Ever Get That Feeling That You Started A Band At 6AM?

It started about two months ago.

I was feeling an incredible lack of motion and forward movement in my life. Daily drudgery was reaching its peak point, and the exhaustion of the Christmas season wasn't quite cured by my lack of hours at work yet.

Actually doing something worthwhile with my life seemed out of my league. I felt trapped in this maze of what amounted to menial work for "the man".

A glimmer of hope came from a seminar I attended during the summer at Soulfest. The speaker showed a chart that would help us determine our "personal inventory"; our gifts and talents we may have not even realized yet.

Sitting in the Wal-Mart break room, I started to write these things down. Any direction was better than no direction at this point.

The first column was entitled "Things I'm Good At (Gifts)"

So I wrote down the following:

Making people smile

Having a decent singing voice

Having a decent metal voice

Being an awesome medic in Battlefield

Screaming at strangers

Random humor

Collecting the different pieces of a song and putting them together

Writing lyrics

Making ramen

Defending video games and heavy music

I sat back and looked at my list, and being satisfied with the contents, I leaned forward and wrote out my second column, "Things I Like (Passions)":

Ramen

Video gaming

Playing guitar

Screaming at strangers

Destroying stages

Breakfast

Making my fiance giggle

Driving around with metal blaring

Shiny video games

I kinda left it at that until right now, where I find myself filling out the third column, "Things I Want To Do (Goals/Dreams)

Be the best husband ever (soon enough)

Be the best father ever (after a certain wedding ceremony, thank you kindly)

Be a vocalist in a metal band

Be a vocalist in a worship band

Be a vocalist in an acoustic band

Inspire people with my lyrics

Draw people closer to God with my lyrics

Make people think with my lyrics

100% Super Meat Boy

See Project 86 in concert again

Leave college with a 4.0 GPA

Get a tattoo

Make my wife giggle every day of our marriage

Get into shape

So from here, I get a fuller picture of my inventory; what I'm good at and how it ties into my dreams.

Starting to see the trend here?

I'm gifted in the area of music.

I thoroughly enjoy making people laugh.

I love constructing lyrics to a song.

No one dies on Mama Lopez's watch during a Battlefield match (a self-inflicted moniker for my medic).

I really want to do something with music.

I REALLY want to do something with music

I REALLY, REALLY want to do something with music.

And yet, it seemed like every project I was involved in seemed to fall apart soon after we gained a little steam.

It felt like my dream was dependent on other people and their schedules and their agendas and their ideals and their preferences. *

It was all their fault that I never got to use my talents to their fullest.

Or was it?

What I hadn't realized (or even thought of, at this point) was maybe all of those weren't God's timing and God's people.

Huh.

What a novel concept.

So here I was, full of ideas and lacking ambition, I finally got sick of myself and decided something.

I was tired of whining.

I'd been whining about how no one wants to start a band, no one wants to collaborate with me, my brother isn't metal enough, blah, blah, blah.

At 6AM, I decided to step out in faith, to let God take my talents and bring people to me that were the ones He wanted me to partner with. I took all responsibility for my future off my shoulders and put them on the everlasting arms. With humility and brokenness, I followed the dream I felt that God had placed in my heart.

I started a band.

Fame Is Infamy was born, a tiny two cents in a world of millions of dollars.

And I have no idea where it's going. I've completely left this in God's hands, letting Him use my humble offering, or not.

I'm keeping my eyes and heart open, letting God lead me and others however He chooses. If He closes the door, there's another one around the corner. I'm not worried. I'm not going to fret.

I'm just stepping out in faith on this one.

*Kids, that's a terrible way to write a sentence. Don't do that. I can do it because I'm a trained blogger with years of experience that keeps me safe. You'll shoot your eye out.

Here's looking at you, Kendall.

The past week, I've been hard-pressed to remind myself that there is an end in sight, somewhere on that frigging horizon.

Between my beloved Ford Escort (affectionately known as Eberta) going to car heaven, tossing myself between rides into Bangor like a drunken mule, and a host of other annoyances, I have been a goteed ball of stress the past week. I have had a poor attitude, I've been on edge, and I've been close to breaking under the weight of innumerable tiny problems.

That all changed on Sunday.

I charged into the hospital as soon as I got the call, my fiance in tow. The elevators wouldn't climb fast enough. My feet wouldn't walk fast enough. Doors wouldn't open fast enough. I had to resist the urge to sprint, such was my anticipation. I stepped into the room, and for a moment, time stopped.

I saw Kendall.

Curled into my brother's arms, making teeny sounds that were her absolute best attempts to cry, was my niece. She had been born not 3 hours before I got there, a tiny, pink, noise-making bundle. Her unopened eyes were cinched shut, hiding her baby blues from the light that encroached on her happiness. Innocence seemed to radiate from the bright pink blankets that held this beautiful, fragile girl. The tired glow from Nick and Hailey was unmistakeable, both of them overjoyed that Kendall was healthy and here.

I knew at that moment that, along with her father and mother, I would strive to protect this gift from God, that she would always know that I was there for her, that her family would be a sanctuary in this ever-darkening world.

I can't imagine what it's going to be like when I'm a dad. I can't imagine the overwhelming feeling of love, rushing to overtake every single sense in your body.

But I think I got a small taste of it on February 6th, 2011, when I met my niece, Kendall Reagan Waite.

