Contacting Craig

To contact Craig for speaking or interview opportunities, email at craigd2599@gmail.com
Visit his website (Big Fat Grace) at www.craigdaliessio.com


Saturday, November 16, 2013

What Hopelessness Feels Like

     I am sitting, once again, in Panera. It’s where I go to disappear. This or the library. I can disappear in a booth in the back of the store, or behind a pile of books, and I can think, and put out a few dozen fruitless resumes.
     I want to write something brilliant. Something moving. Something inspiring or emotional or clever. But I can’t think of much of anything. My hands feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. I want to be invisible.
     I woke up at 4:30AM  today. I woke up in the back of a 1996 GMC Yukon. That’s why I woke up at 4:30. I’ve always been an early riser anyway, but I rise earlier still because I can only get about 5 hours of sleep before the pain in my back and hips wakes me up and it’s pointless to try to go back to sleep.
     I’m a morning person to begin with, so I don’t mind. I like being up early, going to the gym, getting things done, getting a jump on the day. But today I don’t feel like that. Today I can’t even marshal my thoughts into anything cogent. Not really. I want to dream. I should review my goals, but they have slipped from where they were five years ago, things like “Close 1 million dollars in loan volume this month”  has become: “Stay warm. Stay dry. Wash your clothes. Survive another day.”
     Yesterday, for the fourth time since July, I got turned down for a job. This time it wasn’t Obamacare. This time it wasn’t my age. It was something from 26 years ago. Something that never mattered before in the ten years I was a very successful mortgage banker. I spent the last ten weeks going back and forth with this company, answering their questions, providing documents, sending them reference letters.
     I sent them three reference letters that should have sealed my employment right then. One from a former bank examiner who was also a decorated Naval veteran and successful insurance company president and a bank president. One from a decorated marine who has preached the gospel for forty years. One from an Army veteran who was an assistant D.A. here, and who spoke eloquently about my honesty and character and integrity. In fact they all did. They all know me. This in addition to the four references from previous employers and managers who all said the same thing: “Craig is the most honest, forthright, hard working, character-driven man we have had working for us. He deserves this job.”
     But things happen, and in this economy, and in this society, sometimes you can’t overcome them.
     So now I am back at the drawing board, having wasted ten weeks where maybe I could have done something else. Maybe I could have made a plan B. At least I wouldn’t have been ten weeks into hopefulness, only to have the hope ripped out of my hands.
     I’m sitting here, trying to get the energy to start thinking about what to do next. Does that make sense? I’m trying to get the energy to think. I’m afraid to. I’m weary. It’s not going to work. It will only fail. It will get shot down again. What’s the use? The thoughts I refused to let in before, are in there now. Doubt. Fear. Shame. Loss. Hopelessness.
     I can’t start analyzing. I can’t take stock and see what I have to work with and figure out a way. A way to where? What do I have left? Intelligence? Grit? Determination? Character? Integrity? Talent? I have bucket loads of that stuff. And still, tonight I will sleep in a Yukon.
     I cannot express...not for all the words in the world...how this hurts. How much I miss my daughter. How badly I want to have a place where she can live with me like she wants to. How loudly the memories scream at me in the night. I see her when she was a baby. Then 2. Then 4 Then 10...the year I lost my house. Then 12. Now 15. What next? Will she graduate High School before I can rebuild this life of mine? Have I lost her trust for good this time? Is this the last disappointment...the one that makes her give up completely? I am trying to hide my tears as I wrote those words just now. Choking them down. Blinking them back. What if this time she gives up on believing in her daddy? Daddy. Her Daddy. What the hell kind of daddy am I?
     Sometimes I wish I had a drug problem, or an alcohol problem, or a gambling addiction. People seem to grasp that as a reason for homelessness more so than my story. “Really? You just lost your home and your career and you can’t find anything?”
  Yeah. Really.
     I have had people suggest jobs to me. Jobs I can’t even consider. Because of my commitment to helping take Morgan to and from school. And because my goal is to get a place of my own. And beds. And dishes. And furniture. And sheets and blankets, and pillows and pots and pans. After 5 years, I couldn’t keep paying rent on storage sheds full of things I wasn’t going to be using. I sold everything. Whatever I couldn’t sell I gave away. All I have left now...all I have from 6 years of home ownership...is a couple of boxes of keepsakes, mostly drawings from Morgan over the years, and my coffeemaker and a knife set. Everything else is gone.
     I need a career. I need a real job. Something that pays enough that after a month I could get a place. Not after four or five months of multiple part-time gigs at odd hours. I’m homeless. My access to showers and sleep are limited. It’s complicated in ways you haven’t thought of.
     I can’t even work up the energy to speak right now. I’m just crushed. I want to grab my daughter and wrap my arms around her and weep and beg her to forgive me for something I really didn’t do. “I didn’t sink this economy. I didn’t ruin the mortgage industry. I keep trying. I keep telling you to hold on, to believe just one more day, one more week, one more month. Please don’t give up. Please stop growing up. Please wait for me. Please don’t bear scars from this. I love you more than anything in this world. Please stop growing up. Please stop growing up. Please...I just want some time with you while you’re still young. Still my little girl. Still here.”
     Every day slips past. There is a five-year blank spot in my relationship with my daughter. A hole I will never fill. I hope she knows how much I love her. I hope she knows how much this hurts and how hard I’m trying.
     This is where I am this morning. It weighs a million pounds. It’s choking me. I need to find someplace where I can cry. Again.

