God is that you?

   I've already shared most of my life in a nutshell in my previous blogs and I've told you what led me to my belief in God, but this is the part I've been a little more hesitant to tell you about because it involves me being extremely vulnerable. Somehow I've always thought as a song writer that the most vulnerable songs are the best ones. I walked completely away from Christianity and faith altogether. Not just a little bit. I renounced my faith completely and became an atheist. So my intentions are not out to convert or preach to anyone of you reading this blog. Some people feel that that is their calling in life, but not me. I'm only hoping this will spark an interest in you to also search and keep searching. I love the conversation still. I think it's important to ask the hard questions. If God is real and truly asks us to seek after him, don't you think he is able to withstand any questioning and even more delights in the honest seeker? The person who says they believe in God and never has questions, I doubt their sincerity.
     I was one of those who never questioned. I became a Christian at an early age and through the many experiences I had along the way it gave me enough security in what I believed that I never thought to question. It wasn't until I found my biological father 2 years ago that a spark ignited in me to find out what else I didn't know about myself. It was in a way a hall pass to re-discover me. At the time I was beginning to find out where I came from, but now I wanted to know what else was behind those doors besides a lost heritage? I felt like everything needed to hold up to scrutiny and that included my faith. So I began asking questions. Why is Christianity the only "right way" and every other religion wrong? Who REALLY wrote the Bible? Is God a concept created by humans to explain away the mystery of the universe? Then I had to go through all my life experiences and I had to chalk them up to hyper emotionalism or my earnest desire to believe in the super natural that I somehow created it in my head. What really drew me away was the more I presented the questions to true believers, the more I found their answers -at best-to be unsatisfying and mediocre at worst plain foolish.
    During this time of questioning everything, I was recording a new album with my newly found father. Some of the songs on the album were written a long time ago in a time when I had great faith but the other half were written during the recording process and filled with questioning. One line in the opening track titled "Last Prayer" says it all "Lord knows you know I can't tell where I'm going, to heaven or falling in hell are my predictions. But I only speak what I have heard and the sound of your words condemn my soul while my soul is here bleeding." I wrote that song as a cynical prayer. Hence the title, "Last prayer".  It felt to me God was a hoax or grown up fairy tale. I couldn't help but be cynical. I felt bamboozled. The hardest part of it all was trying to keep my guard up at home, around my wife and kids. I never had a time in our 9 years of marriage where I wasn't able to be transparent. So when I became an atheist, I found it really hard to pretend. My kids wanted me to pray for them every night still. My daughter Harmony, who has a keen intuition would often ask me, "Daddy, do you still believe in Jesus?". I would answer her with a lie, "Yes sweety of course."  I even led worship at church a couple times to help make ends meet and to keep the family happy but I gave them their 5 songs and then I was off. I hated the sermons. I hated the Bible. I really hated what I thought was the fakeness of it all.
    It was really tough for me to find friendships that I could be completely open with. I would try hanging out with believer friends but after a couple beers and the God topic came up I would ask the hard questions and no one could answer. I felt like the elephant in the room. I couldn't see how no one else struggled with these same questions. Naturally it set a distance between them and me. I found more comfort in the bars that I regularly played at than with any Church. The worst part was my wife who had always been my best friend was even losing touch with me. Eventually I "came out" with her too. She was heart broken to say the least. I couldn't lie to her anymore. So for months we would dance around the topic of faith only to end up in a hurtful argument where we both felt misrepresented. I tried to reassure her, "I'm still the same person, with the same morals. I just don't have the God belief anymore. I really want to believe but I need truth. REAL evidence."
    For a while things were okay. We learned to avoid the talks about God. She prayed for the kids at night instead of me. If the topic came up we learned to agree to disagree. I knew that faith in itself wasn't bad. I've seen the positive effects on people. I've seen the positive effects even on me. I just couldn't say I was a believer just for the benefits of that faith. We got offered a place to live back in California this past Summer and I knew my wife was feeling weary of my faithlessness and she needed a place where she could thrive. Not to mention the harsh winters were getting to her and it felt like a good time to make the move. Even as an atheist I could see that God was her joy and she needed that connection with other believers. So I agreed to move back but I needed to stay and finish up my album and some work stuff so she went ahead with the kids before me. I told myself I would make this time apart a time where I searched out what I believed and that's what I did..so I thought.
    While she was gone I bought a book called The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins. In The God Delusion, Dawkins contends that supernatural creator does not exist and to believe in a personal God qualifies as a delusion. I spent that month, wrestling with and wanting so badly to come to a conclusion. I just couldn't connect the dots in my  head why Christianity was the RIGHT way and everyone who doesn't convert is going to eternal punishment in Hell for getting it wrong. If God is love why? Of course the Christian response is "free will" or "God didn't make robots" or the classic one, "God doesn't send anyone to hell, people choose to go there." All of these responses made it even harder for me to settle on the matter.
       As I was flying into California, I knew I was going to live in Jesus land, where everyone remembered me as this "worship leader" from long ago. My wife had already settled into our new home and when I arrived it was my desire to pursue music head on. I got a gig right away at The Whiskey a Go Go and things were starting to look up for me. The God question never really came up. I brought it up with a friend of mine who lives above us and he shockingly told me he thought it was good that I was asking the hard questions. I never heard anyone give me permission before. One Sunday morning I thought it would be fun to take the family to the old church where Annie and I used to go. I did my best to refrain from poking fun at the worship leader during the opening song set. Then a girl named Jessica Mock took the mic. She was visiting for Christmas from Thailand where she lives an extreme life. She talked about her experiences going into prostitution brothels and praying for people and seeing the change in lives. Her story was interesting but there was something behind her words which made me feel a surge of emotion as if I wanted to crawl out of my skin..maybe scream or cry. I know that sounds weird..but that's what I felt. After she spoke, the pastor got up and talked about a true story of a doctor who was an atheist and died and saw heaven and became a believer. I kind of shrugged it off at the time as being another hypersensitive moment. After the sermon communion was offered and I refused..my wife cried. The drive home was awkward and we didn't exchange much dialogue.
 
