Treasure Beyond Compare
I was born in Troy, New York, as the youngest of six children. My mother, Elfreida, was a talented musician who played the piano and French horn. She was also a dancer who auditioned for the renowned Rockettes and performed on a local variety TV show in the Albany area. Although I barely knew her, she deeply inspired me. Everything changed when she was diagnosed with a brain tumor, which shattered her aspirations. She left me in the care of my Oma and Opa while she prepared for therapy. Unfortunately, the treatment was ineffective, and she lost her battle with cancer when I was just three years old. I wished for her dreams to live on through me, which led me to become a musician. Her dream became our shared ambition, giving my life great purpose.
My father, James, was very different. He struggled with a severe gambling addiction and once staked the deed to our house in a poker game; luckily, he won a hardware store. However, that fortune didn’t last long. He also drank heavily, and while I was the youngest and spared his wrath, he was physically abusive to my older siblings. Hearing their horror stories motivated me to avoid becoming like him. Then, one winter day, about a year after my mother’s passing, he lost control of his car, crashed into a tree, and was killed.
By the age of five, both of my parents had died. By sixteen, I had lost all my grandparents too. Essentially, I lost all connections to my ancestry. I often felt isolated in a world where everyone seemed to have family support. This left me feeling very resentful towards God throughout my teenage years. Frustrated by the notion that nothing ever worked out, I eventually became an atheist. In hindsight, I realized I lacked understanding of how God operates. There are numerous misconceptions about God’s nature and expectations of us. I chose the easier path, justifying my unbelief with familiar arguments: “If there’s a God, how could He allow this?” I absorbed much of the shallow atheist rhetoric to feel validated. This culminated in a deep-seated animosity towards Christians, who appeared cold and distant, as if my presence was an inconvenience to them.
After my parents died, I was placed in a foster home, a large household primarily made up of adopted children on a sprawling, nine-hundred-plus-acre farm mostly covered by forest. I frequently explored the woods on my own, daydreaming of becoming an archaeologist while I picked wild berries and climbed tall pines. One Christmas, I received an acoustic guitar and started taking lessons. However, I was more passionate about writing songs than mastering the instrument. I gravitated toward the poetic side of music rather than its technical aspects. The loss of my parents deepened my capacity for reflection. Then, one day, my sister and her husband invited me to move in with them. I thought living with family would be preferable, so I accepted. I often regret that choice, despite the fact that it eventually led me to meet my wife. However, the consequences were significant.
