And while I was flattered to see a few Circleslide fan sites up and running ( I think one was started by our record label) I think I was more amused by the infinite number of Gabe Martinez’s there are out there. I remember in my early stages of google (like around ’01 or ‘02) I used to have fun entering my name…and seeing a few of us gabe martinez’s battling it out for searches…it was a competition between me and a martial arts guy and a guy at Berkley who drew obscene comics. But over at Facebook…there’s like a whole Gabe Martinez fraternity…it’s kinda weird. Here’s what I learned:

As a rule, it appears that most of us are of latin heritage…

Many of us like to be photographed while imbibing a beverage, usually some form of beer…

But the amusing and sort of saddening truth is that many Gabe Martinez’s are musicians whose profile pic shows them up on a stage, playing the guitar.

Now when I was a kid I remember Mr. Rogers telling me I was special…like a snowflake. Apparently he was overlooking my particular snowflake. I guess the equivalent would be searching for guys named toby mac and discovering hundreds of white males from the Nashville area who engage in some form of rapping. So, I’m thinking of adding every last one of these gabe’s as my friends…and although I don’t know what that will do to the universe, or maybe just facebook…I’m sure it will have consequences of the creepy kind.

So the next time someone tells you that you are one of a kind, that there’s no one quite like you…they are right…unless your name is Gabe Martinez and you play guitar and live in, near or around texas.

He and his brother Sone and I used to do the stuff that typical teenagers would do…shower peoples homes with shaving cream and toilet paper in the middle of the night while running from the cops in only combat boots and underwear…destroying public property…living off ketchup packs and water from the seven eleven…throwing firecrackers off our roofs at kids on their way to school…trying to look like Sid Vicious from the Sex Pistols…you know…the usual stuff.

Only, Jon was a couple of years older than Sone and me…and he grew up faster…but he had a unique gift for getting past all the crap…and digging deep for truth. Truth about who God was, in the midst of the confusion and pain of growing up without his dad…and the obvious problem of having me as a friend. One of Jon’s beacons…and thus, mine as well…was the music and preaching of Glenn Kaiser of the Rez Band. You can check out all things related to this guy over here: http://www.glennkaiser.com/

Glenn was kinda like our punk rock prophet. Even though he’d make the transition from heavy metal, to new wave, and eventually to his love…the blues…there was always a ‘punk’ kinda approach to everything the guy did. He founded Jesus People USA for crying out loud…which led to cornerstone fest. If you’ve ever been…you know that it’s one of the few places where punk and Christian can go hand in hand. Anyway…we had a kind of bootleg album that we used to listen to all the time…and though we dug the music…it was Glenn’s 5 minute sermon that he gave towards the end that we listened to the most…we would memorize the thing. It was fire and brimstone…and talked about the ultimate sacrifice of the cross…and the mediocrity of religious types…and to the three of us, and the rest of the motley crew at our youth group…it was like gasoline to fire. Jon, was the natural leader…and began to actually ‘live’ the stuff he was hearing…and his change created shockwaves around everyone he met…and me being so close, well, I was no exception. And, naturally, when glenn shifted to the blues…it was an awakening for me. I’ve already described that more fully in my other blog…but I failed to mention that Jon had a harmonica before I got mine. And he used to play it sometimes…I forgot that…huh. You see if Jon had a pair of biker boots…then I went out and bought that same pair. If Jon said eating people’s leftovers at Mcdonald’s was cool…then I’d finish that half eaten filet-o-fish…and love every second of it.

So, you can imagine… there was a very interesting meeting that took place…some 18 years later…in North Carolina a couple of weeks ago. Thanks to a venue called Café Jam…and our good friend who operates it, Pastor T…we got to open for Mr. Kaiser and his band. What a thrill it was for me, when he noticed my vintage ’63 Silvertone guitar and asked if he could play it while we were soundchecking. It was like I was 15 all over again. Some of you remember that we do a song of his in our concerts: “in the light of the morning star”. Performing it that night would be like playing ‘Blowing In the Wind” as you open up for Dylan…that’s how cool it was. And when Glenn came up to us after our set…and complimented us on the sound... a tremendous sense of humility and satisfaction engulfed me. I know Tim and I were blown away when he came up to us and guessed that we were influenced by ‘The Alarm’. We were floored…not too many people can hear that…but it’s there…and obviously, you have to know who the heck ‘The Alarm’ is…and Glenn knew and he heard it…and that was huge.

