Category: God

Gideons: Third Time's a Charm

Referencing this post from Sept 8, 2008 and this one from September 12, the Gideons came to La Casa today to give out New Testaments, mostly in Spanish, to the kids there. At the end, one of the guys asked me if I’d like one. I simply responded “Sure.”

Good thing he didn’t try to give me a bilingual one. I would have gone through my whole “don’t-want-to-waste-a-Bible” dilemma again since some (really awesome) person I know gave me one of those already. Now if anybody needs a pocket-sized New Testament, I’ve got one handy.

Moravian Lovefeast and little noises

If you don’t know what a Moravian Lovefeast is, here is an okay description.

This was the fourth Moravian Lovefeast I’ve attended and the third one in which I’ve played. I keep hoping Billy will dig up some piece of music that needs a saxophone, but having to practice clarinet again recently I’ve remembered why I liked it so much in the first place. Plus playing something small means I get to sit next to Toni. We get scolded at least once each Lovefeast and Easter for cutting up.

But my main musings tonight were not on the music (holy cow, the solo soprano!) or the sweet buns and coffee (alas, none for the musicians) or the scripture (“rut-row!”) but on the thousand little noises going on in between.

Services at a mainline protestant church in the U.S. are generally solemn occasions, even when they start with something like this. Crying babies are just unacceptable in Stateside church services, which is just a little disappointing after you spend a significant time at worship services in Ecuador. This kid was crying right at the beginning of the service. Not screaming. Not wailing. Not even crying loudly. Just crying the slightly-tired cry of a really small child. Before the three-song prelude was even finished and the bell rung, the family of five with the baby in question was down the balcony steps, through the Narthex and out the big oak front doors because their kid wouldn’t be quiet. I thought he was doing well in finding the strings section’s key. They thought he was being obnoxious. Though in hindsight, it’s also socially unacceptable to quiet a baby here the way you would in Ecuador.

During the middle of the service while the buns and coffee are being distributed and consumed, the choir, the strings, the full orchestra, and one or two soloists take turns playing pieces, and during the last one (which happened to be an organ/choir-only piece this year)  the coffee mugs are collected. I have to admit that the clink-clink-CLINK-clink-clinkity-clink-clink-clink-CLANK-clink-clinkity-clink got to me for a second there right as it started. Maybe it was the sound moving back down the aisles with the Dieners and their trays, or hopefully just my attitude improving (doubt it). But very quickly became musical to me. I think that- much more than the people standing up- and downstairs- just drove home how many people were packed into (what I believe is) the second-largest sanctuary in Elizabeth City.

It was also hilarious to see Billy’s eyebrows get closer and closer together the longer the “clinking” went on. He eventually just rolled his eyes and started to ignore it, but I guarantee that it will be mentioned before the 2009 Lovefeast.

And finally, my favorite little noise of the night. Just before we played “Silent Night” at the end of the service, in came the ushers, Dieners, and Junior Dieners to light all the candles. Off went the electric lights (in a relatively stately manner- not bad for Baptists). The sanctuary held its breath in silent anticipation.

Now in 1818, “Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht” was oiginally written for and performed by one unamplified classical guitar. In 2008, it was desecrated by half a dozen grill lighters CLICKing for dear life, trying to set aglow 400 little somethings I’ve always taken to be symbols of simplicity. And while the CLICK CLICK CLICK did make me cringe and will probably set Billy to swearing tomorrow, I think little things like that tend to put us in our place.

We can plan and practice and perfect our performances and services and songs all we want. But what it really comes down to is using those talents (planning, putting together that gigantic bulletin, playing or singing music, or just sitting and appreciating it) that God has given us and giving them back to him.

My philosophical musings are not going to stop me from suggesting that the candles are lit by other candles (in turn lit by matches in the Narthex) next time around. Neither is the fact that I’m not going to be in the Moravian Lovefeast next year (something I’m both extremely excited about and slightly saddened by, and that’s as much information as you’re getting right this second). But initial annoyance or not, I’m thankful for all the “distractions” tonight.

Probably Blew This One

Adam, Jerry and I were the only ones at Discussion Group last night. I probably didn’t even have to say it out loud, but I suggested, to instant and unanimous laughter and agreement that we go to Taco Bell.

The discussion was actually really good, and went on some tangents, but was originally (and for the most part stayed) about the inerrancy of Scripture.

