I was born in Presque Isle, Maine, and I have lived my whole life in the same house in Blaine. I am only nineteen years old, but in some ways, my life feels much older than that. Roots do that to a person. When you grow up in one place, with the same roads, the same seasons, and the same people, you begin to notice how time shapes you.
My childhood was simple and steady. My parents did their best to give my siblings and me good lives. They wanted us to try things, to explore, to grow. I tried drawing, karate, sports and explored other things. We stayed busy. One of my clearest memories is snowmobiling with my father. Winter after winter, he took me out on the trails. There was the sound of the engine, the cold air on my face, and the sense of moving forward together. Looking back, that mattered more than I realized at the time.
Faith was part of my life early on, though not always in a consistent way. My parents and grandparents attended a Pentecostal church. My grandmother, however, was originally Methodist. When she married into the family, she became Pentecostal. My grandfather passed away before I was born, so it was mostly my grandmother who carried that faith presence for me and gave me my first Bible. We attended church for several years, then switched to another Pentecostal church. After that, our attendance became more on-and-off.
As I grew older, questions started to rise and I went through a period of anger and doubt. I did not reject faith, but I wanted to understand it. Things I had accepted without thinking no longer felt enough. That curiosity deepened when I went to Boston for a summer program at Berklee College of Music. Being in the city changed something in me.
Near where I lived was a Catholic church that stayed open every day from morning until evening for adoration. I did not know nearly anything about Catholicism. I just knew the church was quiet. So I went in. I sat. The noise of the city faded. Cars passed outside, but inside there was stillness. I would sit there for hours. It became a place where my thoughts slowed down.
Eventually, I decided to attend a Mass. I went twice. Nothing dramatic happened, but something inside me was brewing. The next week, I visited a Lutheran church. I arrived early, thinking the service was at eight, but instead I walked into a Bible study. The pastor noticed me and welcomed me. The worship was traditional. There was a choir. There was an organ. I was drawn to the beauty and reverence of it all.
That pastor gave me his phone number. Later that week, we met at a coffee shop. We talked about theology. We talked about baptism, communion, and the Church. I remember standing across the street from the church afterward, talking for nearly an hour. That was the day infant baptism finally made sense to me. Something clicked. Faith became not just emotional, but thoughtful.
But the moment that shaped me most happened quietly, and unexpectedly. One day in Boston, I was sitting on my bunk bed, eating Dunkaroos, when all my thoughts suddenly cleared. Out of nowhere, I felt a strong pull to go to that Catholic church. It did not feel like my idea. It felt given. I went.
When I arrived, the inner doors to the sanctuary were closed. That had never happened before. No one was there. A few minutes later, a man walked in. He was the caretaker, and also a priest. His name was Father Bob. He replaced candles, introduced himself, and talked with me. We prayed together. I am convinced now that God led me there that day for that encounter. The timing was too precise to be chance.
Back home in Maine, my journey continued. I explored different churches. I studied denominations. I found myself drawn to Methodism. I appreciated its theology and its balance. I also loved traditional worship—the hymns, the liturgy, the organ. Many people are surprised when I say this, but many young Christians today are drawn to what is old. In a fast-changing world, we long for what has endured.
Music has been a central part of my life since I was fourteen. During COVID, stuck at home with online school, I discovered Rock & Roll music. I taught myself guitar. I played every day and was able to pick it up rather quickly. After about a year, I began formal lessons. Over time, my interests shifted. I moved from rock to classical guitar. I fell in love with its discipline and depth.
I now study classical guitar performance in college. I practice one to two hours a day. I also study organ. I play in a heavy metal band on the side, though classical music is where my heart truly rests. Johann Sebastian Bach is one of my greatest role models. His faith, his work ethic, and his devotion inspire me. His music helped lead me to God. When I hear how carefully his music is structured, I cannot believe it came from randomness. If music requires a mind to create it, so does the universe. Many things must occur in order for life to be possible but if some of these factors were not in place or off even slightly we would not be here. That leads me to believe that God has orchestrated all of this.
Alongside music, Karate has shaped me deeply. I began training in elementary school. I stopped and started many times. As I grew older, I committed fully. Martial arts taught me discipline. You cannot learn a technique once and forget it. You must practice. You must repeat. That discipline carries into faith, music, and life.
I do not know exactly where my future will lead. Right now, my priority is finishing college. Beyond that, I hold my plans loosely. My calling, as I see it, is to live faithfully—to stand for Christian values with humility, discipline, and honesty. I know I am not perfect. None of us are. The Church is not for the worthy, but for the unworthy.
