Unashamed

by Lecrae Moore Narrated by Lecrae Moore

Overview

If you live for people's acceptance, you'll die from their rejection. Two-time Grammy winning rap artist, Lecrae, learned this lesson through more than his share of adversity-childhood abuse, drugs and alcoholism, a stint in rehab, an abortion, and an unsuccessful suicide attempt. Along the way, Lecrae attained an unwavering faith in Jesus and began looking to God for affirmation. Now as a chart-topping industry anomaly, he has learned to ignore the haters and make peace with his craft. The rap artist holds nothing back as he divulges the most sensitive details of his life, answers his critics, shares intimate handwritten journal entries, and powerfully models how to be Christian in a secular age. This is the story of one man's journey to faith and freedom.

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly

03/14/2016
Born in Houston, abandoned by his father, and raised by a determined mother, Grammy Award–winning hip-hop artist Lecrea set out in life determined to make a mark in this world and change the society that would often treat him so poorly. Guided by uncles who provided a positive environment and much-needed male guidance, Lecrea discovered a love for hip-hop early in life, his music providing an escape from a sometimes abusive family situation and giving him an outlet for his hopes and dreams. His encounter with Christian rappers, and his discovery of a sense of God moving in his everyday life, fully formed the young man into a popular and successful hip-hop artist and positive role model. In this bold, revealing book, Lecrea depicts an unconventional life course that, he feels, was the only way out of dire circumstances: “I was determined to be for these kids what I needed but never had: a strong male figure who they could look up to, confide in, and lean on.” This is a wonderfully inspirational and entertaining story. (May)

From the Publisher

Lecrae’s story is as real as it gets. The rawness, pain, and brutal honesty make it a tremendously gripping read, but the sheer beauty of his journey to redemption makes it something you’ll want to share with others, and I certainly hope you will. This book will change lives.”

Eric Metaxas, New York Times Bestselling author of Bonhoeffer and Miracles
 

"Knowing Lecrae's unique story and gifts, this book has been a long time coming and is essential to not only those interested in his music and hip-hop, but also those wanting to better understand the intersection between faith and culture and what it looks like to be in the world but not of it.”

Matt Chandler, lead Pastor of The Village Church, President of the Acts 29, author of The Mingling of Souls
 

"This is an artistic coming-of-age story with all the brokenness and beauty of our American reality and our Christian hope. It's not just the story of how a boy became a man, or how a lost soul found faith, but how an artist found his voice. There's so much here for those who care about the intersection of deep faith with great art. Lecrae is showing the rest of us how it is done."

Andy Crouch, executive editor, Christianity Today, author of Culture Making
 

"If you love beautiful music, powerful stories, or the Lord Jesus Christ, you will not be able to put this book down. Lecrae doesn't hold back in Unashamed; there is no "Christian-ese" or posturing in this memoir. Instead, he takes the reader through his grace-filled journey from abandonment to community, from brokenness to wholeness, from a life lost in the world to one found in the arms of God. This must-read book is for hip-hop heads and believers, artists and seekers, and anyone who wants to know more about one of the most compelling artists of our time. I expect that millions of people will read this book, discover more about Lecrae, and be inspired to walk with Jesus themselves, unashamed."

Joshua DuBois, spiritual advisor to President Obama, author of The President's Devotional, and founder of Values Partnerships


"Historically, hip-hop has been used to express sexuality, frustration, materialism, and even violence. But this is the amazing story of how one brilliant young artist, my friend Lecrae, transformed a powerful music style into a tool for sharing God’s love, fulfilling God’s purposes, and glorifying God’s name.
 
I love and respect Lecrae because of his authenticity and his courage. His raw lyrics are snapshots from his own heart and God has used his honesty to reach audiences who’d never listen to so-called 'church' music. In order to be what God wants him to be, Lecrae has been willing to push limits and break through boundaries. He’s a modern-day prophet, purpose-driven rather than popularity-driven, or prosperity-driven.
 
You’ve heard his music; now you can learn about his life’s experiences that made Lecrae the great Christian artist and leader he is today. I promise you, regardless of the kind of music you listen to, you’ll love this book."
 
