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Of course, a healthy shot of realism goes in to every big dream, and considering the potential for legal red tape, the Smiths knew that Compassionart would not be an easy feat to pull off. With a slew of popular artists in the mix, there would also be a slew of busy schedules to coordinate.

When Smith started making some phone calls to his peers, he was immediately encouraged when one artist after the next agreed to be a part of the Compassionart effort. That, along with several successful business meetings throughout the planning phase, gave Smith hope that the dreams could indeed become reality. Before long, a date for the retreat was officially on the calendar. A total of 11 artists would arrive House of Cantle in the quaint little Scottish city of Perthshire on January 6, 2008 for a week they wouldn't soon forget.

About six weeks before the event, I also became personally involved through a surprise phone call from Martin Smith. After bringing me up to speed on the Compassionart concept, he explained that they wanted a writer onboard to be the proverbial fly on the wall. Not only would I be a part of the daily critique sessions when the musicians played the latest songs they'd been working on, but I'd be blogging about everything I was experiencing firsthand.

Given the event's premise—and that traveling to Europe was involved—it admittedly didn't take much arm-twisting to get me to agree. But as a journalist, my curiosity immediately went into overdrive. How would a group of musicians—seasoned veterans, no less—accomplish their goal of 10-12 songs in less than a week? Wouldn't artistic differences inevitably get in the way? Could they truly collaborate constructively, or would they be content with mediocrity for the sake of being polite?

After nearly 24 hours worth of flights from Minneapolis to Chicago to Manchester, England, and eventually, Edinburgh, Scotland, plus another hour-and-a-half in a car to Perthshire, I'd have my answers. I arrived on Wednesday, just in time for lunch with a serious case of jetlag, but it was hard to stay sleepy for long. The artists had been working for two full days, and the dining room had a cheery, summer camp feel about it. Everyone was chatting up a storm and clearly excited about their recent songwriting session. As I eavesdropped on a few conversations, it seemed their progress was even better than they expected.

It turns out that each day artists were paired off into groups of two and three. And while everyone was told to come to Perthshire with a bunch of ideas so they could hit the ground running, even a veteran like Steven Curtis Chapman admitted he was a little nervous in the beginning. But eventually the shared experiences and instant camaraderie made the process easier for everyone involved—and the song ideas were coming together at breakneck pace.

Yet as any experienced artist knows, significant output doesn't necessarily equal quality output. So that's where the daily feedback sessions came in. A couple of hours after lunch, we all crammed into a room with a piano and an enviable stash of guitars. Since I was new to the festivities, they explained the ground rules. After a group played a song they'd be working on, the floor was open for feedback. Sounded simple enough, but how honest would they really be? Considering their collective past accolades, who would dare to tell legendary artists like Matt Redman or Michael W. Smith that their songwriting contributions stink?

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