The Alarm was a british band in the 80’s that used to blend punk, new wave and the blues…with haunting harmonica every now and again.

And yeah, Jon Monteverdi is the guy who had the album... We used to listen to them at his house…around the same time as we’d get done reciting Glenn’s sermon…and then Jon would say… “check out this new band…they’re called ‘the choir’.” We’d wonder at the lyrics…the sound…and then we’d screech off into the night in his fabulous boat of a car…and wreck mayhem…caught between being misfits and preachers…throwing water balloons off the highway…and repenting with the best of them on Sunday morning.

We also got to come home to San Antonio and were able to see our families again. But it felt like a dream because it was literally just ‘hours’…too brief. But still, my dad and mom took us to get breakfast tacos in the morning (if you don’t know what breakfast tacos are…you didn’t grow up in san antonio) and we, sleepily, enjoyed that very much.

Upon our return to Nashville, it was GMA week…and that meant a lot of catching up with old tour mates, bands we hadn’t seen for forever who became great friends during ‘Shout Fest’, or the Salvador tour, or Cornerstone. One such band was ‘Need to breathe’…and Tim and I went to see their showcase along with Future of Forestry, Beautiful Republic, and Sanctus Real. I was able to talk to the lead singer, Bear Rhinehart and we talked about our first show together in North Carolina…and our flat tires…the invariable struggles of the road life. They followed Jars of Clay in their van, much like we did Salvador with ours…and we griped about the lack of sleep…the hurt of not seeing loved ones enough…and then he and his band took the stage and rocked everyone’s collective faces off. I think they are one heck of a band.

I was also able to help Debbie critique the ‘indie artist showcase’ this year. She was part of a panel of music industry folks who take part in a showcase where un-signed artists get to perform one song for them and all their fellow peers. It was a surreal experience for me…it was at this very indie artist showcase…in 2003…that I got up and performed (quite horribly I can say looking back)in front of that panel….and started down the road of getting ‘signed’ as they say. It was a ‘full circle’ kind of moment. I remembered Debbie and I praying a lot…driving from Missouri to Nashville in a beat up car…hoping it would hold together for just a few more miles until we got to the showcase…parking far away so no one would see it…feeling nervous and excited when we saw someone with a name tag that said ‘warner bros’ records, or ‘EMI records’…and clumsily handing them our demo and press packet that deb had made. I remember not being able to decide WHAT song to sing…I remember the disappointment of being told all the slots were filled…and I wouldn’t be able to perform…only to have John Mays tell me that I should ‘come anyway…you never know’. I remember being so grateful to him for that little act of kindness. I remember the sting I felt, reading all the reviews that my fellow musicians and the ‘expert’ panel had written about my performance…I think most of them said my voice would not last singing that way…or that I looked too much like Jimmy Fallon…or that the songs would not make it at radio…or that I made weird faces when I sang…and it felt like dreams were being yanked from me and tossed into the darkest ocean…unrecoverable.

And yet…years later…it is now my turn, my turn to do the same to others.

All I can hope is that those artists, who got the same kind of reviews I got…will do what I did…go back home and write with a fury, play on the next stage with even more passion, pray and ask God for more clarity…a bigger calling…for clearer vision…and not give up. Even when the road is darkest…not give up…when there’s no money, no encouragement, no support, no signs that things are going to get better…not give up. It’s when the path is darkest that the light becomes all the more precious.

