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...