       My wife found this journal entry from my daughter a couple days later and showed it to me. It wrecked me emotionally to say the least. I didn't know what to do. 

     So this inspired me to pray this prayer to God before I fell asleep, "Lord, I believe enough to ask you to help my unbelief." I woke up the next morning at 6am and felt the urge to dust off the Bible on the shelf and opened to Psalm 139.
On any other day that Psalm would have made no impact on me but I felt this strange sense that someone bigger than me was trying to tell me something. Maybe it was the sunrise and the beauty of the morning but I felt like I was with..should I dare say it? God?
I fell asleep and woke up to my phone ringing.

"Hello?"
"What's up bro. It's Jose. God had you on my heart this morning. Do you need a job?"
"That's weird. Yes."
"This is the Lord then. Go to the Surgical Center and tell the supervisor I sent you. Go now."

So I hung up the phone and did what he told me to do. I walked into this medical place and asked for the supervisor. Without looking at an application she hired me. She told me if I would have came yesterday she wouldn't have needed me and if I would have came tomorrow she would have hired someone in house to do the job. She then gave me the tour. The first person I met was David, an old Mexican guy with a joyful face. He said, "The Lord must be with you. This never happens." I felt strange. Was this really happening to me?
I was told to come the following week for my first day. I walked out to my car and sat there for about 15 minutes trying to chalk up that moment to chance..or maybe..I don't know..maybe God?
So that's where my story leads me to now. I don't have the answers but I'm still diving after them. I have been wrestling with them every day..but this time with a feeling of God wrestling with me. I wish I could say I'm a Christian and recite some creed but I am in no way there yet. But there is a BIG universe full of mystery and it's open for interpretation.
All I know is love makes life sweeter. I'm learning to love with help of something bigger than me. I've been praying again with my kids. My daughter looks in my eyes and can tell I'm not lying.
Anyways, I hope this rambling encourages someone out there.

Lots of love,
Chris



   