But, like so many times lately, it wasn’t the discussion or anything else revolving our entire purpose that stuck with me the most from last night. It was the guy that knocked on the glass window next to us and then came inside to talk to us.

It was pretty easy to tell he was going to ask for money as he came up. He was a really good-natured guy,  and hilariously creative at that. But you could smell the booze on his breath, and though I could continue, I’ll stop the description of the assault on our senses right there.

Long story short, we chatted with him for a minute (we had to, he sat down in the empty space on the booth next to me, so I was trapped) and eventually got across to him that we didn’t have (or weren’t willing to give, in my case) any money to him and he got up and headed to the bathroom. The three of us had long been finished with our food and had already said our closing prayer, so the second the bathroom door closed behind him, Adam caught my eye with a look that said “Let’s go,” and our trio was out the door and in the van much faster than anyone that full of tacos should be able to move.

I started talking about this on the way back to church with them, and have since continued to contemplate it. It reminds me a little bit of Billy’s story, after reading about us finding the man who had been mugged on the street in Quito. He drove past a guy sleeping outside the old library on Main Street. Wondering if the guy needed help, he threw the truck in reverse, stopped in front of the library, rolled down his window and said “Hey, man, do you need some help?” The figure rolled over and said “Leave me alone, you son of a *****, can’t you see I’m drunk?!” Billy just laughed and drove off, but I doubt he’ll stop again anytime soon to ask someone apparently sleeping on the street if they need help.

Granted, the kinds of situations where people seem to be in need or ask for help are much different in the United States than they are in a developing country. But how easy it is to be discouraged from helping people at all.

I am not going to give money to somebody who I know will spend it on alcohol (though I wonder a little bit about that upon further consideration- he did smell like alcohol, but we were inside a restaurant and I could have offered him a taco to see what he’d say). And I’m actually pretty sure this particular guy has asked me for money before. And his language left much to be desired. But I still have pretty much no excuse except my own discomfort for not asking about who he is, finding out some of his story, and at least giving him an ear and maybe a little bit of the Gospel (which I feared would piss him off, but have since decided that he’d be better off pissed than not hearing it).

Gideon Day

When I started walking in from the parking lot this morning, I noticed the Gideons were passing out copies of the New Testament. I tense up when I see them, not because I don’t want a Bible, but because I know that undoubtedly there will be some student in one of my classes fuming about the “Jesus freaks” harassing them.

I park in the “A Building” parking lot because there are usually spaces there, and because I come out of my last class each day from there, so I have a short walk to my car and beat everyone back out of the parking lot. The side effect of this is that on Mondays and Wednesdays, I have to walk down the front length of campus to the Forman Center. To give you an idea of what that entails when you park at the “A Building,” until last year the Forman Center was called the “E Building.” I actually like the walk (or I’d park in the FC lot), but on Gideon days it means that as I stroll along in front of all five buildings, I have to walk past every single Bible-bearer at each door and every sidewalk corner.

Again, I don’t mind that in and of itself; but it means telling every one of them that I have a copy already, and I always feel bad doing that because I worry that they are thinking I’m lying because I’m an atheist and I just don’t want a copy. Yes, I know how exactly how ridiculous a thing that is to worry about and there are several solutions, ranging from 1) carrying the copy I keep in my car with me so they can see it to 2) taking a few extra seconds on my walk to class to actually be more sociable and talk to them instead of breezing past and trying to make it on time to a class with an ADD professor who talks about the weekend’s football games for the first 10 minutes anyway.

I got past Gideons #1 and #2 without having to speak to them (and I’m proud of that accomplishment in a way that scares me as I note the similarity of that statement to those of a certain antisocial family member of mine). Gideon #3 caught my eye at the sidewalk between “B” and “C” and asked if I’d like a copy of God’s Word. I smiled, thanked him, and said that I had one already, all as I kept my pace, intent on quickly finishing my trek past two more buildings. He nodded and said “Okay,” and I thought “Darn, he thinks I’m an atheist,” all the rest of the way to FC222.

But a few paces down from him, a girl a little older than me passed me on the sidewalk as she headed the other way towards A or the A Extension or the parking lot. She said “Don’t you hate it when they do that?” with something between a knowing smile directed at me and a sneer directed at the nice guy with Bibles that she obviously felt she’d soon have to “endure.”

