Music to My Ears.

Years ago I learned how to play music. Not as much by choice but because the school I went to required two years. The first year everyone picked up the recorder. Typical. The next year however, everyone had to pick an instrument. Keep in mind I commuted to school from the next town over. So by the time I arrived to try picking out my instrument, many had already been filled up. Percussion? Filled. Trumpet? Filled. Sax? Filled. I ended up with a flute. Yes, my first instrument was the piece of metal that was given new life as a dirty joke. At the time I thought it was a joke too.Fast forward a few years, and I not only learned to appreciate it, but loved it. I played right into my Junior High days. Then change was about to happen.

Teenage angst was setting in. The bad director I had was a... well 30 years later and I still can't find a word to describe my disdain. Not only did I get the flute jokes from other band members, and the student body, but was belittled by this toxic life form for the same thing. I no longer wanted to play. I kept my flute at home and made a change. I finally went to the percussion section. Xylophone, tympani, bells, cymbals, etc. You put me behind them, and I wasn't going to just play them. I was going to beat them! My anger and frustration went into whatever I was going to be playing for a given song. And he hated it.

Enter my dad. He played guitar since he was a kid, and picked up piano/ keyboards along the way by ear. He'd played with many a band, and had tried to teach me some guitar, but I didn't want it at the time. So he did the next best thing, and bought me a drum kit. At this point I didn't like playing in front of people much because of said band director. I'd mess around sometimes with friends. My pleasure was much more in the confines of home though. I'd crank the stereo, or put on my headphones, and would kick that kit for all I was worth in high school.

Then of course life happened. I went to a military school, enlisted in the Marine Corps, had a child, and on and on. When I finally came home to the US. My beloved flute was long gone, lost amongst my parents moving. My drums were destroyed by a bad roommate of my future stepdad's when my folks split. The only music in my life was the radio, cd's, and old cassettes. I accepted it for years. I tried getting into the whole guitar hero thing with my kids. And while the drums were good "FOR A GAME". They weren't the real thing. I had a hole begging to be filled.

The day finally came to fill that hole. I'd been looking around some local music stores. One day, my dad was in town and asked me if I could get any instrument there, which one would I choose? Thinking is was a hypothetical question I answered honestly and showed him the bass guitar I'd had my eye on. I don't know what it was, but I was just drawn to her. He bought her on the spot along with an amp. My jaw dropped!

The day I brought Ol' Blue home.

My journey back into music was rekindled. My ex thought I was wasting my time. So I'd spend what time I could back in the bedroom (sexy I know) getting to know my new found love. Not long after I had started to get to know her, tragedy struck. My dad died unexpectedly. I couldn't even look at Ol' Blue without wanting to cry. So she was put away for a couple years. Once in a while I'd try, but couldn't. Finally, enough time went by and I not only could bring her out of her confinement, but I started getting to know her all over again. Just a little at a time. It was like I was able to spend time with my dad.

Fast forward a little bit, and the church was looking for a bassist. I didn't say anything at first. And then a friend, who knew I played a little, told the music director. I explained I was just learning and didn't think I'd be up to par. Really it was because after all those years, I was still that kid that didn't want to play for people anymore. But after some discussion I went out, and a couple weeks later found myself stepping into a band again. It was different this time. I wasn't playing for people, I was serving the Lord! While it wasn't exactly my style of music, that didn't matter anymore. The game had changed!

The Artist hanging out on stage.

A a rapid rate I found myself starting on just mid-week service, to playing mid-week and all Sunday services as well. It was exciting. And then it got more exciting. Mid-week service went away during the summer do to so many things happening in the church and there not being prep-time. But when they came back, we found ourselves doing an acoustic night, since our keys man was leading the Youth service now. So I found myself an acoustic/electric bass to go with the sound. She's gotten a lot of praise. And then another change had taken its toll as well.

My violin bass Happy Camper.

 I'd sustained a back injury at work and needed something a little lighter than Ol' Blue. Enter Happy Camper. And just like any other instrument, they each have their own personality and sound. I've found myself switching out between the three, depending on what day it is, what we're playing, or just plain how I'm feeling.

That hole has been filled. I have music in it's rawest form back in my life. And when I'm down, it really helps. It transcends just listening. I hear it, feel it, clear my head, spend time with loved ones past, and most importantly learn. Whether it's a technique, and adjustment to a song, or a riff that's in my head, I'm a student of music. I enjoy playing again. Not only am I part of a band of people I respect, I'm part of the greatest band on earth. God's band. You'll find them in your local church, with varying styles of play and worship.