My Journey Part II

     I guess I'll begin where we left off. I came to find out about my Dad in a very peculiar way and although that story is where I ended last I need to first give you a little prior history. I was born in Santa Maria, California at Marian Hospital with the last name Shryock on my birth certificate which had stayed my last name until I was 4 or 5 when my step Dad entered our lives and adopted my brother, sister and I and gave us his last name. I grew up believing my father was a light haired, bearded  man of Polish descent named Michael Shryock. My mom often had to fill in the blanks when I asked questions growing up and answered my curiosity most times with, "Your father used to be so kind until he was sprayed by chemicals at his job. After that exposure he lost it and was never the same since. It's not your fault he doesn't come around..he's just mentally unstable." This was a little consoling to me as a child as I wondered, 'what kind of father would want nothing to do with his kids?' I vaguely remember his infrequent visitations picking up my brother and sister; watching him load them into the car through the living room window. It was 8 years later and soon after my mom's divorce to my step Dad Mike magically appeared one morning. I remember walking into the kitchen to the sound of my brother, sister and mom singing harmony to the old country song 18 Wheels and a Dozen Roses. It wouldn't have been weird for me on any other day. My family loved music and it wasn't uncommon to hear someone in my family spontaneously brake out in a chorus and for others to join along like some kind of musical, but it was odd to see him, my father (so I thought) leading the procession. Noticing my curiosity,  he asked me if I could follow along on the drums with them. So I sheepishly said yes, and they all piled into my messy room and we rehearsed the song. I timidly played along as I watched my family do something together for the first time with this person who always had been like a ghost to me. It was weird to say the least.
     It was also during that short season that my brother Jason and I were hanging out at his house that was only a few blocks away. Jason was turning 16 and Mike to impress him, bought everyone at the party Neerbeer. All of us boys thought we were so cool, pretending we caught a buzz even though it was alcohol free. We smoked cigarettes and drank our fake beer and the whole party of friends hung out around a bonfire listening to my brother and Mike sing together and play the guitar. They sang songs like "Wildwood Flower" and "Time in a Bottle". It was then I remember I wanted to learn the guitar and learn to sing. I wanted so badly to impress this mystery Father of mine but somehow- even in close proximity-he kept his distance from me..like I was some kind of annoyance or disease. My brother idolized him though. To the point of even walking and laughing the same way, even wearing his hair the same. I never disclosed my motivation to anyone about the countless hours I spent trying to learn the guitar just to impress him..only to find out I would never got the chance to show him. Supposedly all the bonding time with us was just a ploy to get my mom to take him back and she was in no way willing. So he disappeared just as quickly as he appeared in our lives.
    I'm not to sure about the details but I can recall this being the time when I heard the family secret that he said he believed I wasn't his son. The story was rehashed by my brother of course who told me the day Mike went to the hospital to try and remove his last name from my birth certificate and how upset he was when they wouldn't do it. I didn't want to believe him at first and it only added to my hurt and rejection when my mom confirmed it to be true. I buried that pain for a long time..and it took me until 2 years ago at the age of 30 to confront him about it.
    So fast forward, two years ago on in August I was drinking some wine and wallowing about this very topic in my head. I asked my mom a while back for his phone number and she gave it to me. She told me she feared that he would hurt me more and could do more damage but I told her that was impossible. The damage was already done. So after a bottle of liquid courage I picked up the phone and called him. This is somewhat the brief dialog I remember:
Phone rings, Mike answers,

"Hello?"
"Um, hey this is Chris.. your son"
"Hi there Chris, how are you?"
"I'm alright I guess. Look, I'm really hoping to avoid small talk with you... so I'm just going to ask. I want to know, is true or not that you said you thought I wasn't your son?"
With a little hesitance in his voice he responded, "Your mother and I were separated for a couple months when she showed up on my door step saying she was pregnant with my child. I told her it was impossible and she insisted it was true. I asked her for a paternity test and she refused.You're mother has always been a   .." I cut him off mid-sentence.
"Don't talk shit about my mom. We can do a DNA test and find out. I heard it's affordable and we can find out the truth. I'll pay for it."
"No. No. I'll pay for it. That's a good idea. I will research it right away and get back to you."
"Ok. Thanks. I'll talk to you soon."
   
     With that I hung up the phone. I did it. I asked the unbearable question and the ball was rolling. He paid for the test and it landed in my mailbox a couple days later. So I took the manila package over to the local medical clinic -which was required by the testing company- and a sweet little old lady nurse swabbed my cheek. After telling her my story in brief she said with a sweet smile, "I hope he's not your father. You deserve better than him." Four days later, while at work, I got a message on my voice mail. It was Mike using a very enthusiastic tone, "CHRISTOPHER, I have the results in my hands... and I am NOT your father! I think your father is a Mexican guy named Tony. Call me back and I will tell you what I know." Then it was another message right after..this time my mom, "Hi son, please call me when you get this." My heart was racing. Mixed feelings of excitement and anger. Glad the bastard was not my Father but angry that I had been lied to my entire life. I managed to finish my shift at work (till this day I don't know how) and went to my car and called my mom. The phone rang, my mom answered:

"Hi son."
"Hey mom, so you know?"
"Yes, I was cussed out by Michael being called every name in the book."
"Well I'm sorry, but I'm pissed too. Why would you lie to me?"
"I'm not sure he's telling the truth. He's very clever and I don't believe it. I wasn't with anyone else."
In a cynical voice I replied, "Ok, I guess you're the Virgin Mary then."
"I know you're upset but I'm not lying to you. I don't remember being with any other man. I promise you though I will do whatever it takes to get answers. I will even try hypnosis or anything."
"I think you know and you're hiding it from me. DNA doesn't lie. How could you NOT know?! My whole life I've been told a lie.What about Tony? Who's that?"
'Tony, was only a friend and had a family. That's all. I love you and I'm sorry."
"Sure you do."

