“Akiane’s Masterpiece” came during one of the deepest songwriting sessions of my life. I was fasting for the first time, asking God over and over, “Give me a song. What do You want me to write about?” In that quiet, hungry space, I came across the story of a painting, and it sparked a memory that had been sitting in my heart for years.

When we lived in Austin, my family started going to a church there. One Sunday after service, we walked into the main lobby and saw a painting of Jesus: Prince of Peace by Akiane Kramarik. My wife lit up when she saw it. We just stood there, staring at His eyes—soft, warm, and somehow familiar. Then she told me about a dream she’d had when she was young, where Jesus came to her. Seeing Akiane’s painting, she said, “This is the closest to what He looked like in my dream.”

At the same time, our family was processing another drea, our son’s dream about Jesus telling him, “Your daddy needs to step into the fire.” All of that, my fasting, my prayers, my son’s dream, my wife’s childhood encounter, and Akiane’s vision, started to braid together. Then I read the story behind the painting: how it was stolen, hidden away, and later restored. That hit me hard. It felt like a picture of how Jesus can be stolen from your life for years, but never actually lost.

“Akiane’s Masterpiece” is a heartfelt acoustic ballad dedicated to Akiane, to my wife’s dream, and to everyone who’s ever felt like their faith was taken from them. It traces the journey of that painting, its creation, its theft, its return, and mirrors the way Christ’s presence can seem distant, stolen, or locked away, even though He’s never really gone. The song is about stolen light and found mercy… about realizing that every brushstroke, every wound, every lost year can still become part of a greater masterpiece in God’s hands.

Akiane's Masterpiece

“Fallen World” was born out of the hardest news I’ve ever had to face twice.
When I found out my wife Vera’s cancer had come back, something in me snapped for a moment. I’d prayed so hard the first time. I’d begged God to heal her, and I truly felt Him say “Already” while I was praying. She beat it. And then suddenly… there it was again. I slipped into this brief, raw anger at God, resentful, tired, and asking, “How many times, how much longer?”

But Vera pulled me out of that place fast. She looked at me and reminded me, “We don’t get angry, we praise God in the storm.” That sentence became a lifeboat. It helped me see that this world has been broken from the start. It’s a fallen world: burdened, corrupted, and stolen early on. How can I stay mad at God for the pain of a place that was never meant to be our final home?

“Fallen World” is my honest cry from the middle of that struggle. It’s the sound of me questioning, breaking, and still choosing to call on His name. The song admits the weight of suffering, loved ones taken, missions cut short, nights of fire that feel endless, but it also clings to the deeper truth: this world is fallen, but God is not. He’s the compass, the keeper of my heart, the light in the ruins, the fire in the cold, guiding me toward the real life that’s with Him, not here.

Fallen World

“Godspeed” is a prayer for the warriors who walk into the dark so others don’t have to.

I wrote this thinking about the times I’ve been out filming in dangerous situations with my team, moments where things were about to get real sketch, and we’d look at each other and say, “Godspeed, friend.” That simple phrase stuck with me. It made me think about the people who live in that reality every day: soldiers, first responders, investigators, quiet protectors, and all the men and women who step into the chaos to fight for victims and stand against evil… most of them never getting credit, never being seen.
“Godspeed” is for them.

It’s for the ones who hold the line when the sky feels like it’s falling, when wolves start circling, and the rest of the world has no idea what they’re facing. It’s not a glory song, it’s a blessing. A whispered “ride on, warrior” over those who see the unthinkable, carry the weight, and keep going anyway.

This song is my way of tipping my hat to the nameless and the fearless, the guardians of the free whose courage burns beyond what most of us will ever see. It’s a prayer that Heaven’s hand would guide them, that angels would ride with them, and that when their hands are too tired to even lift in prayer, God would still hold them close and lead them home.

GODSPEED

“My God Is Dope” is me getting back to my hip hop roots and having a little fun praising Jesus loud.

