As some of you know, I have partnered with Mocha Club (a fundraising arm of African Leadership) for the past couple of years. Each night during my show, I get the opportunity to communicate just how good we have it in this country and how, for very little money ($7/month: the cost of 2 mochas, hence the name), we can choose to sacrifice such small luxuries and amenities, targeting this money, instead, to do some fairly astounding things in Africa, a continent long-ravaged by the AIDS epidemic, severe drought, starvation, genocide, displaced and abandoned orphans, lack of fresh drinking water. The list goes on, and it is difficult to fathom. It has been one of the most fulfilling, and one of my favorite, things to talk about at shows since I was first given the privilege of partnering with Mocha Club.

* $7 can feed a family of four in Kenya for one month. I can’t eat at McDonald’s with my family for a single meal for $7.

* $7 can provide malaria medicine to literally save a human being’s life from the threat of disease-carrying mosquitos.

* $7 can enable the digging of fresh-water wells in Sudan.

* $7 can go to educate former child-soldiers in Zimbabwe for a one-year school term.

* $7 can help fund an orphanage of 400 children that have fled as orphans, as well as provide care and rehabilitation for former sex slaves in the war-torn region of Darfur.

The list goes on. The prospects are humbling.

Let me be absolutely clear, I am just as self-centered as anybody else. Probably more so. As I type this, I am in a local coffeeshop in my neighborhood, sipping on, yes, a fresh, warm mocha. The irony of the blessing – and the gravity – is not lost on me here and now. It is in this place, this structurally sound, well-lit, safe, comfy building where I realize that Africa does not need me. Its people are, more than likely, richer than I will ever be when it comes to matters of the soul and spirit. I need Africa more than Africa needs me. I need the spirit of joy – that continent-wide trait of Africa – in my very American, westernized life. I need Africa to change me, to make me a more compassionate, empathetic, resolute soul who would consider others long before he considers himself. This is the freedom of the gospel. We are the living. I hope you will consider joining me in the endeavour.

I’m in Montana this weekend, a state I have never before set foot in until now. A performing songwriter’s work day is neither glorious nor all that laborious, and it can at times be exhausting and tedious, proving that travel makes up 90% of the job, 9% of the time is spent waiting around, while 1% actually involves singing and playing. This was my Friday:

- In bed at 10pm the night before.
- Wake up at 1am.
- Fall asleep (again) at 2am.
- Wake up to a 4am alarm clock.
- Arrive at the Nashville airport at 5:06am.
- Check one bag, no guitars. “That’ll be $15 for the checked bag, sir.”
- Board plane to Charlotte and depart at 6:05am CST. Am amazed to discover that this airline charges for snacks and beverages in addition to the luggage fee. Take 2 Advil.
- Board plane to Denver and depart at 9:26am EST (terrible sinus headache for the first hour of 3 hour flight. Gulp 3 more Advil).
- Wish I could call in sick today.
- Say thanks to God I am on terra firma again (think to self, “Just one more leg of this trip”).
- Race through DIA trying to find gate for my connector.
- Scarf down incorrectly prepared McDonald’s cheeseburger while racing.
- Board plane to Kalispell, MT and depart at 12:20pm MST.
- Land at 2:45pm MST (think to self, “This is a great airport.” Marvel at nearby Glacier National Park and surrounding mountains).
- Wait at baggage claim for checked luggage (a brand new heavy duty travel case I purchased 3 days prior — clothes, music gear, guitar strings, merch, toiletries inside).
- Continue waiting as everyone else claims their luggage.
- Watch as placard on moving conveyor belt passes by: “This is the last of the checked luggage”. (think to self, “What’s so great about this airport?”).
- Proceed to Lost Baggage to file claim.
- Assuming the case is tracked down, am told I will not receive it until this time the following day. Airline employee churtles out a “sorry”.  (think to self, “I paid your company $15 to LOSE my luggage, and you don’t even offer me a common courtesy refund of that money??”). By now, me dislikes this airline very much.
- Get in friend’s car empty-handed and somewhat dejected. Proceed to Qdoba for taco dinner. Dr. Pepper is a nice beverage.
- Arrive at place I’m playing at on Flathead Lake. Stunning vista.
- Am taken to guest room. Nice. Private bath. No linens. Request linens. Receive linens. Make own bed.
- Want a nap. Lie down. Cannot sleep. Get up.
- Tune (borrowed) guitar. Try to sing. Sound like Linda McCartney. Too much head cold remnant. Gonna be a long night.
- Am told the place is overbooked. Would I please move to a new location, a cabin down the path? “Sure.” No private bath. No linens. Request linens. Receive linens. Make own bed again.
- Good thing I travel with a headlamp; Montana is dark at night.
- Am to sing one song tonight at first meeting. 11:33pm MST, sing song. Voice is shot. Finagle way through it. Impress no one.
- Listen to speaker. Speaker must dart off stage in the middle of talking to go puke. New person finishes speech. Not awkward at all.
- Speaker part II says prayer to end night.  Quietly rejoice — I can finally go to bed.
- 1:27am MST. Climb into non-hospital-cornered bed. Sleep. SLEEP.