     Then I need to come up with another plan. Something to put what remains of my hope in. I can’t quit. But sometimes it feels like I already have. 

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

A word about suffering

A few years ago I was blessed to make the acquaintance of a guy back home. I won't give his name here. It isn't necessary. But we became friends almost immediately and remain so to this day. 
His story touched me more deeply than almost any story I had ever heard. Basically, he was happily married with two daughters in middle school. He had a great job and a wife he adored and a nice life. He went to bed one night, just as happily married as all the other nights and woke up to find his wife had passed away in the night. No reason, no explanation. They did an autopsy and never did conclude anything as to a cause of death. He never had a hint of anything being wrong, never saw it coming and never got to say goodbye. 
In the years that have ensued, he raised both daughters to adulthood. He has faced a few more hardships along the way. His heart was shattered that morning and he comes across as angry and bitter sometimes. Sometimes that's exactly what he is. Who could blame him? 
I have had spats with him on Facebook and it's gotten heated. (We're both Italian) I've had friends say to me "Why do you tolerate that guy? He is so angry." Then I tell them his story. And I tell them that when they hear him spitting bile in anger...I hear his heart breaking. I hear his pain. I know his story. I cannot possibly imagine what he went through but I am sure it hurts more than anything I can possibly have experienced. So when my dear friend rants...I let him rant. I love him while he is ranting and I love him when he is done. We disagree a lot...we occupy opposite ends of the political sphere for the most part...but he is my friend and he is hurting still. And I love him dearly.  He has dealt with most of the pain over these many years, but I know that it still builds up sometimes and needs to vent. So I let it.
I am going through something that hurts me in ways some of you grasp but many of you do not. 
I miss my daughter. I have missed five years of bedtime prayers and Saturday morning pancakes. My daughter needs me right now more than she has in the past and I can't do what I need to do to help her. Those of you who know me, know how this hurts me. There is nothing worse in my mind than feeling like I am failing my daughter. I miss having a "place" in this world. A safe haven. I miss my dogs and my cat and my coffee maker and the way my kitchen smelled when I made spaghetti sauce. I miss what and who I was.
So if you see anger in my posts or disappointment, or a loss of faith sometimes...try to remember that I am bearing just about all the pain I can bear. I did not need to toss away ten weeks of my life chasing a job that looks now like it is not going to happen. I did not need to feel hopeful after so many years of hopelessness and then have that glimmer of light snuffed out. I do not need to be unable to keep another promise I made my daughter.If you can;t handle it...delete me. I will understand. But I will likely keep on bellowing when the pressure gets too high. Because I spend most of my life alone here and sometimes -as pathetic as this is- FB is the only place where I am heard. And sometimes being heard is the only way we remember we are alive.
I hope you understand this.

Monday, November 11, 2013

Rick Elias' "jōb" Re-posting my review

Tomorrow, Rick Elias' latest album drops. You simply MUST grab it. Here's why...