    With that I hung up the phone on her. For the first time ever I treated my mom with disrespect. Her tone sounded sincere and honest but I just couldn't grasp how someone could NOT know who their child's father was. Really? I felt misplaced. For all I knew my father could be Charles Manson. I drove home and told my wife. She was so supportive of me but at the same time trying to get me to see my moms side. Annie always had the wisdom to say just the right words to defuse me but she could tell I was pretty messed up by it all.
     A couple weeks later I received a friend request from a "John Beland". Seeing that he looked like a nice enough guy to be a facebook friend, I accepted. He wrote on my wall, "I really like your tunes. You have a great sound. Cheers from Australia." Later that week as I was getting off of my closing shift, my phone began to ring. It was my mom. With some hesitance I answered.

"Hello."
"Hi son. I just want you know that I've been doing everything to get answers. I know you have been going through a lot because of this. I was talking to your Aunt Bev about this and asking her to pray for me. She reminded me of the night she watched your brother and sister for me and sent me out to a Ricky Nelson concert. I never did these things. I was always a stay at home mom busy with 2 kids, and I was on my own then because my husband left me. I was stressed out and the luxury of being young and going to a concert was appealing. So I took her up on the offer her and I went to the concert by myself. I got there a little early and the guitar player passed a note through the crowd to me and asked me to stay for the second set. So, being that it was my first time out in a long time and it wasn't going to cost me anything I took the offer. Later on he asked me to go with him to the after party with the band and we did. There was a lot of people and he was showing everyone songs and we left the party together and we drank some beers and it turned into an over night thing. I really can't remember much. I never drank and it was a scary time for me being on my own. You're father could be John Beland."
With tears falling down my face I sat in my car I responded, "Wait...the guy from facebook?"

"I wish I could grab a hair from your pillow to find out but I need you to do a DNA test again. I love you and please know I will do whatever it takes to get the answers you are seeking."

    With that the conversation ended. I was in shock. I never thought in a million years the story could play out this way. I drove home and told Annie. I went online to check facebook and I had a message waiting for me. It said, "I know you must be going through a lot but just know this, I am here for you. If the results come back that I'm not your Dad you have gained a friend for life. But if the results come back that I am your Dad, I will be blessed and happy beyond measure. So it's a win win. Don't worry ok? Love from Australia. John Beland". That night I couldn't sleep. I went online and looked at pictures. Not only of him but of my entire family. I looked at pictures of my brother Tyler who looked freakishly like me as well as my grandfather. I looked at all the pictured of my sister Jessica who happens to be only a year older than me. Then I turned on music from him and I sounded just like him. It was crazy. All the while I kept telling myself to not be disappointed if the results came back negative.
     It was the longest 3 days of my life. During that time frame I was recording an album and it was ready for print, we were just waiting for the artwork to finish up. Casey Parnell, my friend and producer/engineer of that album was there the whole time waiting in anticipation with me. I told him if it's true, I want to change my last name on this album from Chabot to Beland. The results came back positive and that's exactly what I did. The story came out in the paper and on the local news just around Christmas time. Everyone said it was the perfect Christmas story. My newly found Dad was as excited about the news, if not more than I was. Posting on facebook, "It's a boy!" as if I was just born. My sister Jes (only family is allowed to call her that) immediately called me from NY. We talked for hours. I was receiving email after email from Belands welcoming me into the clan. I can't describe the high I was feeling.
    My Dad flew in to meet me just in time for my album release party. The news crew was there. I actually got the call from Joe the anchorman telling me my Dads plane flew in early and he was interviewing him. Nervous as hell my wife opted to drive. We made it to the airport and we walked in together holding hands. There was the cameras to my left and my Dad talking into a microphone. We were ironically dressed similar. Scarf, hat and coat. He hugged me and I felt like a little kid..time stood still. It was soon after that Joe asked me the most ridiculous question that was impossible to answer, "How are you feeling in this moment." I think I let my Dad do the talking. I couldn't put into words that moment. I still don't know if I can do that now, even though it's 2 years later.
    We went home and talked for hours around my kitchen table.Well, mostly he talked. His Chicago accent made his stories even that more interesting. He talked about his 50 year + life on the road, hanging out with every different rock n roll legend. He made it sound like it was everyday life, like taking out the laundry. He wasn't bragging either. He just was trying to fill me in on the past 30 years. I was captivated to say the least, as he filled up his glass over and over again with wine and with mine he would do the same. I got pretty hammered actually. In fact, I woke up with the worst hangover I've had since high-school. The morning of my hangover he felt fine of course. We had a scheduled radio station interview with Dori Donoho from Clear 101.7. Dori could see my sheet white face, so she kindly directed most of the questions to him. My Dad answered each one with so much style and grace while Dori interwove songs off the album then afterwards invited the town to my release party that night. The town did show up. It was a full house with standing room only. It was a moment I'll never forget. I asked my Dad to get on stage with me. We decided earlier on that day that we both knew The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel so we performed it that night together. It was a magical and beautiful. We knew where to go with each other like we had rehearsed it a thousand times before. Soon the night was over and with tearful goodbyes my Dad flew back to Texas.
     The year following was a year filled with some high mountain tops and some really low valley's that I really want to get to in my next entry. There is just so much ground to cover.
So..to be continued.
 

My Journey

       This is my first attempt ever writing in a blog. I thought it would help to voice where I'm at right now and what I've been through in these past two years. I'm hoping it will encourage someone who may have walked through a path similar as mine and have felt the same isolating feelings I felt while in it. How I became a Christian and how I made the choice to walk away..and why I'm rediscovering faith again is a long story and I've never been much of a writer, that's my wife's gifting department. ;) So as a disclaimer, prepare yourself for punctuation, spelling, and all the grammar errors. Also, I feel the need to say if you believe in a higher power of some sort or you're an atheist as I was a month and a half ago, that is fine with me. It actually is an honor that you would sit through my story and give it a honest listen. So here goes.
         To tell you where I'm at I need tell you where I've been. How far I should go without turning this blog into a novel is the question. I had a pretty usual childhood. I guess I'll jump into what lead to my conversion at age 16. My parents, who consisted of -my mom and my step-dad who raised me from the time I was 4-divorced when I was 12 and I was just about to enter Jr. High. Still to this day I'm not really sure of the events that led up to their divorce. They seemed fine on the exterior. I guess I was off in my own world of Nintendo and baseball. I know my Dad hurt his back one year working for UPS and that caused a little friction between my mom and him. He was/is a mans man. He was the kind of guy who I had explained to me later and it made sense as a "talk side by side rather than face to face" person. He liked his beer. He still does. I don't ever remember it being a real issue but again, I'm only telling it from my side. My mom was and still is an amazing person. She was my biggest fan. She bought me my first drum set, guitar amp and never once told me I was annoying her. She always seemed happy. She woke me up everyday for school with a chipper song that used to embarrass me slightly. She made big deals out of every Holiday. I believed in Santa longer than most kids because of her. Divorce really changed things. My family divided. My older sister, Stacy, the always responsible, straight A student got married and soon after helped carry the load for my mom and helped raise my little sister. My mom had decided to go back to college along with working a full time job. I guess that's how she handled her depression at first, staying busy. My older brother Jason and I got along like regular brothers. He taught me how to smoke and how to pick up on girls. My brother became the man of the house when my Dad left and my mom leaned on him for that. My mom left to Thailand one summer for some class she was in in college and left my brother in charge of me. Unknowing to her, my brother at the time was friends with a bunch of drug dealers in the little town of Orcutt. This is where the story begins for me.
         The house I grew up in, my little sweet little cul-de-sac house in the quiet town of Orcutt became a  flophouse for druggies and dealers. Every night there was at least 40 to 50 people in my living room, lighting up the bong and passing it through the crowd. Chopping lines of speed on the kitchen table. Full keg parties that offered live music every once in a while by my punk band. I was 15 at the time. I  had always loved music. I pretty much lived and breathed it. From as far back as I can remember that's all I wanted to do. Music was where I ran to when life was spinning out of control around me. Almost all my friends were musicians. I practiced for hours every day. When all the shit hit the fan with my mom being gone and my brother taking over the house, I sold my drum set for an 8 ball of speed and a cheap acoustic guitar, which became my best friend.
        It was during the end of that summer, which all seems like a blur, that I met a girl, fell in love and got her pregnant.  So when my mom came home from that summer trip in Thailand, not only did she find a drug infested house, her two sons drug addicts, but now her youngest was going to be a father and was asking for emancipation. She signed the papers, we got married at Waller Park by a Mormon priest in a white and green robe. We had our honeymoon in Disneyland and moved into her parents house. I worked for her dad and tried to go to school at the same time. Accepting the responsibility of adulthood was not easy. After my son Kane was born we were encouraged by her Dad and Mom to be young still. So we would leave Kane with his grandparents and venture over to wherever the town party was. It became a regular thing for us and them. Eventually, she would go without me and one night she wouldn't come home. She found someone else and wanted me out of the picture. I didn't help matters by getting in a fist fight with her Dad as I tried to clean out my room. He wouldn't let me get my guitar which was all I really wanted and I forcefully made my way into the house, grabbed my guitar and headed for the door, when he jumped on me. So angry at the world, I punched him. He went to the hospital, filed a law suit against me which he later dropped in court.
        I was only 16 at the time and I was homeless. I didn't want to go back to my mom's with my tail between my legs so I couch-surfed as long as I could. I slept in abandoned houses a few times. I remembered I had a neighbor back on Loma Way who was really spiritual. She dressed like a nun and went every day to the local Catholic church to pray. I went to her door one night, desperate for someone to give me hope. She had the kindest face that I've ever seen. She welcomed me in, offered me tea and invited me to sit on her red couch in her living room. Her living room had pictures of Jesus and crucifixes hung on the walls. It was very goth but not. I told her my story and she told me with the biggest smile that God is with me and he loves me.I found that hard to believe,but she asked me for my hand and began to pray. I don't even remember what she prayed but I can remember my body filling up with the most intense warmth and joy that I have ever felt. Even more than with the best LSD or anything. Every word she spoke was exactly what I needed to hear. It was then I began my real pursuit of God.
       One night I took my guitar out to the local Von's parking lot. It was foggy and there were no cars around. I went to this corner spot next to a bush and played my guitar and sang out some song. I can't remember if I was singing to God or not. It could have been Nirvana but that's beside the point. A lady drove straight up to me, got out of her car and looked me straight in the eyes and said,"Jesus loves you and he wants me to give you this." She reached in her pocket and pulled out a wad of ones. She then got back in her car and drove away. So my first thought was,'I know someone who could sell me a dime bag of weed.' So I got up and then the headlights of the same car came towards me again. The lady got out and asked me for her money back. I grudgingly handed it back to her while saying, "look lady I'm not pan handling", she then pulled from her purse a 20 dollar bill. She said, "I know this seems crazy but as I was driving away I heard God tell me to turn around and do this. I'm a pastors wife and I never heard God tell me to do this before." I could tell she felt a little awkward telling me this, and then she got back in her car and drove away. Holding that 20 dollar bill instantly made me think of my son Kane, whom I hadn't seen up until this point for a few months. I went into that Vons, grabbed some diapers and baby food and went to see my son.
        I remember looking into my son's eyes and wanting so badly to get my shit together. I just didn't know how. So I asked my step Dad if I could stay with him for a while and he said yes. I shared a room with my step-sister Maria and we would drink beer and talk about God all night. She taught me the different prayers to pray and during the day,  I'd walk down the street to the Catholic church and pray to all the statues. I figured one of them was bound to help me out. I tried going to mass once, but the one time I did I dropped the communion bread on the ground, which was pretty much like dropping Jesus, I later found out. Had I been to catechism I would have been trained on the proper ways of handling such a sacrament. The priest kindly picked it up off the floor, reached in his basket and told me to open my mouth and I received the wafer and headed out the door as fast as I could. I told all the statues later that I was sorry and continued to pray everyday. 
         I don't remember exactly, but I somehow moved in with my mom again for a few months. Under the terms, of course, that I went to N.A regularly and stayed sober. I was pretty isolated. I didn't have all the same friends anymore. All the old hippies I met in N.A were cool but far from relatable. I needed something more. Shortly after, my friend Mikki came to me. He was a drummer in another local punk band. We would spend hours a day jamming out and talking about the little we knew about God. Mikki at the time was on his own like me and needed a place to stay. My mom allowed it for a little while. She told my Dad later that Mikki wasn't paying rent and asked him to tell Mikki to leave. I remember that really set me off because Mikki was all I had at the time and my Dad didn't even live there and they were divorced! So I told them both to shove it and Mikki and I left. Mikki was upset with me. He kept telling me, "Dude, don't leave home for me. Go back." I told him that we were in this together and that I was on this journey with him for a reason. So there we were, homeless, sitting outside of 711. I had my guitar and Mikki had some kind of drum contraption and I began to play Bob Marley's "Redemption Song". This girl came up to us and gave us 20 dollars. We were so happy. We feasted on chili dogs and some other junk food. Afterwards we walked next door into Wendy's. Maybe to use the bathroom, I'm not sure but I remember Mikki talking to a Hispanic girl behind the counter. She told him about Victory Outreach and how there was a home we could stay in over there. So we waited for her shift to be over and we piled into this giant car with her husband and kids and went to the home.
         We arrived at the home late at night and they told us we were too young, but that there was a youth home in San Diego and that we should go there. So that's what we did. We both landed in a youth home in SD. The house was 2 stories and was run by a home director, along with his wife and kids. There was about 15 to 20 young kids like us. Most who were there escaping a juvenile hall sentence. Early morning we would have to rise at 5 am, line up to brush your teeth and head to the sanctuary, which was the living room with shag carpet and metal fold out chairs. 30 minutes of prayer everyday was required. Everyone hit their knees to the ground and began praying out loud. So LOUD! It was raba shando this and rabo shando that and others were moaning or sleeping. It was a culture shock for me, to say the least. I remember feeling so overwhelmed by it all that I yelled, "fuck this place!" picked up my chair and threw it across the room. I then walked out of the house toward the opening gate and Bobby, a native american youth counselor, followed me out of the door and called my name. He laughed and said, "That was amazing bro! I've never seen anyone do that. Don't leave yet. Give it a couple weeks first and then make up your mind." Since I was in another town and had no where else to go I went back in. I stayed there for the full 6 month requirement. Mikki  went back home to Santa Maria. His mom's house didn't seem that bad after staying a couple weeks in the youth home!
        Fast forward..this is turning into a novel. I had stayed at Victory Outreach long enough. I needed to be close to my son who was now 4. At that time I was highly involved in youth leadership. So I wanted to leave the right way. I asked for the blessing of the church to send me back. The pastor wouldn't give it to me. He said God had told him that it was a trap from Satan to go back and that I should listen to the advice from my leaders who all felt the same way. I did the right thing and I packed up my suitcase. I left and never looked back. I went back to a different town. I took a job working with my uncle Dan at Ernie Ball guitars and loved it. Meanwhile, I would pick up my son and have long visits with him. I started going to this college service in San Luis Obispo called the "Burn". The worship leaders sounded like straight Americana folk. I got involved there and made a few friends. At the time I was still legally married to Kane's mom. Every day I'd go see my son and for the first time in a long time she was civil to me. She had recently broke up with her  boyfriend with whom she'd had 2 more sons after ours. So I would hang out there sometimes. Things moved way too fast and I thought I was doing the best thing for Kane and what God wanted, so I took her back. I treated her two boys the same as I did my own. Things were okay for awhile. We went to church together and I tried to be a husband again and father. Our relationship went south really quickly. I fought so hard to keep it from crumbling beneath me but eventually I came home to a note on the door that said, "I want my freedom. I don't want to be a mother and worry about tying shoes or changing diapers anymore. Sorry." It devastated me. I had all three of the boys on my own. She took the car. I had to borrow a car. I moved out of our home because it reminded me too much of her. The boys and I moved into our own apartment in Santa Maria. During that time, I have to say that I have never felt so loved by other people. Friends came over and brought dinner for us. It was then that I met my best friend during that time -who is now my wife of 10 years.. At the time, she, along with others, would help babysit while I went to work at Home Depot. A year later, I heard from a source where Kane's mom was hiding out. She was living with some guy, which happened to be a close distance from where we were living. I remember having all the boys in the car when I drove up to the apartment complex. Half nervous and half angry I proceeded towards the building and caught full sight of her and her boyfriend kissing on the porch. She saw me and told him to go inside and she walked briskly towards me yelling at me to go away. The only thing that kept me from not going up those stairs and satisfying my rage was the fact that I had innocent kids waiting for me in the parking lot. I walked away, got in the car and tried to answer their curious questions without breaking down in tears.
        The next few weeks were extremely difficult. I knew where she was now and needed to have closure. She beat me to the punch and came to my door- funny she knew where I lived- with divorce papers. I signed them and told her I wanted full custody of all three boys. She told me she couldn't do that right now and it turned into some name calling and she left as quickly as she arrived. Several days later her mother called me. She told me she was willing to take the boys for a while. I told her absolutely not. But as time went on, and the boys kept asking about their mom, I felt  like I was up against a wall. Depression was heavy. I told the boys they were going to their grandma's house for a while. Collin, the youngest, cried a lot. He didn't want to leave me. That was my lowest time ever. I felt betrayed by pretty much everyone, even God. I had friends at the time, one of them being Annie, who is now my wife, who would come check on me and make sure I was still eating or at least still breathing.