Fellow Rabbit Room contributor and correspondent, Matt Conner, recently interviewed me at Soul-Audio.com. He posed a bunch of good questions about the new album and where my mind and heart are in the process of making of it.

Click here for the Soul Audio interview with Eric.

I’m in the living room of some dear friends of ours in Grand Rapids, MI. I played a show last night here in town and they have graciously hosted me in their home. It snowed last night; the area’s first of the year. Though I am not prepared for the cold, I’m glad I could ring in the onset of winter with these folks.

I have to get back in the car in a few minutes to drive to Iowa for tonight’s show, but I thought I would take a moment to say how amazed I am that people here can endure winters that are not only long and bitingly cold, but gray, rarely seeing the sun for months. I’m not sure I could do it and escape with a smile on my face. Or maybe that’s the point: you learn to endure and you learn what a grace it is to have the sunlight warm your brow, for however brief a time. I take Nashville’s weather for granted. Here in this place, grace is as small a thing as seeing the sun break through the thick blanket of morning clouds, if only for a few minutes, only to disappear again for days on end. That’s one of the many things I admire about people in this part of the country: where a dog is still just a dog, not an overly pampered critter – it’s a barn animal, after all – blankets are as ample and warm as the coffee, and the people are as authentic as the seasons of the year.

Welcome to winter. May we find a small grace in the day.

Two nights ago I did something I have never done in the entirety of my life, thus far:  I carved a pumpkin for the first time. I know this may be hard for you to believe, but I’m pretty sure it’s true (Mom, if you’re reading this, feel free to correct my poor slipshod memory). A smiley face on a pumpkin is a much more friendly gesture than a mouth full of jagged, imposing teeth. Besides, the world’s already got more than its fair share of jagged-toothed empty heads anyway.

Yesterday, we went trick-or-treating with our 2-year old boy, Ellis (dressed as a banana, a costume my wife made for him) in Five-Points here in our eclectic neighborhood of East Nashville. Walking about, the trees are making their brilliance known, just in time too. There was a petting zoo, but Ellis wasn’t nearly as enamored with the animals as he was the crushed shale in the story-time and costume judging area where we tried to get him to take notice of anything outside of the rocks on the ground to which he was transfixed. I am (humbly) proud to say that he won first place in the costume judging. I mean, how can you not vote a two-year old in a banana outfit the overall winner? There were at least two monkees in the lineup, and though several jokes were made as to his being endangered in such company, little Peters won hands down. *Insert cute smiley face*

We had a very fun afternoon – it’s good to be a kid with your own kid – until he OD’d on sugar and junk food later that night. Parents, learn your lessons. Ladies and gentlemen, I submit to you the winner of the 2008 East Nashville costume contest in the Five-and-Under category, Ellis Perrin Peters: