special and also awful to me still. There in the night, I have to fight my worries and the sleeplessness of motherhood.

Writing in the dark helps me remember the light. Helps me pray for bright days to come, while knowing they all won’t be so.

I wrote this Substack at the very beginning as almost a game with myself. Could I write here, through the pain and then be done?

Strangely, the forever writer in me even pledged to give up writing about all of this if Butternut baby would just be OKAY.

I think about that tonight and don’t know why I said that. I could never not write. That’s how much pain I must have been in, wanting more desperately for doctors to be wrong than for me to write. Whatever that means.

It doesn’t have to be all or nothing, and it certainly isn’t. I’m still writing about this journey and I hope it helps people.

It’s just interesting to look back.

Your darkest days don’t have to define you. You can change course. You can begin again. You can keep writing.

I don’t write on here every week, even though I try to. I’m not using all the gadgets and ways to get subscribers. Although I probably have at times. Everyone’s process is their own, and mine had a messy and vulnerable beginning, and I’m here to say that helped me survive and keep writing messy vulnerable essays.

This essay is more personal than funny, although I really hope to always make you all laugh at least A LITTLE.

I survived the last year, and I have some stories yet to tell about it.

Gritty hope, and fear, mingling together at the same party. Some days I never saw the sun coming, and yet, there it was, day after day of pregnancy and day after day of hospital visits with sweet, brave Sammy.

Now, as Sammy turned one and I get to watch him sleep without monitors finally, the sun shines brighter without me begging. I can spend longer on my writing (some days). I can even sound like I have it together. Which I don’t and no one does.

But tonight. Tonight is a night where I’m hopeful. Tonight I will once again finish quickly and post before I change my mind and so I can get some sleep.

Then I will breathe because this essay was one I held my breathe for, again, like I’ve done so many times in the last year. You can’t talk about hope without the zig-zagged journey to get there.

One day at a time. One breath at a time. One song at a time. One word or post written at a time.

One thing I know for sure…

We’re all going to make it and there’s a lot of good songs out there to help us remember that. I have the hospital battle scars and the merch scars to prove it.

*It is late and I cannot find any proof that I sold merch including my own merch from that day, so thanks for believing my adventure.