So I'm taking a cue from Joe Louthan, whom I've been privileged to become closer friends with over the last few weeks, and writing a blog post surmising my life so far. If I were an old-school traditionalist, I might pick some fancy sounding yet totally obscure word like testimony to describe this. But I'm not. So I won't. Instead, you get a blog post entitled, simply, About Me.

To begin with origins, I count myself blessed to have what I consider the two most awesomest parents in the universe (and no, I'm not just saying that because they're gonna read this)! Over the twenty-four years I have known them, they have shown unparalleled love and devotion to each other, to me and my sister, Jenn, and to God and His church. They're two of the most caring, honorable, and supportive people I know, and, while they'll be the first to admit they're by no means perfect, seldom have I seen other people who conduct their lives in an manner that is to so great an extent worthy of the title of Christian.

For those of you reading who, for whatever reason, don't buy into "the whole God thing," I promise to try and not make this blog post entirely theological. As I will mention, though, a large portion of my formative years were spent at church, and such matters continue to define how I daily live my life, so it simply would not do to pay them no heed.

People whose parents are believers often joke about having been "in church any time the doors were open" while being raised. With me, mom's on staff of the church I grew up in, and dad's a deacon. We had a key to the building and knew the security codes. "Any time the doors were open" was only about half the time we were there. I was raised hearing about the redemptive sacrifice of Jesus. I could probably have sung from memory three different verses of Jesus Loves Me before I even knew my ABCs (Does that song even have verses beyond the first? I don't know now, but I might have back then...). If any child has ever been trained from a young age to know his Saviour, it was me. So much so that when I was in about first grade and became best friends with another boy my age named Scott, who had already taken the step of "asking Jesus into his heart," I was secretly jealous of him for that. All the same, I somehow knew it was not yet my time to make such a decision. That time wouldn't come for another couple of years.

One otherwise-nondescript Sunday morning somewhere in the middle of 3rd grade, while sitting with my family towards the (oddly enough) back of the church sanctuary, the pastor had concluded his message and begun to give an invitation, a call to salvation. I wasn't really listening to him. I was far too busy putting a death-grip on the top of the pew in front of me, biting back tears and fighting a sudden, inner, emotional turmoil that I can probably now safely define as Satan's last-ditch attempt to not lose my soul. Seconds seemed as minutes, as my flesh silently groaned in revolt against what I knew I was being called to do: surrender. The enemy's strivings would be in vain, though, as the grace and knowledge of God enveloped my heart. "Jesus, come in," I prayed silently, sitting next to my parents who were as far as I know oblivious to the goings-on of this paragraph (remind me to write another blog sometime about this strange, cultural predelection we have for bowing our heads and closing our eyes while we pray -- is that even Scriptural? (I honestly don't know -- if anyone can point me to a reference on that one, you get a cookie!)). Point being, on that morning, at that moment, Jesus, the King of all creation, sealed me as His own for now and for eternity.

Backtracking a bit, when I was three years old, my parents put me in the childrens' choir at church. Since then, many have tried to get me to stop singing on multiple occasions. None have succeeded. A couple years later, my parents enrolled me in special ear-training classes, and I kept doing choir stuff at church on up through about my junior year in high school. In 6th grade, the local Junior High (which, "back in the day," was 7th-9th grade) music programs came to our Music class and administered a test. 120 questions relating to recognition of intervalic relationships and rhythm. Random polling of my peers indicated many of them scored in the 90-100 range. I was one of two people in the entire sixth grade to score a perfect 120. For the next six years through graduation, I would be heavily involved in both the choir and band programs at school, eventually rising to the rank of Section Leader in each. I also picked up a guitar for the first time in the eighth grade, when a guy who played in the band at church offered free lessons to me and a handful of friends. He taught us some basic chords over the course of a few months. Most of the rest of what I know on that front has come from self-teaching over the years since. I'm no Walker Beach, but competent enough to use the guitar to back up my vocals when needed.