It made me think. I mean, if I’d been as vocal a person as I’d like to be I would have told her that I think they do a real service and that she had a bad attitude. But you know what, so did I. Here I was actually almost agreeing with her in the sense that I have kind of hated “Gideon days” because I worry about ridiculous things that I imagine the guys thinking about me. I tense up when I see them because, invariably, somebody freaks out about being hounded by the guys, probably only because they expect to be hounded by the guys and get defensive as soon as they see them, reading implications into “Would you like a copy of the New Testament?” and imagining thoughts in the Gideons’ heads the same way I do, whether for different reasons or not.

I also wish I had had long enough to think this through to take my second opportunity of the day when one of the girls came into my Spanish class and (as predicted) dropped into her chair breathless, having actually run away from one of the guys and telling him she was late for class. (It was 9:52. Who’s going to buy that anyway?) Unfortunately, I was already right on thinking about the preterite tense of verbs in Spanish.

Once again, I needed the Evangelism Linebacker today.

The Spiritual Discipline of "Presence"

In the United Methodist Church, there are four specific areas that are outlined as ways that we give, that we are involved in the church. Any time that anyone takes any kind of vows in church, whether becoming a member of the congregation, or at confirmation or a non-infant Baptism, they are mentioned in the liturgy. Especially during stewardship campaigns (this year’s is ongoing) you hear a lot about how we support the church through our prayers, our presence, our gifts and our service.

My mom wishes she could hear Barbara Walters say that.

This morning, the start of the 2009 stewardship campaign at First UMC,  the focus of the week was on presence.  Sandra Ray gave a short testimony on how her presence at church makes an impact on her spirituality, how she is recharged by going to worship, and how the community of Christians around her encourages her and challenges her to stay on the right path and to grow in her walk with God.

Especially as someone who has been making an effort to go to worship services to worship (what a novel idea) and to do so actively, that one struck home for me. Mike’s sermon helped it along, and so did Mason’s when I went over to First Baptist. But also being who I am, two things that really Speak to me are the stories of individual people, and music.

When I got to First Baptist for what I consider my “do nothing at this service but worship” service, I decided to sit in the balcony. Unlike those people who lay claim to a specific pew and chase others away from it, I rotate around, particularly in that sanctuary, depending on my mood and my level of up-front participation. I like the balcony because the other two, occasionally three people who consistently sit there are musicians and they don’t look at me funny when I actually sing, and when (as Billy says) I “put some [guts] in it.”

Having an hour to kill between music with my munchkins and the start of the 11:00 service at First Baptist, I was there pretty early. So was Bruce, who was preparing the sound system. Something I like about Bruce is that, whether he knows this about himself or not, he’s very people-oriented. When you ask him “How’s itgoing?” you don’t get “pretty good” or “busy” or some other true but half-hearted answer. You get a conversation, an honest and deep one, usually pretty funny however long it happens to be.

Bruce talked about exactly the entire point of the service to which I’d just been. He’d struggled a little bit during the week in his attitude and his outlook on his own life. But among other things, Sunday School, Sean’s prayer requests, and (this one is my personal observation) a Godly perspective walking into church this morning made him reflect on all of that. Describing going to church and getting both the opportunity to worship, and to be among the fellowship of believers, he used the word “refueled” to express that sense of getting something out of church- which, much as it should be our goal to give to God rather than to take an emotion away from worship (that’s why it’s called “worship), is one of those sweet side effects of being present in the Presence.

I apologize to those of you who aren’t this ADD and have to follow those kinds of sentences and breaks in thought. Okay, back to it.

Music is the other thing I mentioned. I got to hear Billy Caudle and Trey Clifton and Douglas Jackson all just rip at least one piece of music today (for non-musicians, “ripping” is good). All three of them are people who I get to see truly give glory to God through their gifts- but that’s a different spiritual disciple and a different blog entry. For me and my presence at each of those services today, though, it also gives me worship time, and usually some reflection on my own struggles with the combination of my music and church.

The Hymn this morning that caught my attention was “Brethren We Have Met To Worship.” Usually I see a Call to Missions in this kind of thing (not that I didn’t) but along with everything else, it just emphasized to me the importance of the church, of coming together to worship, and of the true value (to ourselves, to others, and to God) of our presence among the Body of Believers.

