I haven’t listened to much music over the last few years. I’ve never been one of those people who has a huge music collection and knows who produced every Elvis Costello record or other fan-boy fodder. I’m just not that guy. I’m not a music fan, I’m a musician. But over the past few days I’ve really been craving music. So I dug out the same albums that I’ve been fascinated with since 1993 and started back in.

1993 was in many ways the defining year of my life, until last year. 1993 was when I quit college, moved to Nashville, decided that God and I were officially through, met Angel, discovered Tom Waits, discovered Jellyfish, and discovered The Story. Last year kinda trumped ’93 because I gave my heart back to the Lord. There is no event in my life more important than that. Without that, life was completely pointless. Eternally pointless.

So, about The Story. When I was in Nashville I worked at a record store where we received an In-Store-Play version of The Story’s new album The Angel In The House. This album became the soundtrack to my life for the next few years. I listened to it incessantly. It was some of the most beautiful songwriting and singing I had ever heard, and still is.

I got out my copy of that album today and was listening to it in my work truck. I was overwhelmed with sadness. Not only is this album very heavy-hearted lyrically but 1993 was one of the loneliest and saddest years of my life, so the emotional nostalgia that hit me came coupled with the sadness of the lyrics and just made for one very sad listening experience.

Some people like to sit down and have a good cry every now and then. I don’t even know what that means but I would guess that listening to The Story today was my version of a good cry…except I didn’t cry ’cause I ain’t no stupid pansy!