                                                           Album Review
Artist: Rick Elias
Title: “jōb”
Specifics: 7 Tracks- Running time: 28:05

Playlist: 1: Do Ya?
              2: jōb
              3: When it all Came Down
              4: A Kind of Brilliance
              5: When We Built This House
              6: Help Thou My Unbelief
              7: jōb, naked

     Some of us listen to music for distraction. Some listen to be entertained, or during a workout, or for inspiration before an athletic event. And some of us listen to music in a desperate search to find out if anyone has seen us. We listen to an artist, and once in a while –sometimes only once in a lifetime- we have an epiphany where we understand that we aren't invisible. For just a moment, we realize that this road we travel has been traveled before. Once in a while we find someone who chronicles their journey, and we discover that it was our journey too. I am one of those people.
     Music was always a definer for me. My life could easily be deciphered by simply rummaging through my record collection. When I was an angry 19 year-old man, trying to understand adulthood, and missing my friends who’d gone off to college, and grieving, my all-to-brief childhood and teen years, it was Springsteen’s “Darkness” record.  When I realized I was a hopeless romantic, it was Southside Johnny. The more I read classic authors and fell more deeply in love with great wordsmiths, it was Forbert, and Hiatt, and Earle.
     And when I had grown up, and my faith had taken a beating, and I was trying to remain faithful to Christ, and still be truthful about the hurt and pain the world could viciously inflict...it was Rich Mullins, and Rick Elias.
     I discovered Rick Elias quite by accident –although I am sure I would have found him sooner or later- when he opened for a CCM artist who shall remain nameless. (Mainly because he isn’t worth giving space to) Rick was an unannounced addition to the show, and touring to support his second record for Frontline: “Ten Stories.”
     He came out in a black leather jacket, powering through about a half dozen songs masterfully on a white Fender Strat. His band was impeccable and his musicianship was superior. But it was the words that grabbed me.
...those words.
     I had been, by that point in life, damaged deeply. I had made mistakes that marked my life, and I had discovered family secrets that scarred me, and I had my heart broken by love, and by the church. Yet I clung to the belief, albeit barely,  that Christ was not entirely like His Christians, and as I picked my way through the mess, I found ropes to hang onto. Rick Elias was such a lifeline.
     Sitting that night in the Trenton War Memorial, watching this man pouring out passionate, real, honest words in a soft growl that reminded me of my beloved Springsteen in every way, I was transfixed.  I had spent 22 years trying to understand why I was so different from the others of like faith. Why my faith wasn’t pretty and my life wasn't either. I wondered why I loved Jesus so deeply, and yet could not...I could not reveal that love in the standard, acceptable ways that others did.  
Rick Elias noticed me.
      He didn't know it. We’d not met at that point. But when he wrote his stories of pain, and hurt, with harrowing honesty, and the brazen chutzpah it takes to dare ask “Why?”...he’d noticed me.  I listened to him tell my story. And I wept because finally someone was telling it, and that meant maybe someone else was asking the same questions.
     When Rick’s show ended, I sat there in silence. I could not move for several minutes. when I got my wits about me I ran back to the merch table to buy anything of his I could get my hands on.
     In one of those great moments where God grants a prayer before it is even asked...I made a friend. Rick was manning his own table that night, and we talked for about 30 minutes. I missed the opening of the headliner and never noticed. I talked to Rick about songs, and lyrics, and why these things matter.  I am sure I gushed a little. It’s funny because 22 years later, Rick Elias and his wife Linda are amongst my dearest friends. The conversations I've had with this wonderful, quirky, gristly, loving, devoted, integritous man have kept me sane in a world, and in a place, where I often don’t fit. I say it freely...I love Rick Elias. He is my brother, and my friend.
     I had to give this background in order to be honest about my review of this record. I am a fan and I make no bones about that.
Now, to this record....