Rick Warren, author of The Purpose Driven Life and The Hope You Need
"From extreme humble beginnings to what many would describe as a dream platform, Lecrae puts his journey in perspective. He recognizes all too well the identity crisis and this generation’s need to be unashamed of the gospel. I recommend this book for whomever is interested in seeing how God is authoring the journey of a fatherless generation in need of the navigator."

Eric Mason, lead pastor, Epiphany Fellowship, author of Unleashed

"Honest. Rare. Freeing. Lecrae is one of the most talented people I know. His story will leave you inspired and challenged. Unashamed reminds us just how powerful the Gospel is. Jesus turns our scars into our stories. This is a story you will want to read!"

Louie Giglio, Passion City Church / Passion Conferences, author of The Comeback

"Lecrae has never fit in any boxes, and in this book he once again breaks the mold to create an identity all his own—the hip hop artist as worldview thinker. The book starts by relating the emotionally turbulent, completely absorbing story of his life, and ends by presenting his innovative thoughts on a Christian worldview approach to hip hop. Lecrae continues to be a delightfully unpredictable anomaly."

Nancy Pearcey, author, Total Truth and Finding Truth

"It's a rare privilege to see a prophetic story unfold before your very eyes. When it does, you pay attention. Lecrae's Unashamed gives us the raw account of a rare leader stirred by the heart of God to shape culture by creating it."

Gabe Lyons, Q, author of Good Faith

JUNE 2017 - AudioFile

Lecrae Moore’s raw approach to writing and rapping is expressed through his reading style of his autobiography. As a professional hip-hop artist, he knows how much work it takes to recount a true story that is stranger than fiction. As a man who now strives to be real with both God and people, he narrates in an honest tone, allowing his fear and anger and loneliness and longing for acceptance to pour through his voice such that the listener’s emotions will also rise and fall with each failure and success he recounts. Moore’s authentically unpolished reading draws listeners into his life, making this audio experience far more enjoyable than simply reading the book in print. T.D. © AudioFile 2017, Portland, Maine

Product Details

BN ID:	2940170198566
Publisher:	EChristian, Inc.
Publication date:	05/03/2016
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

RED CARPET TREATMENT

I tried my best to fit in Looking for a suit to fit in Standing outside of your prison Trying to find ways I could get in Now I realize that I'm free And I realize that I'm me And I found out that I'm not alone Cause' there's plenty people like me That's right there's plenty people like me All love me, despite me And all unashamed and all unafraid to speak out for what we might see ... All outsiders like me.

Lecrae | "Outsiders" | Anomaly

The paparazzi's cameras were flashing, but their lenses were all pointed at someone else.

I was at the Staples Center in Los Angeles, California, attending the 2015 Grammy Awards ceremony. I'd been nominated for "Best Rap Performance" and was competing against the likes of Eminem, Drake, and Kendrick Lamar. I had already won two Grammys, but this was different.

Many people don't know that not all Grammy Awards are created equal. An unspoken hierarchy exists in many circles, and some categories are more respected than others. Within the music world, if you tell someone you won a Grammy, the first follow-up question is "Which category?" Though I'm grateful for my wins for "Best Gospel Album" and "Best Contemporary Christian Music Performance," as you might guess, some consider those closer to the bottom of the list than the top. But this nomination for "Best Rap Performance" had a different kind of significance. It told the world that an alternative voice with an alternative message was being considered among the biggest artists of our time. It said that the industry had finally recognized a new way of making hip-hop.

That's why I was so mad at myself when I arrived late to the red carpet after promising I'd get there early. It was a rookie mistake. The biggest stars show up just before show time, so all the younger and lesser-known artists know to arrive early to avoid competing with Katy Perry for interviews. Even a few minutes can make a difference between landing a blurb in Rolling Stone and hearing crickets.