Here’s to all of them and all of you…

gabe

He was desperate for me to learn some kind of musical instrument and I was resistant to the piano, drums and guitar. I began singing in a band, and in order to do more than stand awkwardly during solos, I mentioned that it would be cool to play harmonica…and so my poor dad finally found something that I at least wanted to learn to play and enacted his plan.

Against my mothers protestations that I was too young to be frequenting such seedy establishments, my dad drove me to the small bar telling me that if I was going to learn to play the harmonica he wanted me to see how one should be played ‘properly’.

He somehow finagled the guy out front to let me in, assuring him I wasn’t going near the bar, and telling him about my need to learn how to blow the harp. I think this was accomplished with the help of a $10 bill. (10 dollars happened to be worth more back then...says the aging man)

And so we, father and wide eyed teenage son, sat down to experience the blues. I imagine my dad knew he was in the doghouse with mom anyway, so in some masochistic way he was relishing the onslaught of the ‘I’ve been mistreated’ songs that were about to ensue. As for me, I was still in shock that I was in a bar with my dad. The same man who taught me the fear of God, the same man who never, in his life, touched alchohol. It was as if Charlton Heston was taking his little boy to an Anti-gun march. Bizarre…but cool.

Then a man, with a dobro and a harmonica strapped around his neck sat down, and began to play. And by play, I mean he began to beat the guitar into submission with a steel slide, violently, sweat pouring off his face in great drops of suffering and mystical madness, and his cheeks, now puffed like balloons, now hollow and taut…as he inhaled and exhaled the blues on his harmonica. I was fixated on this very thin white man in a suit who was conjuring up the ghosts of the great Robert Johnson, Blind Lemon, Son House and Charlie Patton…and I am still haunted even to this day.

After his two sets were up, the spell was broken when I witnessed my dad getting up to talk to Mr. Hammond. I tried to slink in my seat while the two looked at me and pointed. I was embarrassed as every 16 year old should be when a parent does such nonsense…as my child will be when I do the same to them.

But my shame soon transformed into awe as the blues man opened up his harmonica case (a small suitcase situated next to him during the show) and walked up to me and said, “hey man, this is a new harmonica…it’s in the key of A…this might help you get started, alright?”

I think I mumbled something like, “gee whiz, thanks mister!” or some such foolishness, and he walked away to talk to the other non 16 year olds in the room.  Dad drove me home…and we talked about how cool it was when he played this song, or hit that note, or sang about that thing…and in that moment, in the car, father and son were transfigured into two guys who had shared in a mystery…that no one else at the house would ever understand. Only he would have to get up and have to explain to my mom why we were coming home at 2am on a school night…and I would go on to learn to play the harmonica.

You can hear some of John Hammond Jr’s music over at http://www.myspace.com/johnhammondblues

I recommend ‘Come On In This House’…it sounds just like that night felt.

Peace,

Gabe

Bob Dylan: “Don’t look back” DVD

Filmed in 1965 and released in ’67, this documentary follows a very unnerved and sometimes mean spirited Dylan around England during his tour of England. His sets are brilliant, just one man, one guitar, one voice…and he kills every night…although you can see him getting a bit bored and fed up with the material, and the delivery…a sort of foreshadowing of his going ‘electric’ soon after…but that doesn’t mean boredom for you as you watch…instead your senses are heightened as he begins to rush through songs towards the end of the tour…because that’s how genius the man is.

He’s often hard and sarcastic towards those around him including interviewers, his entourage (especially Joan Baez who throws the glass out of the window and ‘disappears’ toward the end), and anyone else who happens to enter his whirlwind of a presence. Amazing intimacy and a revelation for the casual fan.

Going to a Major League Baseball game:

If you don’t live in a city with a team (like me) do a road trip, save the money…spend the money, buy the hot roasted peanuts, chow down on a hot dog, yell at the umpires/players, sing the song during the seventh inning stretch, bring a glove to catch the errand foul ball…or cheer inducing home run…take off your hat during the national anthem…and by all means…don’t do it unless it’s with the bestest of friends, most loved family member, brand new babe or hardened teenage son…drink it up like it’s the sweetest fresh squeezed lemonade…and speaking of which…get that too.