     It’s been about 12 years since Rick has recorded much of his own stuff.  His life has been a roller coaster. The same roller coaster we've all been riding. Somehow, though, when you are an artist, the dips and curves seem exaggerated. People expect your next great record, and they seldom grasp that you have the same obstacles everyone else has in pursuing your living, and making your art.  The answer is to either give up or sell out. Rick Elias will never sell out.  If I know him at all, he’ll quit writing anything before he’ll produce something formulaic and expected. I love him for that.
     Given the current landscape of what is called “Christian Music” I can understand his chagrin.  Where does a guy like Elias fit?  Who is listening?  For my money, the best two songwriters in the genre were Elias and Mullins.  We lost Rich 16 years ago, and Rick went silent not long after. He’s been teaching songwriting, and producing here and there, and raising his family, and figuring out the rest of his life.
Pretty much what we've all been doing.
     Rick figured that life had granted all the great stories and fodder for “Christian” hits it was going to provide. Who wants to hear about middle aged musicians, and their grown kids, and their grandchildren?  How passionate can we write about the aches and pains of being 50ish, or the demands of being a former musician?  Who’s story is that?
Turns out...a lot of us.
     “jōb” opens with “Do Ya”,  a paean for the broken and battered and luckless. When Elias sings “I am for, the mad ones. Laughing wild in the night, while praying for the light, hanging on for dear life” he is speaking for me. He is telling the story of all of us who have reached that point in life that the “mystical they” define as the middle, and who wonder what the heck happened.  How did we get here and what happens next?
That he likens the characters in this song to Job himself is no coincidence. In just the slightest artistic twist, he renders jōb’s trials not a specific permissive act of God to prove to Satan that his accusations about godly men were false, but rather an act of betrayal. Not ultimate betrayal –Rick Elias knows his scripture too well for that-  but betrayal in the way it feels when we face devastation.  Because, who hasn't felt like God has betrayed them when the house begins to crumble? It’s not a matter of whether we feel that, it’s whether we’ll admit to feeling it. That...is really what this record is about.
That is the voice of Rick Elias’ “jōb.”
     If I had a complaint, it is merely that “jōb” is too darned short. It’s seven tracks and just under 30 minutes. But that is, in itself, the beauty. When this record concludes, you wish there was more of this wonderful music...because make no mistake, Rick Elias is a masterful musician. You certainly long for more of the sound, but you understand that the story is told. It doesn't take 12 songs to explore truth. Not every time. And especially not when the best songwriter in Christian music is doing the talking.
     This record is real. It’s truthful. If your idea of great music about faith is something that makes your eyes glaze over, and your hands raise to the sky, and your body sway like a Dervish, this isn't your album.
It’s for everyone else...
     This record is for those who have made mistakes. It’s for those who have been the victim of someone else’s mistakes. It’s for those who have had to say they were sorry. It’s for those who have lived, and laughed, and loved, and hurt, and wounded, and been wounded, and dreamed, and watched those dreams crash, burn and then sink into the sea.
It’s for the ones who have had to figure out what happens next.
      We all grow older. We all struggle with demons. We all hurt someone we love and love someone who hurt us. We wake up one day, bruised and battered and aching from slaying so many dragons for so long a time. We wonder if any of this was worth it, and it’s then we realize that merely getting to this point is the real victory. The really wise ones among us realize that when Paul wrote “His grace is sufficient for me...” Paul meant that most times, sufficiency means “barely enough” not effusive overflow. Life is beauty and ruin, intermingled. Grace is the place where we learn to love both.
     That’s what this beautiful, emotional, unforgettable record is. It’s Grace. Written in a code that the honest grasp, and set to music that bandaged hearts hear better than those who have been untouched by pain.
     “jōb” is like finding a journal at a rest stop, on a trail whose destination I understand but whose terrain I fear, and stumble over. The words inside the weathered book don’t make the journey any less difficult...but they tell me that someone else is up ahead. He’s making his way slowly through the uncharted darkness. And his words serve as breadcrumbs for me to follow.
Until we both make it home.