When I was in about the eleventh grade, the spiritual climate at the church I then called home began to take a turn for the worse. It would be a few more years before the root of the problem was uncovered, but almost immediately this place that had theretofore been a place of life-giving knowledge and relationship began to dry up. One Sunday morning I still remember vividly; it was a definite breaking point. The lesson in Sunday School that morning was about Jonah. I would wager that most of you reading these words are at least familiar with the concepts surrounding the story of the guy who did three day's time in the belly of a fish.

The lesson that morning, though, was not about any spiritual application of the story of Jonah. There was no "takeaway," no "lesson to better my life." That morning's bible study was on the literal, ontological facts of the story of Jonah. Here I was, sixteen years old, being told nothing more than a story, and a story I had heard ad infinitum since I was, oh, about two. I was offended and put off, and so were most of my friends. That was somewhere around the beginning, and it didn't stop there. I kept going to church, because it was all I had known and because it was what I thought I was "supposed" to do. Playing trombone in the church orchestra gave me a convenient excuse to not listen to the senior pastor's sermons much, but when I did, I noted a stark lack of Biblical backing behind anything he said. On a typical Sunday morning, after taking the pulpit, he would launch into an anecdotal monologue not entirely unlike what is seen on late-night talk shows, only with not as many jokes. After a good 15 minutes of that, he'd stop to read a single passage out of the Bible that was in no way related to whatever it was he'd just been talking about, pause for a couple seconds of reflection, then launch right back into whatever it was he'd been talking about before. I wasn't being fed by that, and the truly frustrating thing was that most of the people around me seemed to ignore it, some even vehemently denying that this was going on. I kept going to church every week because the orchestra needed me, it was what I thought I was supposed to do, and some part of the inside of me that was still passionately in love with Jesus longed to glean whatever drops of water it could from the wasteland that was my church, the above three items ranking in about that order of precedence.

The summer after graduating high school, I gleaned this knowledge from the few weeks I spent in the church's university ministry: "Don't take 8 o' clock classes." That was it. The only useful thing that came out of that summer at church.

I moved up to Denton to study music education at UNT. I stopped going to church, except for some weekends spent at home with the family. In the two and a half years I lived in Denton, I felt guilty about not making it to church more, but actually went to local church services all of twice. It took only a few months to discover that going to school to learn about the music that was my passion was killing that passion, so I changed majors to Computer Science. A big switch, but I had always been a techie and adept at such things; it seemed a good match.

My life in Denton, "on my own" for the first time (though only 35 minutes away from my parents and hometown), was probably less "eventful" than most...no wild parties, underage drinking, or drug use to speak of, but was still a time of adaptation to...well...life. By the time that adaptation was nearing its end, I had failed two classes (owning mostly to frequent non-attendance), and become convinced that the entire Computer Science staff hated me (also owning mostly to frequent non-attendance in their classes), and that the entire city was far too liberal for its own good and might be better off razed to the ground (OK, maybe I'm embellishing a little on that last bit, but you get the point...).

It was about that time, in the summer of 2004, that I got back in touch with Ben. He and I had been the best of friends for many years, though the distance of my schooling at UNT while he remained near home had drifted us further apart over the last couple of years. After a game of ultimate frisbee one Tuesday afternoon, he and a few of the others in attendance announced they were going thence to a bible study, and asked if I'd like to go along. Having no greater plans for the evening, I accepted.

This bible study, which wound up being 20 or so college-age people in a rather spacious home, was not at all unlike any other similar gathering I had been to over the years, but it must have been enjoyable enough, as it found its way into out weekly routine for Tuesdays: Frisbee, then this college group, which was sponsored by a church called Gateway. I had never heard of Gateway Church, but its people seemed nice enough. Over the summer and the following months, this group of students meeting in a living room evolved into Vertical, a first-monthly-then-weekly meeting of the same types of people in an upper room of Gateway's main campus.

In the ensuing weeks, I, home from college for the summer, was still attending my parents' church on Sunday mornings (sometimes...when I felt like it). All that came to an end at the end of that summer's Vacation Bible School (at which I was serving). I don't remember precisely what set me off, but I remember getting into my car afterwards and saying to myself that I would be perfectly happy, overjoyed even, if I never set foot on that church campus again.