U2 The Joshua Tree:

Go ahead. Give it another listen. Only do it on an ipod if you absolutely have nothing else. Take a drive…put in the CD…and let it remind you of all that was great about that band, at that time…and that when music is at it’s best…it blends energy, thoughtfulness, anger, hope, love, politics…and even the Gospel…into finely crafted songs that you can listen to over, and over, and over again.

Carrabba’s Filet Bryan:

I learned to order a filet mignon this way from a waiter in Myrtle Beach. And now, whenever I go to a Carrabba’s anywhere, the person serving me always, always, exclaims that it’s their favorite dish. Cool thing is…it’s not on the menu. I get it with garlic mashed potatoes…whatever veggies they offer…and a hot big bowl of lentil and sausage soup. Dip the bread in the oil and then the soup…and then slop up all the leftover goodness on your plate for an extra special helping of heaven on earth.

Marie Calender’s Bannana Cream Pie:

A must have. Delicious, especially fresh. Or, if you’re in San Antonio…Tip Top’s on Fredericksburg is actually better…but we can’t all live in paradise now, can we?

The Rest Of God by Mark Buchanan

Great read, dealing with the spirit behind the Sabbath and rest. Mark comes across so real and relatable, while still being scholarly and pulling poetry out of the most familiar scriptures, you’ll be falling over yourself to get his other works. Plus, he quotes liberally from Lewis and Tolkien…and in a good way…you’ll feel like the weight of the world is being lifted with each chapter. Nice.

Looney Tunes. Get a Golden Collections DVD and bask in the comedy glory…and by all means…please, don’t be offended by the stereotypes.

The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

All I can say is that this book ruined me for all other books. Even Don Quixote…a book I love was constantly being judged against the utter enjoyment I received from this wondrous journey into the darkness of the soul of man…and the tearful salvation that can await all of us at the end.

Not Showering for a few days

Okay. This one might make you stinky and reprehensible to your friends and coworkers. But oh the joy of showering after it’s all said and done…you won’t take ‘clean’ for granted for at least…20 minutes.

Unplugging from the Internet for a few weeks

I liken it to calling in sick to work so you can go to the zoo or the park. Seriously…good for the soul.

Beyond Nature by Phil Keaggy

I don’t think there is a better collection of pure acoustic guitar sketches. Pure genius and poetry every time you hear his hands slide up the fret to make another stab at your heart.

Christopher Walken On Saturday Night Live

Yeah, there’s the ‘I need more cowbell’ sketch…an obvious classic. But it’s the ‘census taker’ with Tim Meadows that, in my humble and most correct opinion, rules all others like Sauron’s horrible ring.

XM Radio

We can’t tour without it. You have Bob Dylan’s ‘Theme Time Radio Hour’, Coast to Coast AM with Art Bell, a station devoted entirely to the 60’s, every Sports Radio Channel, Conservative and Liberal Shouting Matches, BBC international news…and you can get it all in Niles, Michigan… you catch my drift? Worth the monthly charge.

Air Conditioning

If you can afford it…we highly recommend it.

Eating Dinner at your friend’s house…the one that grows their own basil, parsley and cilantro plants…and makes the best food…you know the one.

The Office (The British Version)

Freelove on the freelove highway

Short Term Missions Trip

Get out there and take someone who needs it a meal…build a house, a church. Experience the feeling of being far away from the comforts of your home, the privacy of your room…and take something that means a lot to you…and give it to someone who’ll never get a chance to go out and buy another one. Find God outside the parameters of your place of worship…and then never forget it.

Posted by gabe

Well, maybe that’s a bad analogy…but they for sure interrupt the boredom. I look forward to truck stops…and that pretty much sums up what it’s like to travel in a band van. Now, when I’m driving, I have XM to entertain me. Between Britney and Anna Nichole Smith I have plenty to distract me as the miles crawl by…not to mention ESPN radio that quenches my neverending thirst for knowledge about the major sports that I follow. And there’s always a good conversation waiting to break out amoung my fellow travelers…but we try and sleep, and give each other space, as much space as is humanly possible in a van.

