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.