IT'S FRIDAY AFTERNOON, and Amy Grant's ten-year-old son, Matt, bursts home from school, itching to play drums with a drummer friend who's come over to give him a lesson. "Hey, Mom, is it alright?" Matt eagerly asks Amy, who's sitting on the flowered couch in their great room, strumming a guitar and smiling for TCW's photographer. "Sure, Matt, go ahead," Amy, grinning, replies.
Before long, the sound of drumrolls reverberates through the rambling, sixty-year-old farmhouse Amy, thirty-seven, shares with husband Gary Chapman, Matt, eight-year-old Millie, and five-year-old Sarah. "Today's his first real lesson," Amy explains. "He's loud and fast, but he's catching on!" Amy's delight in Matt's experimentation is an emotion this fellow mom instantly recognizes.
During the time I spent with Amy at Riverstone Farm, her sprawling 250-acre spread outside Nashville, it was obvious she's someone who treasures family and friends. Snapshots and framed portraits—Sarah among wildflowers, Gary on his Harley, assorted nieces and nephews—adorn walls, furniture, even her refrigerator. Millie's prescription bottle sits on a kitchen windowsill; kids' stickers plaster a computer monitor. I'm reminded of the common bond we share as busy wives and moms.
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