That’s really interesting for me, considering how much I used to argue with Shelly about going to church, specifically me not going regularly at all when I was in Greensboro (I went about three times, not counting that conference that Megan Roberts and I went to in Wake Forest, NC). I could write several entries on my logic for that and my views on a certain congregation or the attitudes thereof, but all of that is irrelevant. The important thing is that I basically did not go to church for a year of my life, and not remotely coincidentally, that’s the one year of my life that I consider to have been almost entirely wasted in eight of the ten areas into which I’d mentally divide my life at that time. As Sarah would describe it, extremely “dry.”

I’m nourished by my church family, which even locally is pretty huge for me. This morning I saw people I know from churches from Rocky Mount to Manteo. I talked to Episcopals, Baptists, Presbyterians, Catholics, and even a few Methodists. I hugged clergy and laity, played music with people both fractions and multiples of my age, shook hands with a District Superintendent, heard our Bishop preach, sang two different Doxologies and had communion three times in three different places. And if I made a couple of phone calls right now, I’d start adding denominations, time zones, countries, and languages really fast.

Why is that gigantic, diverse assemblage so important to me? Because I see Christ in them. I see wisdom and talent and uniqueness in every individual, but all because of the love that comes from our shared faith. Like Sandra, I’m challenged by the people around me. Like Bruce, I get a reality check when I look around with a Godly perspective. Whether it’s a theme that carries over through three services at which only I am present for each one, whether it’s Heather getting something exactly the same out of a Scripture as me or Dave appreciating my humor and purposely-not-quite-right Biblical references, I’m connected, nourished, and refueled simply because of my Presence and the way that God works through each one of us. And maybe I should look at the way I might be able to give to others simply by being myself and letting God use the strengths he’s given me to be a blessing to those around me.

Accidental Conversation

I called Sarah tonight. Angela answered the phone. Turns out I had the wrong number in my phone book for Sarah. Angela laughed at me, but we had a great conversation about adjusting to life at home, especially as we’ve both started school and gone back to the business of life in North America.

Then I looked up Sarah’s real phone number and called her. I can’t believe I lucked out and two people actually answered the phone tonight. I can’t even get up with Mike or Julia half the time in Elizabeth City.

Another good conversation about adjusting to the Stateside life, about future plans, and there might have been a mention or two (ha!) of Ely. Getting to talk to both Sarah and Angela made me realize as I told them about the transition here how well it’s gone for me, and how much I’ve been ministered to by my church and the Tangent Minds and certain individuals around me. I was actually surprised by how many positive things I had to list off when I finally got to speak to people who “understand.” And now that I’m heading into a week where I’m not worried about writing a sermon or just plain dying, I know that I’ll also get to have that in Jerry as well. I’ve been hiding out too much.

I have, though, been productive in my reclusive-ness. Maybe all the stuff I’ve got on eBay will fund some of those planned (mis)adventures. And my guitars and cases actually fit in my closet now. But aside from just accomplishing things around the house, I’ve taken some active processing/study time.

Out of our topic about the Word of God at Discussion Group last night came a “homework” idea. Each of us are going to be reading Romans 12 every day this week and coming back with our thoughts. Having been focused so much on verse 2 lately, and having heard the first half of that chapter at literally every single service that I attended for a week from the morning of the 17th to the night of the 24th, it’s already interesting what has caught my attention.

I’ll leave it at that to keep anyone from the Group that reads this from accidentally cheating- we’re not allowed to read anything about it but the Bible. That’s the rule. No commentaries, just us and the Word of God for this discussion. I feel like we’re not going to need an actual topic next week. I’ll have notes.

Unexpected Topic

There are eight people in my Spanish class, and when I walked in this morning at quarter of the hour or so, four of the others were already there, and were talking about the differences between smoking cigarettes and pot. I’ll come back to this later.

Class began pretty normally this morning, and Thursday being a “class” day rather than a “lab” day, the first third of class tends to be more culture than language. One of the things I like about that is that during our (relatively ADD) discussion, Sr. Turner tends to turn to me for comparisons since I’m the only one in the class who has been to Latin America. He’ll talk about open-air markets in Chile and then ask “How about in Ecuador?”