When I stepped out of the car, I thought to myself, You are at the Grammys, man. I tried to just be in the moment and not look at the stands where fans were sitting and pointing and criticizing every fold and shade of fabric. There I was, taking a coveted walk and rubbing shoulders with John Legend, Kanye West, Chris Brown, and Meghan Trainor. It was difficult to believe that after all of the writing and rapping and refining and recording and touring and promoting and praying, I stood there.

But as it turned out, walking the red carpet at the 2015 Grammys was a more complicated affair than I had imagined. People kept passing on interviews, and some were painfully attempting to not even make eye contact with me.

"Hey, that reporter looks like they are trying to get my attention," I thought. "Wait ... no ... they are waving at Questlove."

When I reached the end of the carpet — you know, the place where artists stand in front of the Grammys backdrop and a crowd of photographers takes their picture — a security guard lowered his hand and asked me to wait. He waved Iggy Azalea around me. She smiled, and the cameras went crazy. When she finished, I started to proceed but the security guard stopped me again. He waved Rick Ross through.

This happened so many times I lost count. Wiz Khalifa and then Taylor Swift and then Keith Urban and then Ziggy Marley. Somewhere in the process my wife threw up her hands and left me to go sit down. For forty-five minutes I waited until the security guard finally raised his arm and waved me through.

I walked in front of the backdrop in my crisp tuxedo and shiny shoes, standing tall and proud as a nominee in a respected category. I gave them the best smile I had. And ... almost every journalist lowered their camera. Maybe five of the forty photographers took my picture, and I'm pretty sure those were snapped out of pity.

Some people say the red carpet is the best litmus test for how famous you are or how famous you're not. For how accepted you are or aren't. If this is true, the message was clear: I am not one of "them."

I started to get that feeling earlier in the day at Jay Z and Beyonce's "Roc Nation" party on a lawn tucked behind a Beverly Hills mansion. I'm kind of a people-watcher and also an introvert, so I made up my mind before arriving that I was going to sink back and mind my business.

The event was a whirlwind of hype and hustle. The smell of cigars and fancy French perfume filled the air while bartenders poured bottle after bottle of "Ace of Spades" champagne. Everyone was draped in borrowed jewelry and clothes made by designers that most people can't pronounce. Italian shoes, thousand-dollar jeans, tiny but noticeable logos on pockets and lapels. (Fashion is something of an art for musicians, so everyone tries to strike a balance between the brand being obvious, but downplayed.)

It quickly became clear that there were two classes of people. In the center of the yard was the first class: epic stars — Jay Z and Kanye and Nicki Minaj and Rihanna. They were sitting on couches under a gazebo with security surrounding them.

And around the gazebo was the second class: everyone else. These were people from the famous, to the famous-ish, to the hope-to-be famous. They were all talented and successful, but not part of the pantheon who exist in the stratosphere of super-celebrities. Many of them were hovering around the couches, pretending not to be mesmerized and hoping to get noticed.

After about twenty minutes of people watching, I snapped out of my daze and realized something: nobody had initiated a conversation with me. No one, that is, except for record executives who thought I could make them some money. I stood on the outside, barely part of the second group. While everyone else was congregating and high-fiving, I was just taking up space.

People who've only seen me perform might assume that I'm confident and that being ignored wouldn't bother me — but it does. There was actually a fight inside of me. Sure, I was turned off by the way it all felt a little like high school, with everyone trying to be one of the cool kids or at least friends with the cool kids. The only difference is that this is all happening with adults who know better. Everyone goes to the bathroom and gets nervous and has family drama. Everyone is no more or less human than anyone else. So the whole thing felt a little trivial and silly.

And yet, another part of me wanted to be there. To be a part of the in-crowd. To be liked and respected and noticed. Who doesn't want to be accepted? But I'm not — at least not in the same way.

You might assume I was an outsider because I was the "new kid" and people just didn't know who I was. But as record executives started introducing me to others, I discovered this was not true.

"I want you to meet Lecrae," the record executive would often say. "He's a Christian rapper."

"I know who you are," they would respond with a patronizing smile. "I'm familiar with your music."