Yes, I'm still going to be everything an uncle should be; I'm still going to be the mischievous, funny Uncle Aaron that teaches her how to catapult coffee creamers into the upper atmosphere using naught but a spoon. But at the same time, I feel privileged to just to be close to her, to watch this life develop and mature, to discover how her personality evolves. She's already one of the most fascinating people I've ever met.

Kendall, I know you can't read yet (you're probably still getting a grasp on the whole "seeing" thing), but I want you to know how amazing you are and what big plans God has for you. Your mom and dad love you fiercely, and they'll always have your back, no matter what life hands you. Your Aunt Ami is going to spoil you as much as humanly possible, and I can't promise that your Uncle Aaron and Aunt Janelle are going to be much better. Your grandparents will watch over you, offering wisdom and open arms, just like they did with your parents. You are safe. You are protected. You are loved.

And that's never going to change.

You've already changed my life, and you just got here four days ago.

Welcome to this broken earth that's brightened with your presence.

Love,

Uncle Aaron

(PS: Your father is a LEGO nazi. Make sure you keep all the wing pieces, or he'll steal them.)

These Are My Sins

I am not what you think I am.

I am not someone you can walk on.

I am not without merit.

I am not blameless.

I am not a burden.

I am not irresponsible.

I am not uninspired.

I am not someone to be brushed off.

I am not unimportant.

I am not damned.

I am not lost.

I am not without hope.

I am not oblivious.

I am not a monster.

I am not fearful.

I am not without confidence.

I am not without purpose.

I am not without help.

I am forgiven.

I am loved.

I am supported.

I am confident in the God that guides me, that He will also uphold me.

I am no fool, for I give up what I cannot keep for that which I cannot lose.

All's Fair In Love, College, and Occasionally, Checkers

(Author's Note: Hurro, and welcome to the new blog. I've gotten annoyed with posting notes on Facebook, so I've moved my electropapyrus scrawls over here. This note wasn't tagged on Facebook, so there's a good chance you missed it a few weeks back. When I post online, I usually don't say everything that's on my mind. Why? One of the main points of me posting on Facebook is to make your day. I love getting messages telling me of how my humorous commentary on life has made their day, I thrive on that, so generally, I don't post anything too serious. This is one of my rare unguarded posts, pouring my soul out in a moment of weakness. I hope you find solace in knowing that someone else struggles just like you.)

It's two in the fricking morning. This past weeked has included the hardest days of my life, bar none. I have Relient K cranked in my ears and some sort of inkling of hope in my heart. And in this dark, snow-covered solitude, I'm discovering one of my worst fears:

I am terrified of failure.

Not just terrified, but so completely and utterly broken to the point that I don't want to start anything that has any weight to it because I might screw it up, because I might do something to stumble, to make myself the fool.

As anyone that knows me is aware of, I'm good at a few things. I can make people laugh, I have a passable singing voice, and sometimes I can make the mechanical beasts known as computers do my bidding. I can lead a paintball squad with a boisterous tone, I can beat your time in Super Meat Boy, I have a knack for noticing odd details about people. I'm a lyricist, a lover, a good friend.

But ask me to go beyond that?

Oh, HECK no.

I have an inability to function outside of my comfort zone, and as soon as that zone is breached, I devolve into some childish, whimpering form of myself.

Outside of my box, I can fail, I can mess up, I can screw something up, I can embarrass the people I care about, the people that brought me up, the friends that have my back. I am frozen.

For instance, college.

I've been saying for years that I'd go. Years. I'm just now starting my first year of college at NESCOM come January. I just discovered an invoice from them, a gargantuan amount of money plastered on it, a gorilla of numeric preportions.

Freeze. Whine. Cower. Rinse. Repeat.

What happens if I can't pay this? What happens if I start, but can't finish? What will my fiance think, her family, my family, those closest to me? Isn't it just easier to just stay put, hunker down at my job and make a living out of retail, living out my small, quiet life with my wife-to-be? Wouldn't that be less risky than this grand unknown of college payments and years of student loan repayment?

And speaking of wife-to-be, my word, Aaron, what are you thinking? You proposed to the girl that has done nothing but captivate you for the last three years, but seriously, what the frick were you thinking? Don't you know that marriages fail all the time? Don't you know that you're going to be confined to a daily grind just to provide for your family? Who in the world are you to have the nerve to take a daddy's only daughter? And my word, children? What qualifies you to be a parent? You are entering the deepest reaches of your ability to fail.

Eventually, I calm down, find out what I can do and drive towards it.

But the fear, the fear stays.

My confidence wanes outside of this box I've made for myself. "The only things I will truly be able to do," I tell myself "are contained in this tiny box."

Oddly enough, I always believe myself.

I never think to break the cursed thing.

I never stop to think that the God I claim as my own, the God I say is the Lord of my life, the Savior of my life, has made sure that I'm not damned to a life of mediocrity, that this God I lean on for my daily needs just might be big enough to handle my failures.

I never even ponder that maybe my fiance will still love me even if I fall on my face, that our love is pure and will last a lifetime, that maybe her parents don't completely hate me, but are just concerned for their child's well-being.

I don't stop to meditate on the strength my family has provided me over the years, that I'm never going to be a failure in their eyes, no matter how hard I try, and that their arms are always extended to me, a safe haven in a world of storms.

I never notice the friends that are my support structure, my rocks of common sense, ready to listen, to help, to comfort.

No, no, this rotting crate that I confine myself is much too strong. It's safe here, I reassure myself.

There is nothing more exhausting than living my life in fear of letting the ones I love down.