At some point he made mention that I had been there for three months and one of the girls in the class asked what exactly I had been doing there. Something I didn’t even think about when I began to answer was what my immediate response turned out to be, compared to what it would have been last year. Had I ever been asked that in Raquel’s class when I took the previous level of Spanish a couple semesters ago, I’m sure I would have told them I’d gone with a short-term team and worked in a church and an orphanage. But out loud to a class, I that seriously would have been all I’d have said. And while I kept it brief this morning, I did my best to give a pretty full picture of hosting and a little bit about the whole reason for Missions.

The observation I did make, pretty much instantly (I automatically critique myself any time I talk in class) was that conversation had gone from smoking pot to being the hands and feet of Christ in Ecuador in under twenty minutes.

Even cooler was that Julian (a.k.a. Mr. Turner, the professor) instantly said “And what was the name of the church that you and Jerry go through?” Impressed that he’s already connected me and Jerry even though we’re in different classes, I ignored the detail of with whom the two of us were mostly working and told him Christ Episcopal Church, which he immediately scribbled down on his class notes (which I know he’ll look at several times before Monday). But wait, it gets better. Our professor then goes on this rant about how important it is to help people and how everyone should be involved in Missions.

Something else I noticed was his mention that even though he’s traveled pretty extensively, he regrets that all of it has been either for school or to support himself, when he was teaching English in Spain (something that strikes a chord in my family, anyway). I talked to Lydia today (who has now made it into three posts in just over a week) about how I have the exact opposite situation. Everywhere I’ve ever been has been for Missions and not for study or tourism or anything else. Which is not a problem, especially since I mentioned that we’re all on a Mission all the time anyway. Just something that keeps getting higher on my list to change.

As an overall observation, I just appreciate God’s use of unexpected people, places, and times to get a chance to share a little bit about Him. I feel like this is going to be a pretty cool opportunity with Mr. Turner, and maybe God struck a chord with somebody else in the room today too, or at least opened an opportunity for further growth, particularly some of the things I’ve been asking for lately. And as a sneak peak, I turned in my sermon theme to Diane today, and it’s amazing how much the same it is with this paragraph. Good thing the whole thing isn’t written yet. This is why I quit believing in coincidence a long time ago.

Lunch with the B.O.L.

If you don’t get the title, I’m not explaining it.

I’ve been going to First Baptist for the 11:00 worship service for the past few weeks. Unless I have to go to the 11:00 service at First Methodist to run the sound system or preach, I’ve been taking the opportunity to go to a worship service that I don’t have to be a major part of. For years it’s been a really rare experience for me to be in a worship service and not be either running the sound system or doing one of the various things I do up front. And I’d just stay at my church except I’ve already heard the sermon at that point. Not that it’s not good or meaningful the second time around, but I have the opportunity to maybe get something else out of a totally different service, so why not?

The point of this is that my first Sunday back in the States, I was asked by several people if I would come and speak to one of the Baptist Women’s circles about my experience in Ecuador. Turns out they meet on Monday at noon, right after I get out of class, and they have lunch at Van’s Pizza, which is on my way back from school to anywhere. I have three hours to kill before my Physics lab (which was canceled today anyway) and how am I going to pass up an opportunity to yak for an hour about my summer?

So I printed out 40 pictures and showed up to Van’s with absolutely no plan. That’s how I like things. I have no idea how I’ve developed this, but when I talk off the top of my head, I’m about 10 million times more confident and eloquent than if I have to do something straight off a sheet or some notes. It will probably take me longer to write this blog entry than it did to condense three months into a short presentation for those ten women.

I have one friend in particular (who shall remain nameless) that I can think of who would not only find the invitation something he’d desperately want to get out of, but would just puke at the idea of having to give a presentation like this. I actually had a blast.

I started with a two-sentence or so explanation of the difference between teams and hosts (they all know Ryan and some know Betty or Julie or others) and another super-brief explanation of Youth World and Short-Term/Quito Quest. After that I just went right through our time with the Huaorani and then on to teams and hit the highlights of what it’s all about: partnership, being servants, and letting God work through us.

They asked questions, they laughed, they all freaked out when I showed them the photo of the boa constrictor around my neck. And while they were all so appreciative that a 22-year-old guy would come talk to a bunch of old women, I was thankful to have a non-pulpit opportunity to just talk for more than 30 seconds and not have someone glaze over.

