Where to begin…
I can’t remember a time when I didn’t believe in God. I didn’t always live out that belief, but it was always there. As a child, adolescent, and teen, I somehow always found my way to church. I sang in the youth choir, served as an acolyte (the Protestant version of an altar boy), stayed active in the youth group, and even volunteered to shovel snow in the winter. Church was simply part of my life.
Like most teenagers, I went through the usual stages of adolescence and rebellion—though mine was quieter than most. I stayed under the radar. My older brother made that easier; his rebellion was far more visible. I made decent grades, stayed out of serious trouble, and tried to be “good.”
Music became my refuge. I spent hours in my room, listening to records…I played trombone from 4th grade through high school. Around 6th or 7th grade, I discovered the guitar. I dabbled with the piano, but the guitar captured my heart. My first public performance was in church, singing, Morning Has Broken.
When I was 15, I met my wife, Teri. We met at Camp Casowasco, a church camp on Owasco Lake in New York’s Finger Lakes region—sitting around a campfire, playing, Stairway to Heaven (yes … really!).
Fast forward three years: a couple of months before my 18th birthday, I joined the Army and was assigned to Fort Campbell, Kentucky. Soon after arriving, I took leave, came home, and married Teri. This April (2026), we’ll celebrate 46 years of marriage—but I’m getting ahead of myself.
While we were at Fort Campbell, Teri’s cousin Sharon and her husband Dennis visited us shortly after the birth of our first child, Lindsay. Dennis was “candidating” (Baptist for applying for a job) at a nearby church in Clarksville, Tennessee. We attended that service, and it was there that I made my public confession of faith.
I acknowledged that I was a sinner and that forgiveness and salvation come only through the saving grace of Jesus Christ—His sacrifice, His death, and His resurrection. For me.
I’d love to say that from that point on life was all cotton candy and unicorns dancing on rainbows—but life has a way of getting in the way of the “perfect” Christian story.
There were ups and downs. Another child was born—our son Adam. We moved often: Germany, Washington, back to Germany, Fort Drum in New York, and finally Schofield Barracks in Hawaii. During those years, we experienced three miscarriages—the last while stationed in Germany. Because of her size, German law required us to take responsibility for the disposition of her remains. We accepted a compassionate reassignment back to New York to be near family, where we buried our daughter, Erin Danielle.
Those were dark years. My wife battled depression. I lived in denial, trying to “stay strong” for my family. At my next re-enlistment, I chose Hawaii. The four of us boarded a plane in New York at –20 degrees and landed in Honolulu at 70 degrees. We were ready for the beach – the Hawaiians were in sweaters!
Throughout it all, we stayed active in church—often at post chapels—serving in music ministry and youth ministry wherever we landed. In Hawaii, three years after the death of our daughter, I attended a Sunday School class called, On Death and Dying.
That’s when the dam finally broke.
I confronted God with my anger and despair—and discovered that He was equal to it, and more. I didn’t understand then, but I know now that He had a plan.
Shortly afterward, our son Daniel was born—our miracle beach baby. He didn’t wear shoes until he was three, when we left Hawaii. He was our final biological child.
Fast forward again.
After leaving the Army, we spent about ten years in the Rochester, New York area. During that time, I became convicted that I needed to be baptized as a believing adult—an act of obedience and a public declaration that I belonged to Jesus, and that my life and my soul were not for sale. So, a backyard pool in Williamson, NY and I was baptized.
Another turning point came in 2002 when my company closed more than 200 stores, including the one I managed. I found another job with a sales and distribution company servicing Ames—until Ames closed its doors as well. I was given a choice: find new employment or uproot my family, move to New England, and accept a promotion to district manager.
We moved.
I came out ahead of my family to find housing and get the lay of the land. One Tuesday night, I found Harvest Community Church. The praise team was rehearsing, the doors were open, so I walked in.
In God’s perfect timing, that night happened to be the final rehearsal for their guitar player. I mentioned that I had been leading worship for the previous five years at my church. Against all reason, they accepted me and my story of “having a family that was on the way…”—and I began what would become a long and meaningful journey on the worship team. I’ve served there as a member and worship leader for nearly 24 years.
As we integrated into the community, we discovered foster care. Over roughly ten years, we fostered 21 children. Seven stayed. Today, we have a family of ten children—ranging in age from 11 to 45—and four grandchildren.
God took the sorrow of those three miscarriages, multiplied it and turned it into joy.
Not a life of peaches and cream, sunshine and rainbows—but our life. Our mission. Our family.
Thank You, Jesus.
May God continue to bless us—and you.