State of Play

For Collin, the guitar has always been an outlet;
a place where he can channel his thoughts and creativity.

It is, for him, a source of joy, peace and comfort.

He is talented and has written many original songs
for the bands he was in during high school, for a girl, for his brother and for himself.

In our high school, a project is required of seniors to help them explore career options. It is where a high school kid who wants to be a guitar hero is allowed the dream. The music he recorded for this project is some of my favorite. I had it on my ipod during the St. George Marathon in October '08. He was in Connecticut on a mission. At mile 17, his voice sung to me.
It made me cry.
Collin came home 3 and a half months later.
He served faithfully
despite being so ill.

Before he came home, to find peace amid the stuggle, he found a guitar and played a hymn.
I will never forget the day he told me that in a letter.
It was two days before President Pehrson called us to tell us Collin was sick.

He wrote," In my last ward in East Haven we had a fast and testimony meeting where our bishop told us of a member who would bear his testimony by playing the piano. He said he felt the spirit so strong every time he did that. I basically applied the same principle to the guitar while sitting in that music room and it was incredible to feel the guitar amplify the spirit into the whole room. There were drums playing for a little while, but it was as if everything slowed way down and quieted up once I started playing, 'O God, The Eternal Father.' "

He found peace then,

and is able to find peace now when he plays the guitar.

His struggle is incredible. His pain, hard to bear.
But when he plays . . .all is silent . . .everything slows down and quiets up.
I am grateful for his guitar.

While you were hollowing out the inside of an apple could you see the potential in the seeds? When you were floating at your subconscious level could you feel in your hair the breeze? Or could you smell the smoke from the streets? I do. Just breathe.
Why are the trees throwing their leaves at me? Why’s everybody gotta act like I don’t see? I’ll take all those pills, wash them down, get my head filled. They’ll balance me. Bring me back to my feet. I’ll shout to God and pray for release til it starts to cease, and I’m falling asleep.
I like to think that you really once were right by my side pounding my heart from my chest, and not just some thing that woke me from sleep told me a name, then started haunting me.