Now you're probably asking what the point is. And there is one. This has just been a part of my journey. NEVER LET ANYONE STEAL YOUR MUSIC. You may not find it again. Your music may be literal, or something else entirely. But it's a part of you. You can take breaks if need be. But don't lose it. Ever.

Serving with the Lords blessings upon me.

Today it started raining

Today it started raining, 

it would have been my dad's birthday. 

It's as if angels are crying, 

as I keep my own tears at bay.

Today it started raining, 

after such a bright start. 

It was his beginning, 

and it holds true even though we are apart.

Today it started raining, 

and I can't help but feel it's just for me. 

While my emotions are draining, 

I know together we will one day be.

Happy Birthday, 

I miss you Dad. 

Today it started raining.

Gut Check: When life kicks you in the balls.

Heartbreak comes to us all at various points in our lives. With it the aches, and questions that sometimes will remain unanswered. And emotions that run the spectrum from one end to another. My wife and I are dealing with one of life's heartbreaks now with the loss of our unborn child.

With our last child together, I kept it to myself up until just before he was born. Other than immediate family, I didn't tell anyone. Not because I wasn't happy. I was walking on top of the world. Rather, it was because I don't care for all the hen house cooing. You know, all the crap people feel obligated to say for months until your baby is born. A simple congrats is good enough. But the constant asking how are things, parenting recommendations from people who don't have kids themselves, the list goes on. For most people these are just normal day things that are treated as such. For me, it's unwanted coaching on how to take care of my family. So I kept quite. And my little man, my little angel, was born strong and healthy.

My wife and I have talked a few times about having one last child together. And a few years ago we found out she was with child again. That time I spread word high and low as fast as I could. If we were talking, I was telling you. It didn't matter if you were a co-worker or the checker at the grocery store. I told everyone. In military lingo, I was loud and proud. Then just as quickly as we found out, tragedy struck. We found our happiness with this grand news was nothing more than a fleeting moment of happiness. It was a sadness that shook our family to the core. Something that even today has left a hole in our hearts.

Recently, my wife and I spoke of trying one last time. Given the outcome last time, it was a scary thought. Scary because of going through loss again. Scary because of what she had to go through physically the last time. But we were given a spark of happiness. We found that she was pregnant. And for the past couple of months there has been a surge of joy in our home. So this time around I got superstitious. I didn't say a word because I didn't want to jinx anything. We talked about boy names, girl names, what room to put them in, etc. Life was good. But yesterday, tragedy turned it's ugly head again.

In for what should have been a routine checkup turned ugly. Ultrasounds tend to be quite for the first few minutes normally. But this time, it was quite to the point it got eerie. I'm sitting quietly next and I'm thinking, "Why aren't we listening to the heart beat by now?" Just two weeks ago things were fine. But on this day, things were changing fast. Then it came. The tech on the machine said she couldn't find the heartbeat, and she wanted to get a doctor to confirm. The doctor came in, and in couple of minutes that seemed to stretch into an eternity, she confirmed the news.

To describe the sinking feeling you have in your chest at this point is describable. It's the worst punch you'll take in the chest. But it doesn't end there. It's like you can feel a long talon fingers wrapping around your heart, squeezing it, and throwing it on the floor. Then an elephant wearing spiked heals does a Mexican hat dance on it. And that's just for the first second. Anger, sadness, pain, depression, and more charge through your veins like electricity. After a while, you just go numb. Numb to everything. Food doesn't have taste, humor isn't really that funny, and nothing makes sense.

Then on top of that, you look to your loved one (in my case my wife) and have to be their pillar of strength. I know this is my mission at this point, because no matter how bad I feel, no matter what I want to do, I have to be her strength. This is because regardless of what I'm going through, she's going through worse. She not only has the physical bond with our baby from carrying it, but the physical loss her body must go through. And with it comes a loss of mind that no man could ever know. In my mind, it's worse than not being able to have a child because it's there and then torn away.

There's some solace to be had. Friends that remind me of things I already know. And personal beliefs. They don't take the edge off. They don't make the hurt any less. But they keep me sane. Sweet child, you brought your mom and I great happiness in your short time in our lives. And while we'll never hear you laugh or cry, our love for you is just as great as if we had.

The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen, nor touched, but are felt in the heart. ~Helen Keller