Every now and then, you find yourself playing a really good show…like the one we just had in Carlsbad, New Mexico. The day before we ate at a Sonic…and invited the girl who served us our tater tots and toasters to come to the show. It just so happened she used to attend the church where we were playing and admitted she was thinking of returning. But I have these conversations all the time…and usually the person winds up not coming.

The night of the concert we were surprised to see a packed out room…300 plus kids crammed in to see what this ‘circleslide’ thing was all about. Our friend Jason who put the show together blew us away with his hospitality and his ability to get 300 people who’d never heard of us to come the concert. 300 plus sarah from sonic.

When we arrive on stage she’s up front…dancing, singing along, closing her eyes…she looks ‘happy’. I was exhausted from the drive…I was self conscious of the sweat and spit flying away from me…I was thinking about what we sounded like…whether we’d remember the parts we’d rehearsed with the new drummer…I was struggling with a haggard voice…I couldn’t seem to catch my breath…every movement seemed forced…but she was soaking it all in…smiling, eyes wide open. Songs she never heard, she seemed to know by heart. Isn’t that just like grace? A girl at a concert who, despite all your hangups, just wants to dance to your music…so what if you’ve played them a thousand times…every one of them is a revelation to her. At some point I became infected by her attitude. I lost myself in the songs, I reveled in the madness around me, I appreciated the music emanating from my bandmates fingers…I broke into a smile…I gave the mic up and let someone from the audience sing the words…I had fun.

God reminds me in the funniest ways that I don’t have to ‘impress’ Him…He’s always glad to listen…and receives me with a wild embrace that I’ll never deserve, but will forever receive.

Ah well, there’s another truck stop coming up…and it’s probably my turn to drive…time to put the pedal to the metal…dial up that satellite in the sky…and thank the Lord for Sarah from Sonic.

 Ever since my first stint as a ‘band guy’ I always considered what I did as a kind of ‘ministry’. I sometimes don’t even know what that means…it’s hard to explain. But we’d be playing somewhere, sometimes in a bar; sometimes a church…and every so often someone would come to me and tell me that they needed to talk. Sometimes the talk would end in tears as a very broken person would confide in me, a total stranger, that they were considering suicide…and that a song, or a word gave them hope.

 There was a guy we met in L.A. who helped me pack up the gear, and was just hanging out, and then blurted out that he was planning on how to end his life when he heard us playing a song called ‘the lust, the flesh and the pride of life’ by the 77’s…and somewhere in that song and others, the message that God loved him, in the state he was in…came through and he caught a glimmer of hope. And that was all he needed to keep going. He got in touch with me later, telling me he’d found a church, and that he was doing much better.

 Now on myspace, I’ve met a couple of people who write us telling us that they feel suicidal…maybe because of they are Christians struggling with Homosexuality…or maybe they feel like they can’t stop hurting themselves…to cope with the isolation and pain. And since I’m not qualified to give any kind of advice…I usually just tell them that I’m here…they can talk to me…I try and let them know that God’s love and mercy are infinite…and that I’m praying for them. It’s a very humbling thing…and it reminds me that life is so fragile…and wakes me up.

 Now, I know, from talking to other artists that this is nothing really unique and special to Circleslide. If you’re an artist, or a musician, you’ve probably heard these kinds of things first hand. But lately I’m reminded that, as a teenager, there was a year when I would desperately hurt myself to try and FEEL…to escape the numbness I had somehow settled into. I thought about suicide a lot when I was 17. I was working at a gas station, and without warning I’d have to go into the cooler, where the drinks were kept cold, to weep uncontrollably without anyone seeing me. Somehow, through the love and caring of my parents…I wound up at a Bible Study. We were reading Psalm 139 and everyone was reading and passing the Bible around the group…and I had to read aloud:

7“Where can I go from your Spirit?
       Where can I flee from your presence?

