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.

Life and Career Changes Part One

What's this? My last blog entries were New Years and 1/2 of 2015!?!?!?!?! Are you kidding me? No it's true. Holy cow does time fly when you're getting life back on track. And boy has it been a ride!

So this will be the update entry? Boooorrriiinng!It's an easy re-cap. Went back to school, and made a career change. Blah, Blah, Blah.

Yes! I left the world of the criminal justice system in the review mirror, and started working in health care. What an oxymoron of a name. Are their great people that care? Absolutely! But then they're leashed by greedy corporations, spineless administrators, and ignorant doctors (No real world smarts for many. Just what they've been spoon fed in their agenda pushing schools.) I'll say it here! Many, not all, doctor's are some of the dumbest smart people you'll ever meet! Get a nurse practitioner, you'll be better off. Nurses save lives, not doctors!

However, I have found the world of Hospice to be a true calling. Funny how even in a new career field I found myself dealing with death on the daily again. Now for some it's a scary place where people are dying. Not always the case! Many people do come improve and come off of hospice care. For some, it's just a way to get better funding from the insurance powers that be, to provide better care for people. That is the bottom line right? Get the best possible care? Sadly though, most don't come off of it. But the relationships you develop with both the patients and their families are amazing.

In just providing care in this area, I found something I'd been missing for years. The work that I was doing MADE A DIFFERENCE! The people I've formed relationships with and have cared for have given me a gift beyond anything you'd get elsewhere. A fresh breath of life. They've shared advise, past experiences, regrets, triumph's, failures, and even first love! While some have feared the end of life as we know it, and what's beyond that veil. Other's have embraced it, and let everyone around them know that they love them and will see them again when they go home.

I've seen things in my life that have given me chills. Nothing has gotten to me more than those who have said, "I'm going to die in 3 days." And then it happens! It's crazy! And for me it's re-affirmation of life after death. It's also drawn me closer to my ministry work.

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.

Extra Time

Well the holidays are upon us. The home stretch of the year, that puts a hurt on everyone's wallets. And as the saying holds, only in America do we have a holiday to reflect on what you're grateful for, only to have an event the next day that promotes trampling others for the stuff you don't have. So last week I got to enjoy a rare treat in the holiday spirit. I got to go have a Thanksgiving lunch with my youngest.

I did it last year too, and even though it's nothing flashy, it still holds an amazing feeling around it. Here in our area, the elementary schools have an annual Thanksgiving lunch. And the parents get to go sit down with their kiddos. So I got to have a little time with my boy, that I normally wouldn't have. And that in itself is something to grateful for.

We all meet up at our kiddos classrooms, then get in line with them. And the food is actually pretty decent. Some of it is a bit salty for my taste, but still pretty decent. Turkey (a bit of white and dark meat), stuffing, green beans, mashed potatoes and gravy, a wheat dinner roll, pumpkin spiced cake, cranberry sauce, and a choice of milk (white, chocolate, or strawberry).

So in a month where so many say I'm thankful for this, and that, with some BS daily little thing to say they're grateful for the month. I'm grateful for my family, and the extra time I get to spend with them as it comes. And not just today, but everyday of the year.

And on a final note... SCREW BLACK FRIDAY!

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

Fathers Day: Dad is an Earned Title

Fathers Day. Much like any other holiday here in the U.S. it's treated as a day for BBQ's, drinking, and sporting events. Cards are exchanged, and "I love you" is uttered across the land. It's a day that's generally looked upon as saying, "thanks for being my dad."

Dad. It's a title. A title earned. Anyone can donate a sperm, and claim they are a father. But that doesn't make it so. Dad's are much more than just a piece of DNA. They are the ones that we look up to as the king of the family. Don't believe me? Ask any adopted or foster child who has calls someone dad, who isn't of their blood. A title earned. Ask the child with a step-dad, whose father ignores them, treats them as property, or has completely abandoned them. A title earned.

We change their diaper's when needed, only to get showered in pee. We kiss their knees when they fall. We hug them as they panic at a little blood from their first loose tooth. We teach them how to swim, and play games with them. We look in on our children, even as teenagers to make sure they're sleeping okay. We spend Christmas Eve with our wives, driving around to find a store for their first period. We praise them when they do well in school, and encourage them to do better when they don't do so well. We tell them stories of honor and glory from our time in service.

We teach them about respect,and to say ma'am and sir. We teach them how to shoot. We teach them old ways of doing math. We teach them about where our families come from. We teach them how to care for animals. We teach them about pride, and when it can be foolish.

As a dad, we worry that we haven't done enough. We worry that we haven't prepared them, even when they've shown we have. We worry that they'll make the same mistakes we have. We worry that they'll get hurt. We worry that they'll resent us for being too stern sometimes. We worry that they'll fail, and not want to try again. We worry about them having heartbreak. We worry that they'll forget who they are in this mixed up, crazy world.

We take pride when they learn a new trade. Pride when they take interest in something new. There's pride when they excel, and pride when they are humble. We take pride when they overcome a fear. Pride when they stand up for someone who can't stand up for themselves.

Sometimes things go just as planned. Other times close, but not quite. Then there are times that everything goes wrong, but right at the same time. And there are days when you fall flat.

