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Love for Nie Nie Benefit Concert and Silent Auction, featuring Mindy Gledhill, with special guests The Thrillionaires!

Monday, February 2, 2009

Silent Auction begins at 6:15 pm, Concert at 7 pm

Covey Center for the Arts, Provo, Utah

Buy tickets at mindygledhill.com or by calling 801.852.7007

Happy Holidays, my dearest friends!

This Christmas I have vowed to enjoy each minute with my family and loved ones. The season often gets so busy with performances and all of the planning that comes with them, so this year I have decided to only do one Christmas concert that is open to the public. That’s right, JUST ONE. If you live in Richfield, UT or you have family and friends in the area, let it be known that I am headed your way this Saturday, December 13th. I will be performing at theater in the Sevier Valley Center at 8:00 p.m. after the Lights Up Parade. You can buy tickets here. Also, all ye South Central Utahns can tune in to 100.5 FM KSVC at 8:40 a.m. to listen to an exclusive interview with me about the Richfield concert.

Did you know that all music is 20% off at www.mindygledhill.com until Christmas? Even downloads! My CDs make sweet Christmas gifts, you know.

To those of you who attended the Nie Nie Benefit Concert in Mesa, AZ, THANK YOU a hundred times over for your support. I’m confident in saying that it was the best performance experience of my life and it was largely because of all the amazing people in Mesa. Stay tuned for a Nie Nie benefit concert in Provo soon . . .

Merry Christmas!!!

Peace and Love,

Mindy Gledhill

I am a musician—or at least, I like to think that I am. When I consider my identity, music plays a major role. But I am also many other things: Rich and Karen’s daughter, one of nine children, aunt to twenty-some odd nieces and nephews, native of Northern California, a lover of the planet and advocate of holistic living (I told you I was from Northern Cal!), a fluent Spanish speaker, a Mormon, a world traveler, lover of graphic design, appreciator of historic architecture, and the list goes on. But truly, the most important roles that I play in life are wife to Ryan and mother of two boys (Jackson and Thatcher). I love these boys, madly. Indeed, you might say I am boy crazy.

I grew up as the eighth child in a family of nine children. My two oldest brothers were born first and then all seven glorious girls succeeded them. Poor brothers. That’s a lot of estrogen for one household. Because of our age gap, my brothers were out of the house for the large part of my upbringing. So, after giving birth to two boys of my own, I never know what to expect from them. They surprise me daily with language and actions I am not accustomed to. But one thing is clear: I LOVE IT (most of the time). I love little boys and all of the whistles and bells that they come pre-packaged with. Have you ever noticed that they inherently know how to make the most realistic sound for the rumbling of a diesel’s engine? Or how they so fearlessly glide over bumps and ruts in the sidewalk on scooter and skateboard? Believe me, I could do without the sprinkles on the toilet seat, but give me a dirty-faced, scabby-elbowed, bed-headed little boy any day. I am a boys’ Momma.

Congratulations to Mindy on winning a Pearl Award for “Hard,” from Feather in the Wind in the Singer-Songwriter or Folk Recorded Song category. “Hard” is both performed and written by Mindy, and produced by Scott Wiley. She tied for the award with Cherie Call for her rendition of “Nearer My God to Thee,” from Come Sing to the Lord, written by Sarah F. Adams, also produced by Scott Wiley.

The Pearl Awards are given by the Faith Centered Music Association in recognition for uplifting and inspirational music. Mindy was nominated in 5 different categories, and was involved with several other nominations for her work with the Nashville Tribute to the Prophet album.

To hear “Hard” and other songs written and performed by Mindy, you can visit her website, or her MySpace page.