I wanted to build something that felt fresh and different, beatbox-driven, with harmonica rhythms weaving through it, like a street corner cypher collided with an old front porch jam. From the start, this song was about lifting people up: a reminder that in a world chasing gold, selling lies, and drowning in noise, God sent Jesus to crack through the darkness and bring real hope.

When I finished the track, I knew it still needed something special. That’s when my dad, Ken Whelpton, creator of Ome Banjos and an old-school A&M Records studio drummer stepped in. He literally dusted off his spoons and laid down some good ole-fashioned spoon-playin’ magic. It tied the whole thing together: hip hop beats, harmonica grooves, and my dad’s rootsy spoon percussion, three generations of sound pointing to one thing: our God is anything but boring.

“My God Is Dope” is a praise anthem for right now, for people who grew up on hip hop, who love Jesus, and who aren’t afraid to shout it. It’s a song for blasting in your car, jumping around your living room, or waking up a sleepy church parking lot. The world is angry and afraid, but this track is my way of saying: we’ve still got a Savior, the storm stiller, the chain breaker, the hope deliverer.

And yeah… My God is dope.

My God is Dope

When your road feels dusty and long,
And the night steals the words from your song,
There’s a glow that breaks through the gray —
That’s the Lord, moving in mysterious ways.

He’s in the wind that carries your name,
In the quiet spark behind your pain.
You think you’re lost, but you’re never alone —
He’s been calling your heart back home.

He moves in mysterious ways,
His love will find you where you’ve strayed.
May God bless you with all that you need,
May His Spirit rise and set you free.
Open your heart — let His mercy flow,
He’s been chasing your soul from long ago.

When the storm comes stealing your will,
And time itself seems to stand still,
Hush your heart — His whisper remains,
In the wounded, the weak, the pained.
He’s the peace in the violent sea,
The grace that sets your spirit free.
You might not see the path He’s laid,
But His love will never fade.

His grace is stronger than fear,
His promise forever here.
When you can’t find the words to pray,
His love will light your way.
Rest your soul, lift your gaze —
He moves in mysterious ways.

He moves in mysterious ways,
His love will find you where you’ve strayed.
May God bless you with all that you need,
May His Spirit rise and set you free.
Open your heart — let His mercy flow,
He’s been chasing your soul from long ago..

God moves… in mysterious ways.


Mysterious Ways

“Sunbeam of Light” started long before I sat down to write it.
I was away working, quietly writing songs on my own time and talking to Jesus in a very private way. My faith was there, but it was lukewarm, I was unsure what to do with the music God was stirring in me. Back home, my wife was praying for our family when she heard our son crying in his bedroom. When she went in, he told her he was sad because Jesus had come to him in a dream and said, “Tell your daddy he will need to get into the fire.”

He and my wife didn’t know it at the time, but I knew exactly what Jesus was talking about.

My son’s tears, my wife’s prayers, and that message from Jesus became the heartbeat of this song. “Sunbeam of Light” is my answer to that call. It’s about the kind of fire that doesn’t destroy you, but purifies you. The lyrics wrestle with judgment, surrender, and courage: Will you run, or will you step into the fire with Jesus by your side?
This song is me choosing to say, “Yes, Lord.” It’s a promise to walk through whatever comes, fear, trials, refining, trusting that His love is my guide. In the middle of the flames, Jesus is not just the Judge; He’s the gentle light breaking through the smoke. He is my sunbeam of light. The message was so powerful that the album’s name, Into the Fire, was later born out of that moment.

Sunbeam of Light

“When I Meet You” is a heart-cry from the other side of eternity, a soul standing in Heaven, looking back on a life of missed prayers, wrong turns, and stubborn pride, and finding that God’s mercy was waiting there the whole time. It’s a slow, reverent song about judgment, grace, and the shock of being truly welcomed home when you know you don’t deserve it.

“When I Meet You” is a heart-cry from the other side of eternity, a soul standing in Heaven, looking back on a life of missed prayers, wrong turns, and stubborn pride, and finding that God’s mercy was waiting there the whole time. It’s a slow, reverent song about judgment, grace, and the shock of being truly welcomed home when you know you don’t deserve it.