“jōb” by Rick Elias Release date 11/12/2013 at


Tuesday, November 5, 2013

MUSIC REVIEW: My review of Rick Elias' "jOb"

  Rick Elias' new album, "jOb" drops one week from today. Rick gave me an advance listen. Here is my review...


                                                        
Artist: Rick Elias
Title: “j­Ob”
Specifics: 7 Tracks- Running time: 28:05

Playlist: 1: Do Ya?
              2: job
              3: When it all Came Down
              4: A Kind of Brilliance
              5: When We Built This House
              6: Help Thou My Unbelief
              7: job, naked

     Some of us listen to music for distraction. Some listen to be entertained, or to exercise to, or for inspiration before an athletic event. And some of us listen to music in a desperate search to find out if anyone has seen us. We listen to an artist and once in a while –sometimes only once in a lifetime- we have an epiphany where we understand that we aren’t invisible. For just a moment, we realize that this road we travel has been traveled before. Once in a while we find someone who chronicles their journey, and we discover that it was our journey too. I am one of those people.
     Music was always a definer for me. My life could easily be deciphered by simply rummaging through my record collection. When I was an angry 19 year-old man, trying to understand adulthood and missing my friends who’d gone off to college and grieving, too soon, my childhood and teen years, it was Springsteen’s “Darkness” record. When I discovered I was a hopeless romantic it was Southside Johnny. The more I read classic authors and fell deeper and deeper in love with great wordsmiths, it was Forbert, and Hiatt, and Earle.
     And when I had grown up, and my faith had taken a beating, and I was trying to remain faithful to Christ and still be truthful about the hurt and pain the world could viciously inflict, it was Rich Mullins and Rick Elias.
     I discovered Rick Elias quite by accident –although I am sure I would have found him sooner or later- when he opened for a CCM artist who shall remain nameless. (mainly because he isn’t worth giving space to) Rick was an unannounced addition to the show and touring to support his second record for Frontline: “Ten Stories.” He came out in a black leather jacket, powering through about a half dozen songs masterfully on a white Fender Strat. His band was impeccable and his musicianship was superior.
But it was those words...those words.
     I had been, by that point in life, damaged deeply. I had made mistakes that marked my life, and I had discovered family secrets that scarred me, and I had my heart broken by love, and by the church. Yet I clung to the belief –albeit barely- that Christ was not entirely like His Christians, and I picked my way through the mess, and found ropes to hang onto. Rick Elias was such a lifeline.
     Sitting that night in the Trenton War Memorial, watching this man pouring out passionate, real, honest words in a soft growl that reminded me of my beloved Springsteen in every way, I was transfixed. I had spent 22 years trying to understand why I was so different from the others of like faith. Why my faith wasn’t pretty and my life wasn’t either. I wondered why I loved Jesus so deeply and yet could not...I could not reveal that love in the standard, acceptable ways that others did. Rick Elias noticed me.
     He didn’t know it. We’d not met at that point. But when he wrote his stories of pain, and hurt, with harrowing honesty, and the brazen chutzpah it takes to dare ask “Why?”...he’d noticed me. I listened to him tell my story. And I wept because finally someone was telling it, and that meant maybe someone else was asking the same questions.
     When Rick’s show ended, I sat there in silence. I could not move for several minutes. when I got my wits about me I ran back to the merch table to buy anything of his I could get my hands on.
     In one of those great moments where God grants a prayer before it is asked...I made a friend. Rick was manning his own table that night and we talked for about 30 minutes. I missed the opening of the headliner and I never noticed. I talked to Rick about songs, and lyrics and why these things matter. I am sure I gushed a little. It’s funny because 22 years later, Rick Elias and his wife Linda are among my dearest friends. The conversations I've had with this wonderful, quirky, gristly, loving, devoted, integritous man have kept me sane in a world, and a place where I often don’t fit. I say it freely...I love Rick Elias. He is a brother and a friend.
     I had to give this background in order to be honest about my review of this record. I am a fan and I make no bones about that.
Now, to this record....
     It’s been about 12 years since Rick has recorded much of his own stuff. His life has been a roller coaster. The same roller coaster we’ve all been riding. Somehow, though, when you are an artist, the dips and curves seem exaggerated. People expect your next great record, and they seldom grasp that you have the same obstacles everyone else has in pursuing your living and making your art. The answer is to either give up or sell out. Rick Elias will never sell out. If I know him at all, he’ll quit writing anything before he’ll produce something formulaic and expected. I love him for that.
     Given the current landscape of what is called “Christian Music” I can understand his chagrin. Where does a guy like Elias fit? Who is listening? For my money, the best two songwriters in the genre were Elias and Mullins. We lost Rich 16 years ago and Rick went silent not long after. He’s been teaching songwriting, and producing here and there, and raising his family, and figuring out the rest of his life. Pretty much what we’ve all been doing.
