What Do I Want For My Birthday?

Sixty‑four years.

I’ve watched the March on Washington shake a nation awake, lived through the D.C. riots, got bused across town in the name of progress, and survived the wild 70s. I was there when Hip‑Hop was still a spark in the streets. I wore the uniform of a United States Marine in the 80s and lived some of my best days in it.

I’ve heard the screech of fax modems, touched the first PCs, logged into AOL 1.0, rode the first podcast wave, and kept pace with every new thing since.

I married, raised children, tried to be the best father I knew how to be. I took a shot at Hollywood, stepped into politics, helped change laws — national and local. I became a minister of the Gospel, a Christian pastor, wrote ten books, stood for righteousness, and fought for freedom.

I’ve risked my life to protect families and diplomats. I’ve taught law enforcement and taught the Bible.

And beneath all that — the medals, the milestones, the moments — there’s the truth most folks never see:

I have survived abuses.

I have known fear.

I have done wrong and been wicked.

I have been misunderstood.

And through it all, I have been spared.

I have been blessed.

Then came the last six years — the hardest chapter of them all.

Six years as a caregiver.

Six years pouring out strength I didn’t always have.

Six years carrying someone else’s suffering while hiding my own.

And somewhere in the middle of that weight, something unexpected happened:

I picked up a guitar.

I embraced music.

I became a performer.

And it gave me joy — real joy — the kind that sneaks in and saves you when you’re not looking.

I started posting YouTube Shorts daily, not for fame, but to journal the journey, to watch myself grow, to create something beautiful in the middle of the storm. Music became the place where I could breathe again.

And after my own diagnosis, I finally reached a truth I could no longer ignore:

I didn’t quit.

I had to step back.

I had to reclaim my health.

I had to choose me, because even a strong man has limits, and even a faithful man needs rest.

Not abandonment — alignment.

Not quitting — surviving.

Not weakness — wisdom.

So what do I want for my birthday?

A life that lets me heal.

A season that lets me breathe.

A future where I am allowed to matter to myself —

and a guitar in my hands while I get there.

https://youtu.be/yX1zBTZgg-0?is=n8eTJ4kCHDOe9E_z