 8 If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
       if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

 9 If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
       if I settle on the far side of the sea,

 10 even there your hand will guide me,
       your right hand will hold me fast.

 11 If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me
       and the light become night around me,"

 12 even the darkness will not be dark to you;
       the night will shine like the day,
       for darkness is as light to you.

 13 For you created my inmost being;
       you knit me together in my mother's womb.

 14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
       your works are wonderful,
       I know that full well.

I was overwhelmed with a sense that I was no longer alone. Someone, loved me…even though they knew all my darkness, all my shame…even though I didn’t love myself…God loved me…and wasn’t ever going to stop.

I don’t know how many of you out there are struggling with this. I just read that suicide among Americans under 20 jumped 18% in recent years. That’s a tragic and unnecessary statistic. I’m not naïve enough to think that a song that I wrote can turn that tide. But I do believe that someone who encounters the overwhelming Love and Grace of God…has some serious hope to hang onto.

In case you’re struggling…here’s a link I found. You are always welcome to write us and tell us how you feel. I don’t think we can change your circumstances…but we’ll listen…and pray…and try to point you towards people who can help.

Here’s the link…and I hope you’ll consider what it has to say: http://www.metanoia.org/suicide/

Peace everyone…

gabe

I guess if you’re a Bears fan you feel the same way I did when the Cowboys lost.

I know I’m sounding like a repeat of every other blog…but eh, to the commercials this year. I guess the only highlight for me was Prince during the halftime show.

I don’t buy into this, “Prince? Is he even relevant? Are we partying like it’s 1989? Is Billy Idol gonna play next year's halftime show?” malarkey.

Prince brought the house down. Period. He is a true musician in this digital age where anyone can upload their songs and become disposable celebrities. There are few, and I mean few artists that can perform like that little guy did in the rain…Timberlake couldn’t do it, Aerosmith blew their chance, Diddy? nah. So the guy hasn’t had a hit in what feels like forever. So he changed his name to a symbol and was misunderstood as he protested what he felt like were unfair practices at the record labels.

When he busted into Purple Rain, and ripped into that guitar solo…his flawless vocals…I was reminded of why the great ones are great. I was reminded of James Brown, Zeppelin, Bowie, The Who, Pink Floyd, Springsteen…and yeah U2. The ones that can make the ‘Grand Gesture’…and make the poor folk in the highest bleacher feel like they’re in the most intimate club.

I’m not saying he is some kind of saint. By no means. I mean the reason we have Parental warnings on CD’s was because Tipper Gore heard her daughter listening to one of His songs. He’s no angel.

But the man can put on a show. And he showed he could do it without the scandal of a Janet Jackson…he did his own songs with style…(remember when the Stones couldn’t pull off “Satisfaction” last year? Yikes.), he didn’t talk during his press conference…he just played some tunes. Forget that forced moment when the NFL had people rush the stage like it was the Beatles playing Shea stadium…forget the clichéd marching band…the guy played with inspired joy, and almost overshadowed the game, the overhyped commercials…and the horrible weather. And that’s why we love music.

To quote Bob Lefsetz: “Inspiration not manipulation. Prince didn't cowrite with Diane Warren. No exec told him what to record. None could contribute to the plan in his head, which he executed so perfectly tonight.”

Oh, and Debbie made chicken tacos…and they were amazing…and that’s always nice.

Some are official...some just kind of evolved haphazardly.

 One that I’m fond of is that every tour begins with grilled cheese sandwiches and french fries at Deb’s mom’s house in Missouri. And this is one of those ‘un-official’ traditions…this one just kinda happens every year. We show up to Priscilla’s, usually late at night, and there, in all their delicious glory, are freshly made grilled cheese sandwiches (that melt like butter in your mouth) and the tastiest greasy but 'good for you' fries you’ve ever had. And last weeks first concert of 2007 was no exception. Yum, yum.