I resolved in that moment that the next Sunday would find me in a seat at Gateway's main service, where Ben and company were already attending regularly. What I found there the next week can be described only as a divinely-appointed miracle.

Those who have heard pastor Robert Morris speak know that he is a very Scripturally-focused preacher. Seldom does he make any claim and not back it up with the Word. That morning, though, that particular characteristic was in overdrive. Remember here that the only church home I had ever known to that point had practically cut the Bible out of their dealings completely, save for the occasional passing reference. It was chiefly that fact, after all, that had inspired me to seek greener pastures, if you will. That morning as I listened to the teaching of Pastor Robert, I lost count of the sheer number of Bible passages he used to support what he said, and every one he did use actually supported his arguments. By the end of the sermon, I was nothing short of elated; here was a church where they actually taught from the Word of God! It didn't take long after that for me to decide to make Gateway my new church home.

The next semester would be my last at UNT. I had a job near home on the weekends and was driving back to Vertical on Tuesday evenings. I squeaked though that semester, school-wise. One class, I outright failed. The others, to this day I can't tell you how I managed C's...it was certainly through no fault of my own. Come winter, I moved back in with my parents, and spent the next few months trying to decide what I wanted to do with my life from that point. Through relationships with people I now count among my dearest friends, and through superb, Biblically-based teaching from men and women at Gateway, God rekindled the fire that had dwindled for what seemed like so long. The seeds of longing I had been clinging to earlier took root, and Jesus revealed more of Himself to me as not only a distant Creator God who had created a world and ultimately given His life for it and for me, but now also as a friend and compatriot, as my total provision and portion, as one with whom I could have a daily, intimate relationship. As a few people I know are fond of saying, things had been taken to a whole...'nother...level.

I transferred to Dallas Baptist University and, though I came to dislike the legalistic mentalities that came with the "Baptist" moniker, there went from eeking out C's to being easily one of the upper echelon of programmers in terms of raw ability. Two and a half years later, I would finish. I'd squandered an 85% scholarship at UNT and amassed an equal, if not greater, amount of debt in student loans at the private DBU. I'd taken 11 semesters of college (plus a full semester of AP credit going in) to gather 164 credit hours for a 126-hour degree, but I was finished. That was almost a year ago, in December 2007.

Over the past couple years, I've been able to be involved in the process that is training for the Gateway worship team. That's been a long road that could easily be the subject of another blog as long-winded as this one, but the journey has not been without its fruits. At present, I'm involved in direct vocal coaching, and have been blessed with the honor of leading worship for a home bible study comprised of some friends. The past year has revealed to me more than ever my passion for leading God's people in praise and worship, specifically through music. The greatest fulfillments in my life come when I'm able to take God by one hand and a roomful of His children in the other and bring them together. It's absolutely amazing to me, and I thank Him for every opportunity to do just that.

Professionally, I've acquired a position as a PHP developer for a small e-commerce company near home. With that come the joys of being financially empowered to do more stuff, and the sorrows of having not as much free time to do it in; the security of having a steady stream of work accompanies the frustration of being lowest on the proverbial totem pole. It is, for now, a means to an end, and really probably not as bad as I'm making it out to be (there I go embellishing my own story again...that fish was THIS BIG...no, really!).

In spare time, lately, I write songs and blogs, practice on my guitar, work on my Rock Band drumming (much to the chagrin of downstairs neighbors), and do all the usual cavorting, gallivanting, and plotting world domination that is requisite of any person. I'm continually falling more in love with my Saviour, and also enjoy randomly adding the letter 'u' to words that don't really need it.

I've recently joined the staff of contributors over at onlythebroken.org, so if you've managed to make it this far, or maybe just want to hear from and discuss with people who have a desire to spread Christ's love in any way we can, head over there and leave a comment or three dozen. If you'd like to contact me directly, leave a comment here, or shoot an email to matt@otb.org (but replace otb with onlythebroken -- can't have any spambots picking up my email addy off my own site! :) )

Go with grace, and keep on rockin'!