If I am remembered for anything, I hope it is this: that I loved God, and that I made music. I hope people will say, “He played guitar. He played the organ.” And maybe, through that music, someone else will glimpse the beauty that first led me to faith. “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of creation.” That hymn still sings my story better than I ever could.
My childhood was simple and steady. My parents did their best to give my siblings and me good lives. They wanted us to try things, to explore, to grow. I tried drawing, karate, sports and explored other things. We stayed busy. One of my clearest memories is snowmobiling with my father. Winter after winter, he took me out on the trails. There was the sound of the engine, the cold air on my face, and the sense of moving forward together. Looking back, that mattered more than I realized at the time.
Faith was part of my life early on, though not always in a consistent way. My parents and grandparents attended a Pentecostal church. My grandmother, however, was originally Methodist. When she married into the family, she became Pentecostal. My grandfather passed away before I was born, so it was mostly my grandmother who carried that faith presence for me and gave me my first Bible. We attended church for several years, then switched to another Pentecostal church. After that, our attendance became more on-and-off.
As I grew older, questions started to rise and I went through a period of anger and doubt. I did not reject faith, but I wanted to understand it. Things I had accepted without thinking no longer felt enough. That curiosity deepened when I went to Boston for a summer program at Berklee College of Music. Being in the city changed something in me.
Near where I lived was a Catholic church that stayed open every day from morning until evening for adoration. I did not know nearly anything about Catholicism. I just knew the church was quiet. So I went in. I sat. The noise of the city faded. Cars passed outside, but inside there was stillness. I would sit there for hours. It became a place where my thoughts slowed down.
Eventually, I decided to attend a Mass. I went twice. Nothing dramatic happened, but something inside me was brewing. The next week, I visited a Lutheran church. I arrived early, thinking the service was at eight, but instead I walked into a Bible study. The pastor noticed me and welcomed me. The worship was traditional. There was a choir. There was an organ. I was drawn to the beauty and reverence of it all.
That pastor gave me his phone number. Later that week, we met at a coffee shop. We talked about theology. We talked about baptism, communion, and the Church. I remember standing across the street from the church afterward, talking for nearly an hour. That was the day infant baptism finally made sense to me. Something clicked. Faith became not just emotional, but thoughtful.
But the moment that shaped me most happened quietly, and unexpectedly. One day in Boston, I was sitting on my bunk bed, eating Dunkaroos, when all my thoughts suddenly cleared. Out of nowhere, I felt a strong pull to go to that Catholic church. It did not feel like my idea. It felt given. I went.
When I arrived, the inner doors to the sanctuary were closed. That had never happened before. No one was there. A few minutes later, a man walked in. He was the caretaker, and also a priest. His name was Father Bob. He replaced candles, introduced himself, and talked with me. We prayed together. I am convinced now that God led me there that day for that encounter. The timing was too precise to be chance.
Back home in Maine, my journey continued. I explored different churches. I studied denominations. I found myself drawn to Methodism. I appreciated its theology and its balance. I also loved traditional worship—the hymns, the liturgy, the organ. Many people are surprised when I say this, but many young Christians today are drawn to what is old. In a fast-changing world, we long for what has endured.
Music has been a central part of my life since I was fourteen. During COVID, stuck at home with online school, I discovered Rock & Roll music. I taught myself guitar. I played every day and was able to pick it up rather quickly. After about a year, I began formal lessons. Over time, my interests shifted. I moved from rock to classical guitar. I fell in love with its discipline and depth.
I now study classical guitar performance in college. I practice one to two hours a day. I also study organ. I play in a heavy metal band on the side, though classical music is where my heart truly rests. Johann Sebastian Bach is one of my greatest role models. His faith, his work ethic, and his devotion inspire me. His music helped lead me to God. When I hear how carefully his music is structured, I cannot believe it came from randomness. If music requires a mind to create it, so does the universe. Many things must occur in order for life to be possible but if some of these factors were not in place or off even slightly we would not be here. That leads me to believe that God has orchestrated all of this.
Alongside music, Karate has shaped me deeply. I began training in elementary school. I stopped and started many times. As I grew older, I committed fully. Martial arts taught me discipline. You cannot learn a technique once and forget it. You must practice. You must repeat. That discipline carries into faith, music, and life.
I do not know exactly where my future will lead. Right now, my priority is finishing college. Beyond that, I hold my plans loosely. My calling, as I see it, is to live faithfully—to stand for Christian values with humility, discipline, and honesty. I know I am not perfect. None of us are. The Church is not for the worthy, but for the unworthy.
If I am remembered for anything, I hope it is this: that I loved God, and that I made music. I hope people will say, “He played guitar. He played the organ.” And maybe, through that music, someone else will glimpse the beauty that first led me to faith. “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of creation.” That hymn still sings my story better than I ever could.
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