 Another annual tradition is a game we play called ‘lets unpack and discover all the gear we've lost or left at places we played at last year’. This time we were blessed and only some antennae were missing from our in-ear monitor transmitter…and we tracked them down and found out Salvador has them…somewhere...in Texas. Speaking of the lone star state…

 When we are in San Antonio we always, always, always go to Blanco Café and eat the enchilada plate. And we always, always, always take new people with us who either love it, or freak out about how much of a dive it is, or how greasy the plates are…but hey, that’s part of the tradition, you know?

 When we go to L.A., we make our usual trek to Hollywood and drool over the guitars, or pedals, or other gear in the vintage shops that we know we’ll never get…OR, sometimes someone saves up some cash and actually BUYS something and everyone else is usually jealous and envious and has to take time out to pray and ask for forgiveness. Good times, good times.

 Right by my house, when the weather is warm, Tim Aaron and I (and when our sound guy Jeff was around he’d join in) usually go down to the park nearby and lay the smack down on the basketball court. Don’t pay attention to that DVD floating around that shows us lacking any b-ball skills whatsoever, that was edited in a most unflattering way. Tim is actually pretty good…and I hustle (with the cuts and bruises to show for it), and Aaron has the knack for making crazy shots go in. This one isn’t that much of a tradition…the tradition is how after the game we say how great it was and how we should do it more often…yada, yada, yada...and it always winds up being just that 'one' game. But we do lay the proverbial smack down...as I mentioned earlier.

 Now, I guarantee you, at some point in 2007, as in years past, we will pull over and watch ‘24’ in either a hotel lobby, a truck stop, or someone’s home…and not always someone we know either. Maybe with the advent of Tivo and DVR this tradition will be phased out…much like the VCR…but there’s something about seeing ‘fresh from the oven’ episodes that satisfies like nothing else.

 There are certainly other more excellent traditions that I’m forgetting, but the grilled cheese thing kinda struck me as odd. I mean, so it’s not the most ‘exciting’ tradition…but hey, it is one of the most comforting.

Cape Girardeau is the small city that the band chose as it’s new home in 2002, when we decided to leave the missions ministry of YWAM to pursue music full time.

Deb’s mom agreed to take us in, all of us, the whole band. And we would descend on her home en masse and enjoy her hospitality. We would rehearse, and tour, and eat her amazing home cooking…not necessarily in that order.

We thought about moving back to San Antonio, but Nashville was our goal…and we needed a place to get nurtured as we struggled to find our identity, as band members came and went, as a new album was recorded…it was all we could do to just keep moving forward.

This period in our lives is pretty much the subject of the song ‘Up to the sky’ off of our album ‘Uncommon Days’…

‘I love you like no one else

The past resting on the shelf

If we’re falling overboard, swim with me to the shore’

A dream that seems to be dieing is a most fragile thing. I don’t know if it could have survived were it not for Deb’s dogged determination to keep the band on the road. She believed in us, she believed that what we were doing was making a difference; she believed that this is what God had called her to do. And Tim believed and I believed…and sometimes that’s enough.

But there were others, like Deb’s mom, Priscilla…waiting up for us till 2am, with a warm meal for tired and hungry musicians.

There was Pastor Stan Hargis, who gave me a key to the church so we could rehearse there, sometimes starting at midnight. He’d take me out and buy me lunch so that I could talk and unload about having to leave a ministry I was prepared to give my life for, about how much it sucked to be losing another drummer or guitar player…several times he invited the whole band over and his wife would make us dinner, and we’d watch a football game. And there was Andy the worship leader, who’d listen to my songs and ask me to teach them to him so he could incorporate them into the Sunday Service…and there are so many others. People who, for whatever reason, believed in us… told us not to quit… asked us when our next concert would be and always showed up. I drew so much strength from them, they probably don’t even know.

Maybe I’ll see some of them again…and smile. I’m going through new trials, new challenges…and so are they. But I wouldn’t be where I am without them. And so…

Phillipians 1:3-6

“I thank my God upon every remembrance of you, always in every prayer of mine making request for you all with joy, for your fellowship in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ…”