A Full-circle restoration: getting my seuf bass back
Some instruments are simply tools. Others become markers - quiet witnesses to seasons of life, faith, loss, and restoration. This bass falls firmly into the second category.
Several years ago, I had a custom 5-string Jazz bass built by Seuf Instruments in Kansas City. It was built to spec by Dave Seuferling himself, back when he was still personally involved in crafting each instrument. Dave has since sold the company, but this bass carries something irreplaceable with it: the care, intention, and craftsmanship of that era, frozen in wood, wire, and sound.
From the moment it entered my hands, it became more than a bass. It became my voice. It traveled with me across the country and overseas. It showed up in studios, on stages, in quiet sessions, and loud rooms. For several years, it was my main instrument - the one that felt familiar even in unfamiliar places. The one I trusted.
Then life shifted.
There came a season where continuing forward meant stepping away. Not just from music, but from everything wrapped up in it. I was in a deep process of getting healthy mentally, spiritually, and physically, and that required hard, pruning-level decisions. One by one, I sold everything. Every bass. Every pedal. Every cable. Every case. I didn’t even keep a gig bag.
I kept one bass - no strap, no case - just an instrument that sat quietly in the corner of a closet. I wasn’t planning a return. I wasn’t “taking a break.” I was done. Music, as I had known it, was over.
When the Seuf bass sold, it felt final. That chapter was closed.
Years later, in a moment that felt ordinary on the surface, everything changed. I was sitting in church - not emotional, not searching - when a simple, unmistakable nudge settled in my spirit.
It’s time.
No explanation followed. No roadmap. Just clarity. It felt as though the Lord reached down and gently said, “You can pick this back up now.”
So I began looking for the Seuf.
For a full year, I searched. Forums. Listings. Reverb. Nothing. No trace of it anywhere. And then, one day, there it was.
The bass was listed on Reverb, on consignment at a shop in Topeka, Kansas - Supersonic Music. A great store, run by great people. But the detail that stopped me cold was this: the bass was on consignment from the very guy I had sold it to years earlier - a Kansas City jazz bass player.
A full circle I never could have planned.
The price, however, was another story. It was listed for significantly more than what I originally paid for it - and more than what I sold it for. I reached out to the shop and shared the full story. Where the bass came from. What it meant. I told them I didn’t want anyone to lose money, but I also had a number in mind and asked if they’d be willing to talk with the seller.
And then… silence.
Days went by before the shop got back to me. When they finally did, they had spoken with the seller and come back with a lower price - but it still wasn’t where I needed it to be. Close, but not quite.
I sat with it for a few weeks. No pressure. No panic. Just prayer and honesty before the Lord. That was the moment I finally said it plainly, without bargaining or expectation: “If You want me to have this bass, You’ll provide.”
Then, one day, without warning or buildup, a check arrived. The amount was exact. Down to the dollar. The precise price of the bass. Just like that, the bass was mine again.
Getting this instrument back was never really about reclaiming gear. It went far deeper than that. It felt like restoration - quiet, personal, and holy. Like God was saying, “I’m not just returning something you lost. I’m restoring something you thought was finished.”
Dreams. Calling. Purpose. Joy.
This bass became a symbol of resurrection - not a return to the past, but a redemption of it. Proof that healing doesn’t erase your story; it redeems it. Proof that obedience, even when it looks like walking away, is sometimes the very thing that prepares you to receive something back with new hands and a new heart.
Today, this Seuf 5-string Jazz bass is back in my life - not as an idol, but as an instrument once again surrendered to purpose. It’s been used on new sessions. It travels with me on the road. It continues doing what it was always meant to do, now in a new season marked by gratitude instead of striving.
I’m forever grateful to the Lord for bringing this bass back - not because it’s special wood or rare parts, but because it reminds me that God restores fully. Nothing is wasted. Nothing surrendered in faith is ever lost.
Sometimes restoration doesn’t look like something new.
Sometimes, it looks like getting something back - redeemed, refined, and ready for the next chapter.