While this is supposed to be a day we thank our fathers, it's a bitter sweet day for me. To my step-dad Elbert. You came along late in my life, but thank you none the less. You do a lot with little acknowledgement, and are appreciated more than you know. To my dad David, you made your mistakes like anyone else. But under it all you were a good person, and I miss you. Our time together here on earth was cut too short. I love you both.

And thank you to my kids. Without you I wouldn't be a dad, as stressed out, or as whole as I am today. I love you all.

And thank you to my lovely wife, whose sacrificed a lot to bring them into the world, and help me be a better person and dad. I love you.

Thanks Lizzy Spit

This post is from the fun side of the Force today.

Score #Spits 1 - Trolls 0.

Last night a troll decided to take a stroll through some public posts in the land of Google Plus from months ago. And in true troll fashion they took a moment to make a nasty comment. I didn't take the insult, as I find humor in how small and closed minded some people are and pity them. I made a brief, yet polite comment back and dropped the subject. Within minute, however, I was once again looking at sheer class and kindness offered in the form of the awesome +LIZZY SPIT. Within just a few short minutes, not only did she remove the trolls ugly comment, but actually took time to briefly message me that she had as well. Much thanks and love to Lizzy. #iamaspit #thanks #love

Tattoo

Hey there kids! Tattoos. Some people love em, some hate em. Some get them, later regret them, and later try various procedures like laser removal to get rid of them (to varying degrees of success). Either way, it is a personal choice. And now here's my thoughts on them.

Tattoo's should always have some sort of meaning. Not a name of a boy/girl friend as they can come and go. In the people I've met these are the most commonly regretted, covered, or attempted to be removed. And they shouldn't be, "oh that's cool, I'll put that in my skin." Also later regretted by many. The hand or foot prints of your new born child, for instance, are something that have deep meaning for every parent. Music notes, sheet music, or an instrument for a musician or in memory of a loved one who played music. A common theme among military members, including this one, are military based tattoos. Branch, occupation specialty, quotes, motto's, meat tags, etc.

You see, for me, a tattoo is a visual representation of who you are, where you've been, and what matters to you. So when I come across someone wanting a tat, or sporting new ink, just because it looks cool, the first thing that comes to my mind is, "what an idiot". And this is something that many tattoo artists agree with. However, they also have to take the stance of #1) ink is their livelihood, so they can't very well turn someone away unless it's a matter of ethics or conscience, and #2) if it's something that someone really wants to put in their skin, it's on them.

So before you go and get some fresh ink, or even your FIRST, sleep on it for a while. Is it really what you want? How likely are you to regret it later? What does it mean to you? Is it something you would be okay with your own child seeing or getting one day?

The next thing that I'll go into is location. Location, location, location. Where should your ink be. Well it's a personal choice as well. But in general I would recommend keeping future employment opportunities in mind.  While tats are art, not everyone views them that way. In fact, some people down right loathe them and will disqualify you for that alone whether they'll say it out loud or not. So make sure that where you get them is easily concealable. Personally I think anywhere is okay as long as you can cover them when needed.  Places like hands, anywhere above the neckline, especially the face should be avoided. Even below short sleeves should be avoided if possible. Forearms can be easily covered for interviews, but you should keep in mind that it can get hot in the summer, and some employers will have you cover up regardless of time of year.

Tats are becoming more acceptable, but it's better safe than sorry in my book. But the bottom line is, do what's comfortable for you. It's your skin. Just do everything you can to ensure that you won't regret it later in life.

~Crypt Keeper Burt

Why would you ride a motorcycle?

Motorcycles. You have to be crazy to ride one of those things! Well then label me crazy, cause I love my bike and go nuts when I can't ride it. Like in the winter when the weather turns on you.

You're nuts, why would you do that? Well I'll bet you had a bicycle as a kid. And I'll bet you'd go to the top of a hill, lean in, and peddle until you thought your heart was going to explode and your lungs were going to give out, #1 to get it going as fast as you could, and #2 to see how far you could get it to go until you had to start peddling again. Remember that feeling you got when you hit a good speed, and how you'd just coast it out as long as you could? Well that's just a little taste of what riding a motorcycle is for those of us in the brotherhood of bikers. It's a fraternity that others just don't understand, and forget about when they grow up and stop riding that bicycle.

But it's dangerous, you'll get hit by a car! Well, you're obviously aware that we're on the road. So when you get behind the wheel of that cage, keep an eye out for us and remind your friends to do the same. It's always a shame when a cager gets in a hurry and forgets to pay attention to what and who is on the road. It's not just cars, trucks, and suv's anymore. And as the economy has balanced out at "you're too poor to eat" more and more people have begun getting there endorsement and started riding.

It's also a culture unto itself. One of loyalty and respect. It's not about what you ride, but rather that you ride. You can be on a crotch rocket and still have someone on a Harley with ape hangers flash you those couple of fingers as a way of saying, "hey there" and showing some love and respect. Bikes are no longer the just the rebels and the weekend warriors. These days it's the common man too. There's even more and more women getting on bikes and not as passengers.

So the next time you see someone on a bike, or hear them talk about it, reflect on that part of your childhood when you could say woohoo! Then find a way to get your ass back out on the road. Because motorcycles are not the enemy. It's your forgotten inner child.