     Rick figured that life had granted all the great stories and fodder for “Christian” hits it was going to provide. Who wants to hear about middle aged musicians, and their grown kids, and their grandchildren? How passionate can we write about the aches and pains of being 50ish or the demands of being a former musician? Who’s story is that?
Turns out...a lot of us.
“Job” opens with “Do Ya”,  a paean for the broken and battered and luckless. When Elias sings “I am for, the mad ones. Laughing wild in the night, while praying for the light, hanging on for dear life” he is speaking for me. He is telling the story of all of us who have reached that point in life that “they” call the middle, and who wonder what the heck happened. How did we get here and what happens next? That he likens the characters in this song to Job himself is no coincidence. In just the slightest artistic twist, he renders Job’s trials not a specific permissive act of God to prove to Satan that his accusations about godly men were false, but rather an act of betrayal. Not ultimate betrayal –Elias knows his scripture too well for that- but betrayal in the way it feels when we face devastation. Because, who hasn’t felt like God has betrayed them when the house begins to crumble? It’s not a matter of whether we feel that, it’s whether we’ll admit to feeling it. That...is really what this record is about. That is the voice of Rick Elias’ “job.”
The lineup continues with "When it all Came Down", a poignant, powerful rocker that tells the story of some of the "downs" in the old line: "Life has it's ups and downs." It's roar comes from it's honesty and it's undercurrent hopefulness that, even when we trip and stumble...we are still moving, and so we're still alive.
"A Kind of Brilliance." follows with lilting beauty that stands as a stark and lovely contrast to the song the precedes it. It's a gentle, somewhat sorrowful tale of love as it grows older and how hearts reshape themselves. It exposes the lies we tell each other -most often not intending to- as our humanity collides daily with those we love the most.
"When we Built This House" might be my personal favorite. It's a lovely, sometimes morose, open ended glimpse into an empty nest. It could be an unnerving insight, but for the feeling that underneath the boredom, monotony, and hesitance about the future...there exists love between the protagonists.
"Help Thou Mine Unbelief" is one of Elias' greatest works. It first appeared on his 2000 album "Prayers of a Ragamuffin" which was the final gathering of Rich Mullins' former band-mates. This is a reworking and it is as breathtaking as it's original incarnation. Given the connection to the rest of this album, it is even more beautiful here. It speaks of the desperate desire of a man who reaches the age when we all ask what, if anything, is left for us in this life. We wear a weathered Faith and we are desperate for God to "Give my heart wings, with visions and dreams, this world cannot steal away" this one line means more to me than almost anything else on this record. Because I say this to God every single day. ...and I wait for the reply.
"jOb, naked" finishes out this wonderful album with another full throttle take on the opening song. It's not exactly the same lyrics, but it's the same theme. It feels as if Rick needed two songs to address the processes he lived out in the development of 'jOb".
     If I had a complaint it is merely that “job” is too darned short. It’s seven tracks and just under 30 minutes. But that is, in itself, the beauty. When this record concludes, you wish there was more of this wonderful music...because make no mistake, Rick Elias is a masterful musician. You certainly long for more of the sound, but you understand that the story is told. It doesn't take 12 songs to explore truth. Not every time. And especially not when the best songwriter in Christian music is doing the talking.
     This record is real. It’s truthful. If your idea of great music about faith is something that makes your eyes glaze over and your hands raise to the sky and your body sway like a Dervish, this isn’t your album.
It’s for everyone else...
     This record is for those who have made mistakes. It’s for those who have been the victim of someone else’s mistakes. It’s for those who have had to say they were sorry. It’s for those who have lived and laughed and loved and hurt and wounded and been wounded and dreamed and watched those dreams crash, burn and then sink into the sea.
It’s for the ones who have had to figure out what happens next.
      We all grow older. We all struggle with demons. We all hurt someone we love and love someone who hurt us. We wake up one day, bruised and battered and aching from slaying so many dragons for so long a time. We wonder if any of this was worth it and it’s then we realize that merely getting to this point is the real victory. The really wise ones among us realize that when Paul wrote “His grace is sufficient for me...” Paul meant that most times sufficiency means “barely enough” not effusive overflow. Life is beauty and ruin, intermingled. Grace is the place where we learn to love both.
     That’s what this beautiful, emotional, unforgettable record is. It’s Grace. Written in a code that the honest grasp, and set to music that bandaged hearts hear better than those who have been untouched by pain.
     “Job” is like finding a journal at a rest stop on a trail whose destination I understand, but whose terrain I fear and stumble over. The words inside the weathered book don’t make the journey any less difficult...but they tell me someone else is up ahead. He’s making his way slowly through the uncharted darkness. And his words serve as breadcrumbs for me to follow.
Until we both make it home.

“Job” by Rick Elias Release date 11/12/2013 at

Saturday, November 2, 2013

Interview with Craig

Yesterday I did a very special live interview on "WebbWeaver books"
It includes an on-air reading of one chapter. Here is the link to the podcast Interview with WebbWeaver