      Annie called me up on Christmas morning and asked what I was doing. I told her I wasn't up to doing anything. She said,"Why don't you come spend it with my family at least for dinner?" I said yes but didn't show up, so she called later that night and said she was coming to peel me off of the carpet. We talked and she came to my mom's house with me, and just generally made sure I wasn't alone. From that day on Annie became my closest friend. She helped restore my faith. She reminded me everyday that there was still good in the world. I began to get involved with church again and became the worship/music director at the church I had been attending as the high school worship leader. It was also during that time that Annie and I went from being friends to being in love and shortly after, married. About a year later, we had a daughter. Life was good for a while. I couldn't have asked for a happier ending or a more redeeming beginning than what had unfolded here.
    However, the church was taking it's toll on me. Sundays' 2 services,where I would show up at the church around 6:30 am to pray over each seat that the congregation would be sitting in, and ending after everyone left around  1pm, began to consume me and infringe on my family's time. Every Wednesday night service and Thursday evening band practice. On top of that, I was holding down a full time job. I was getting a little worn out after 2 years of that. I was advised by a friend, who thought it was ludicrous that I was doing this all with no salary. It wasn't like they couldn't afford it. The pastor drove a nice car, lived in a nice home. The church had it's wealthy tithers that gave every week. So I went by the church office and found out I had to "set up" a meeting with the pastor. I had to say my reasons for such a meeting to see whether or not it was time-worthy. So I scheduled a meeting and showed up, only to find his assistant pastor in his place. The guy couldn't spend some of his precious time speaking to one of his own overseers. I loved the assistant pastor. He married my wife and I, but I was upset.. He said, "The pastor and the board met about your request and they said no. BUT (as if this was some consoling thing) if you ever want to lead worship on any Sunday without pay, you can still." More heart broken than angry I left the meeting. My wife in I were kind of in a state of shock and hurt. It put us into a sort of limbo We didn't really have anything outside the church and congregants quickly caught word of what had happened and how we felt the need to leave the church, and suddenly felt like it was their godly duty to call and counsel me or rebuke me.
     It was during this time that some friends of ours, who are genuinely great people, went to visit a town called Bend in Oregon, and were considering moving there. They showed us a video of their travels, and intrigued my wife and I. So, feeling the need for change in the air, we took a trip to the northwest. Deciding Oregon was a good option, I applied for a job. Got the job. Another of our good friends called us up in this waiting time, and said they were interested in buying a house there, ironically, and would we be interested in renting it from them? Seeing all the signs pointing to green lights, we moved our family, and our close friends followed soon after. It was nice having a clean slate.We immediately checked out some churches  together. I tried to heed my wife's warning to not get involved in leadership but it happened. We joined a church that had some huge baggage on it. The pastor cheated on his wife with someone in the church and they raised up the assistant to take his place. We felt like possibly God could use us to bring healing to the people wounded by this. And maybe He did. I guess you don't really know what effect you have on people sometimes. We stayed there helping out the church for almost 3 years. The leadership was ripping apart and I felt pulled in different directions by people wanting us to join their side. It was mostly over money and minor variations of theology. Both which I hadn't any interest in. I just wanted to serve God.
    It came to an end with me for church leadership. I finally put the nail in the coffin. I quit my position (which was paid) and just started writing and playing music for myself. I got a few gigs around town and found that very satisfying. I recorded 2 albums in a two year span. I loved the simplistic approach to just being myself. I didn't have to toil over a song set and pick songs that were singable. It was very liberating to leave the church. I had enough time with unbelievers at the bars and places I played at to listen to their stories and what they believed in. I began to ask myself questions about what I truly believed. Did I believe in the Bible? Did I believe in a heaven and hell? Questions were more un-raveling than being answered, and it was also during this time of soul -searching that I  learned my father who I thought was my biological father actually wasn't. I found out through some DNA testing that my real Dad was a result of a one night stand. That has turned out to be a beautiful thing in my life. I found out he was a well-known accomplished musician who played with such characters as Dolly Parton and Ricky Nelson . It was a big story and the discovery was all over the local news. News cameras were there at the airport waiting to capture the moment I met him. So much to take in. I hate to drop off here but I have to go to work. :( So this will be continued later...