With lyrics that wrestle honestly, “What will I say when I meet You? Lord, have mercy on my soul” this track lives in that holy tension between regret and redemption. It’s a hymn for anyone who’s ever wondered if they’ve gone too far, and a reminder that the Father’s open arms are still the final word.

When I Meet You

I wrote “Salt and Fire” in the middle of the hardest stretch of my life.
Since 2020, it’s felt like wave after wave: my wife Vera has battled cancer twice, my dad is fighting cancer for the third time, and the TV work I built my career on has almost completely dried up. The phone stopped ringing, the bills kept stacking, and there were days when my card declined at the checkout line and all I could do was stand there thinking, “God… seriously? Again?”

The crazy part is.. I know I’m not the only one. I’ve spent years behind the camera filming other people’s tragedies and miracles. I’ve sat in their living rooms, heard their stories, watched their tears, and felt that same question in the room: “Lord, why? Why this much pain? Why this long?”

“Salt and Fire” came out of that place. Out of the nights staring at the ceiling, wondering how I was going to take care of my family. 
Out of the prayers that sounded more like broken conversations than polished church words. Out of the fear that maybe I’d done my part and God had somehow forgotten me.
But somewhere in that struggle, I started to see it differently. In the Bible, salt preserves and gives flavor. Fire refines and purifies. Those two images, salt and fire, became the way I could finally understand what God was doing with all this pain. Not punishing. Not abandoning. Refining. Shaping. Holding.

Salt and Fire

“Fire in the Valley” is my bad mood breaker song, built to jolt you up out of your seat, clap your hands, and shout along.

I wanted to write something that felt like an old revival tent out in the hills, but with a fresh push, a new gospel stomp you can blast in your car, your kitchen, or your church parking lot. I pulled from those classic call-and-response gospel moments where the whole room wakes up: Can I get an Amen? Can I get a Hallelujah? Before you know it, you’re clapping, stomping, and singing, “The Lord is good and His love is great.”

“Fire in the Valley” is about shaking off the shadows and stepping into joy. It’s that moment when the river runs strong, the sky turns gold, and you remember that mercy never gets old. If you’re carrying a heavy day, this is the track that tells you to lay your burdens down, lift your voice, and dance in the light of a holy flame.

Fire in the Valley

“Little Bruises” was actually born from a scooter crash in Key West back in 2012.
Vera and I had just started dating, renting scooters and ripping around the island like we owned it. Then in an instant, everything flipped, Vera went down hard. She somehow avoided hitting her face and teeth, but her arm and elbow were torn up and bleeding.
We wandered into a little sandwich shop afterward, shaken and quiet. A stranger who owned a coconut farm noticed her arm, walked over with coconut oil, and gently started treating her scrapes. Then he looked at her and said a sentence that branded itself into my mind:

“Don’t ever let a little bruise hold you back.”
In that moment, I knew it was a song. I wrote “Little Bruises” back then, but like a lot of things in life, it got tucked away, waiting. Thirteen years later, as I was working on Into the Fire and walking through my own bruises and battles, this song resurfaced. It was like God brought it back out and set it exactly where it was always meant to be, in the middle of this record.

“Little Bruises” is my song for anyone who’s been knocked down and is tempted to stay there. It’s a reminder that the wounds and scrapes of life don’t get the final say. Lift your chin, let God heal the deep places, and step into your comeback. Don’t ever let a little bruise hold you back.

Little Bruises

Shepherd in the Shadows is the sound of faith forged in fire a mix of country soul, cinematic folk, and rock revival. Written and produced by filmmaker and storyteller Kendall Whelpton, these songs rise from real battles, prayers, and miracles. Each track is a chapter of redemption, a road through darkness toward the light.

From the haunting grit of Wolves in the Darkness to the anthemic hope of Keep It Strong and Old Soul Revival, every song carries the spirit of struggle and salvation. This is music for believers, wanderers, and anyone who’s ever found grace in the middle of the storm.

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