The awkwardness would grow, and I could almost hear their thoughts: Can I cuss around him? Is he about to preach at me, or judge me if I drink this whole bottle of Cristal and stumble out of here? Maybe they don't know if they can be fully themselves around me. Or perhaps they don't think they would like the content of my music or the assumptions behind my music or the worldview I hold. Regardless, they don't want to know more. From that point on, it felt awkward. It was like I was marked.

This isn't the first time I've felt shunned because of people's preconceptions. A few years ago, for example, I was invited to attend a Sacramento Kings basketball team practice. I brought a bunch of my newly released Church Clothes mixtapes to give to anyone who was interested. When I was introduced, the person said, "Hey, y'all. We've got a Gospel rapper here who has some music if you want it."

No one picked up an album.

After getting into a conversation with one of the players, I asked him if he wanted some music. "Nah, man," he said, "I don't do Gospel rap. I don't want all those Bible verses and preaching." I tried to tell him my album wasn't like that — it addressed issues like fatherlessness and insecurity, things that non-religious people can relate to — but it didn't matter. He wouldn't touch it because of the way I was introduced.

Being an outspoken Christian in the music industry means always feeling out of place. It's like whatever you have accomplished is less credible because of your faith. You're in the circle, but you're not really in the circle. You fit in, but you don't really fit in. When you're standing next to people or sitting beside people, it's as if you're not really there.

This is one of the reasons I don't fully embrace the "Christian rapper" label. It isn't that I'm ashamed of being a Christian. I'm not. If someone asked me to renounce my faith or take a bullet in the brain, I'm dying that day. But labeling the music that way creates hurdles and is loaded down with baggage. Plus, it just isn't a true expression of the music I'm making. I try to produce music that is life-giving and inspires people to hope, but it isn't just for the super-religious. I want to address themes that people who aren't Christian can appreciate.

There was a time when I was making music that appealed only to those inside the church. But that day of exclusivity is long gone. My albums will always have my DNA in them, and I will always be a Christian, but I'm trying to do something different now. But for many who aren't familiar with me, this doesn't matter. I'm already marked as a Christian rapper, and maybe I always will be. As a result, whether I'm walking the red carpet or at a party or talking to professional athletes or even having a conversation at the barbershop, I'll always feel tension. I'll always be an outsider.

In nearly every interview I do with the media, people struggle to talk about my actual music. Instead, they want to know if I smoke or drink or cuss. They ask if I feel weird around non-Christians. They want to know if I'm trying to evangelize people. I'm like a caged animal that people want to observe, but they aren't sure how close they can get.

Once while on tour I was visiting a mainstream radio station in North Carolina, and a station operator informed me that they wouldn't air my music: "We really love your sound, but we just don't play Gospel here."

"It's not Gospel. It's hip-hop," I protested. "It's just that I am a Christian."

The guy couldn't wrap his head around it. He said they had a sister station that played Gospel, but they weren't interested in my music either because "church moms don't want to hear rap."

You don't have to be a rapper who is Christian to understand what I'm talking about. If you're a person of faith who works a regular job, or interacts with your neighbors, you have likely felt this tension. You've probably sensed it at parties, or office functions, or over coffee with non-religious friends. If you're a Christian and you have a pulse, you probably know what I'm describing.

It's like, you fit in, but you don't fully fit in. There is a sameness with those around you, but also a difference. You feel accepted by those around you, but not all the time or all the way. You may have gotten used to it, but it still raises important questions about what it means to be Christian in a world that assumes Christians are obnoxious. Or irrelevant. Or hypocritical. Or judgmental. Or ignorant. Or bigoted. Or any number of negative adjectives.

Looking back, it seems like God has been preparing me to navigate this space all of my life. Ever since I was a knucklehead kid stirring up trouble, I have always stuck out. I've been like people but not exactly like them. I've always been from a different place, a different perspective.

I was an artistic kid growing up in an urban culture that didn't know what to do with artists.

I was influenced by the gangstas in my family but didn't have the skill set or desire to follow suit.

I ended up with a theater scholarship to college but didn't fit in with the fine arts crew.

As my single mom and I moved from city to city, I never seemed to find my niche.

