I remember the first concert I ever went to. 

I was around 5-6 years old, and my parents took me and my brother to see The Beach Boys at a large outdoor amphitheater. I have only vague memories of the show itself — the crowd singing along with the hits, the lights and fanfare, and oh, so many Hawaiian printed shirts! But looking back now, that night was where my love affair with music began.

By the time I hit middle school, I got my first boombox and was obsessively listening to radio. I made mixtapes by sitting diligently next to the “play/record” buttons and waiting to hear the first note of my favorite song so that I wouldn’t miss a word. I began spending my allowance on blank cassettes and eventually purchased albums myself (i.e. Spin Doctors and Paula Abdul!).

As I moved into my teenage years, I became a serious consumer spending my hard-earned lifeguard and waitress money almost exclusively on music. I was obsessed with attending concerts — from huge amphitheater events to little-known bands playing in record shops and hidden venues. If it was happening, I was there. And I wanted all the things — shirts, stickers, signed albums, you name it.

Moving into my college years, I started realizing that the music I was so entranced with was much more than a product to be consumed. I started realizing that certain sounds, songs, and musicians spoke into my soul in different ways. I was becoming more self-reflective as a young adult and I started craving music that could say the things with notes and poetry that I was unable to express myself. Lyrics were my thoughts laid over music that made me dance or cry.

Though I still loved many of the biggest artists of the late ‘90s and early 2000s, my heart and soul began tiring of music that had no depth. I no longer spent hours listening to the radio as a passive consumer. I started carefully curating my collection of albums to be from artists I felt connected to, not just an abundance of products to waste money on. I had unknowingly, but naturally, moved from being a blind consumer to being, in a way, a patron of the arts.

At the start of my marriage and parenting years, a person I had become friends with began talking about creating an organization that supports media that brings artists and musicians to the forefront who want to elevate culture through truth, beauty, and goodness. As I listened to him speak about what this movement would do, I realized that THIS is exactly what my heart had been desiring in my young adult years — music that mattered. There was no question in my mind that we would be supporting what would become Love Good.

Though my own music journey has taken a sharp turn thanks to parenthood and an onslaught of children’s music that dominates my life, Love Good remains my main source for new, enjoyable, and talented musicians. With the demands of work and being a full-time mom and wife, I often do not have the time or energy to search out new artists that would meet my personal standards. I know I can trust whatever will arrive in my seasonal package to be worth my time and good for my family. In fact, Love Good packages make me feel like a teenager again because they’re filled with CDs, stickers, books, shirts, and art chosen to support artists who are improving our culture. 

As a wife, I have a responsibility to practice good stewardship of our family’s resources. As a music lover, I still enjoy feeding my soul with stirring music and lyrical genius. As a parent, I want to expose my children to really good, worthwhile media that will enhance their lives. It is through our Love Good that I can best achieve all of those things.


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