Thanks,
Erin- Fan of Mindy, and Online Publicist

I just got home from singing at a funeral. Just walked through the door, just settled on the couch and set my keys beside me. Except, these really aren’t my keys. This morning I couldn’t find my car keys. As I slung my purse over my shoulder and reached for my keys on the hook by the back door, there was nothing there—a familiar scenario. I searched in all of the likely places: on my vanity, bedspread, kitchen table, counter tops, floor, and the boys’ rooms. Nothing. I prayed (as I often do when I lose something important), but the clock ticked on and I knew I had ten minutes to be in a place that was twenty minutes away. Frantic, I called my mother-in-law who lives across the street.
“Hi Leslie, it’s Mindy. You wouldn’t happen to have an extra car over there that I could borrow? I am late for a funeral that I have been asked to sing at.”
Leslie is always gracious to me. She looked around the house for the keys to their Jeep Wrangler, but soon discovered that it was out of gas. She obliged a busy son if he would let me take his Jetta, but he was of course going to need it. She would have even let me take her luxurious Sequoia but she had just loaded it with things and was on her way somewhere.
“All we have is the moving van….”
“I’ll take it!” I responded with only five minutes remaining.
I flew down the back stairs down to the carport and jumped in the driver’s seat of the big, white van only to realize that the windshield was encrusted with ice. Luckily, there was an ice scraper on the floor. I hopped out, scraped off the frost from the early-morning chill, climbed back inside and was on my way.
Putting the pedal to the metal, I ripped out of the driveway and made my way just south of town to Springville, UT. I squinted at my paper with a set of mapquested directions. Turn left on 400 South. I turned left. Turn right on S. Canyon Rd. I went all the way up 400 South, and could have sworn there was never an S. Canyon Rd. I retraced my path driving back down 400 South to where I first made the left-hand turn. No S. Canyon Rd. in sight. I prayed. I cried.
“Reva!” I cried out loud. “Where is your funeral?”
Reva Taylor emailed me on July 10th, almost three months ago. Her letter read:
Dear Mindy,
My name is Reva Taylor. I live in Springville, UT with my wonderful husband. I am a fifty-five year old mother of five children and grandmother of nine grandchildren. I love your music and listen to it all the time.
I am terminally ill as a result of ovarian cancer. I am trying to make some preparations for my own funeral. I would like my daughter to sing one of your songs at my funeral. The song is “Child of Light.”
Reva went on to say that she could not find the sheet music anywhere and wondered if I could help her get a hold of it “someway, somehow.” I told her that I would be happy to get help her out and that I was honored at such a request.
Three weeks later, Reva turned up at one of my concerts. She introduced herself and reminded me of her email. I reached for her and we embraced as we both wept. I was about to go on stage and Reva only had the strength to stay for a few songs.
In October, I received a new email from Reva (which she later confessed, took her over an hour to write). She had a new request. She had been listening to “The Sum of All Grace” from her bedside and was particularly drawn to track one, “I Will Rest in You.” She asked if I would sing it at her funeral as well as accompany her daughter, Tanya, on “Child of Light.” I don’t normally just sing for people I barely know. But this was a very different case indeed. I was honored by her request. Arrangements were made for a rehearsal. Reva was not in a state to leave her bed, but she did not want to miss the rehearsal knowing that she would not be there in person to hear the real performance. This was the last time I would see her. She was frail, and needed to be wrapped in blankets to keep warm. But her spirit burned brightly and she directed our rehearsal with the zeal of Gerald Ottley (of course, weeping intermittently). Never was there such an overwhelming feeling of peace and love in my living room.
Today, through tears, as I drove around Springville like a maniac in a moving van, I called out to Reva and asked her to guide me to the church where her funeral was taking place. I asked her to please laugh at the sight of me in that ridiculous moving van. I put my foot on the gas and accelerated in faith. I came up to 1300 East and felt impressed to take a right. Bingo. 1300 East soon turned into Canyon Rd, which put me back on course with my faulty directions.
I made it just in time to sing and play the songs that Reva had carefully chosen for her own services. I barely know Reva Taylor, but we were meant to be friends. This I know. She must have been one special lady judging by the hoards of gorgeous flowers adorning the stand and the sprawl of family and friends extending to the very back wall of the overflow. In a career field that often feels so competitive and frivolous, thank you Reva, for giving it meaning in my life.
Now, if only you could help me find my car keys.

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