Every significant life event, every birthday was a reminder that I didn't fit in.

It's as if God had enrolled me in boot camp, and I wasn't even aware of it. It's like God knew that one day I'd need a little extra something to keep showing up when it felt awkward, to keep walking when no one noticed, to keep making music even though many dismiss it before even listening to it.

I didn't win the Grammy for "Best Rap Performance" that year, and I was surprisingly disappointed when my name wasn't called. But in retrospect, I think I received something that was more valuable: a reminder that part of being human — and especially being Christian — means not fitting in, and the only solution is learning to look to God for ultimate recognition.

As I've said in songs and speeches, if you live for people's acceptance, you'll die from their rejection. This belief has made it possible to keep doing what I do and keep being who I am, unashamed.

My name is Lecrae.
CHAPTER 2

DADDY ISSUES

Dear Uncle Chris, Uncle Keith, Uncle Ricky, Before the Lord get me I gotta say something quickly I grew up empty since my daddy wasn't with me, shoot, I wasn't picky I'd take any male figure You stepped in at the right time ... I just wanna be like you, Walk like, talk like, even think like you The only one I could look to, You're teaching me to be just like you

Lecrae | "Just Like You" | Rehab

"Somebody get the doctor in here."

A nurse shouts down a hallway at Houston's Harris County Hospital. She rushes back into the room and tries to calm a screaming woman who is drenched with sweat and gripping the bedside in pain. It's just past 1:30 in the afternoon on October 9. The physician finally arrives, and a handful of heaves and grunts later, a 7-pound-1-ounce baby with a stack of black hair running down the center of his head takes a first breath.

Cradling the child in her arms, the woman looked into the eyes of her new son, Lecrae Devaughn Moore.

And so my story began.

My mom, who goes by the nickname "Tut," had unexpectedly gotten pregnant when she was only twenty-three. She had already broken up with my dad. The two knew they were young and immature, but they decided to get married anyway. That's just what people did in those days under such circumstances.

But my parents' biggest problems didn't stem from their ages; they resulted from my father's abusive personality. He was using drugs and drinking heavily. His unpredictable temper combined with her fiery disposition made for an explosive situation — not one conducive to raising an infant. My mom knew he was one bad trip away from getting really ugly. Before I even reached my first birthday, my mom snatched me up and escaped. I became a fatherless child before I could even pronounce the word daddy.

Raising me by herself meant struggling to make ends meet. Between the occasional government assistance and my mom's multiple jobs, we never lacked basic necessities. We always had food on the table. It may have been liver, cheap meat, and government cheese, but the table was never bare. Even if our clothes came from Goodwill, we were never without shoes or shirts. As a result, I didn't realize I lacked the financial means other children had. I knew we didn't have as much as some kids in my school, but I assumed we were like a lot of other normal people.

By elementary school I had left Houston and moved to Denver's Park Hill neighborhood, but things barely improved. Poorer communities in Colorado aren't as bad as hoods in other parts of the country, but they aren't vacation destinations either. Crime was common, and drugs were everywhere. We may or may not have had weed growing in our backyard, and my babysitter may or may not have cooked crack in her kitchen. (Before the "war on drugs," these sorts of things were more common.)

Whatever I lacked in terms of financial resources, I made up for with machismo. In first grade, when most children learn basic addition and subtraction, I knocked a kid's tooth right out of his mouth. In fourth grade, when kids are experimenting with the scientific method, I was formally (but incorrectly) accused by my school administration of gang activity.

Part of my bravado was a way to hide the nagging feelings of insignificance as a young kid. My mother and my aunts tried their best to encourage me and tell me they believed in me, but the unspoken forces in the world made me feel like "less than." Even though I wrestled with self-esteem and a lack of identity, I couldn't articulate it. And when I did, others didn't seem to care. So I began to believe that my problems and pain weren't important, that I should keep these thoughts bottled up, which only worked until the anger built up and spilled over onto those around me.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Unashamed"
by .
Copyright © 2016 Lecrae Moore.
Excerpted by permission of B&H Publishing Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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