In fact, on a totally unrelated note, I had a similar opportunity with a single person yesterday afternoon. Someone I consider to be a prominent person at my church, and who I’ve actually had some not-so-cheerful arguments with in the past asked me how my “trip” was, and then actually got into the details of the actual job and of the effect of the summer on me. As Colin would say, my mind was “totally bottled.” [sic]

I just about cried twice this afternoon, and for once in the last week, it wasn’t because I couldn’t breathe. Just relaying experiences and observations gave me productive processing time that I wasn’t looking for or expecting, much as I’ve been asking for it. And while people still occasionally say something that grates on my nerves because of lack of understanding, it’s the fact that there are people here to whom I can bring my experience home that keeps me from falling into the lie of “Spiritual Superiority” and makes me love my church(es) here and find my little niche in Elizabeth City.

Romans 12:1-3

There are a lot of pieces of scripture you hear and say over and over as a missionary. Romans 12 is one of them, and much like my ever-changing take on John 15, now that I’m home I’ve been struck by the meaning of these words. I’m also struck by the fact that this scripture was a large part of two sermons and Jerry’s presentation, all of which I’ve heard in less than a week, sometimes twice. In fact, I’d write my sermon for next week on this passage if it hadn’t been a the sermon scripture for last week at my church and the scripture lesson this morning at First Baptist. It says…

Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s mercy to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, Holy and pleasing to God- this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is- His good, pleasing, and perfect will. -NIV

I feel like every time I heard or read those words during Quito Quest that the focus is so much on verse 1. And in living the rest, that’s what occurs. But especially after looking over my last couple of entries (which are gloomier than I intended, but maybe not as far from the truth in that regard than I pretend) and Sarah and Angela’s responses to those, I see the first half of verse 2 as a Command of Hope.

Wanting to be that “Fruit tree in Elizabeth City” and having doubts and fears and feelings of uselessness, I feel not compelled but Commanded “Do not conform.” I am not the same person as I was when I stepped on a place in May, and being one of those “people with the suitcases,” it’s my responsibility to use what I know and have experienced to benefit those around me, and also to keep check on myself that I am set apart from this world and its patterns, habits, and desires.

I think I know one of the reasons that it’s so hard for anyone to adjust to life at home after the on-field aspect of a short term mission. Something I wrote in my journal this afternoon was that, at least for me, it seems like I’m waiting for God to set a situation in front of me and say “Here you go, Danny. Be fruitful with this.” And maybe that’s because there are so many of those when you are so engaged in missions. Or maybe it’s that you’re just so much more open to and aware of them.

Being useful in life here isn’t a response to a situation, it’s an attitude and an outlook, totally independent of whether we have a certain service at a certain time or fully functional lungs and back muscles. And whenever I’m pessimistic about any of that,  worried about fitting, I can know that I truly am transformed by my time in Ecuador, and be confident as the renewing of my spirit continues.

Theology According to Regina Spektor

Lydia, I almost hope you aren’t reading my blog.

I put my iPod on shuffle this morning on the way to work. I have no idea why. I never do that unless I’m headed to the beach or farther. But nothing jumped out at me on the way back from COA and I lazily told the little device to pick music for me.

As I came down the last bit of US-17 before I turned down MacArthur and finally looped back around the other way on Ehringhaus to work, Regina Spektor came on. I’m not a huge Regina fan, and must admit that I once even turned down tickets to see her at the Norva (which is the place to see anyone). The only song I have of hers on my iPod is The Call, the song from the movie Prince Caspian, for which I had to buy the entire soundtrack on iTunes as the song isn’t available as a single.

As a musician, and as a (albeit terrible) songwriter, I don’t like telling people my interpretation of lyrics or even hearing (and potentially being influenced by) other people’s. I feel like part of the art form, and part of any art for that matter, is the interpretation by the individual exposed to the final product. I feel like the best artists of any kind are those who can both convey a specific message and yet leave it vague enough on the surface to be able to connect with and mean something to anyone who takes the time to appreciate and feel it.

So just know how much this struck me, both that I’m even writing this about a Regina Spektor song of all possibilities, and that I’m even writing it.

The lyrics, which probably can’t be legally reprinted here, can be found here (and this post will make a lot more sense if you either know or glance over them).

Driving along in Elizabeth City after being at COA and headed to Albemarle Music, two very different environments than, say, Quito, Ecuador, it was probably the “Just because eveything’s changing…” part that caught my attention. But upon further inspection, the entire thing can be applied to leaving Ecuador and coming here. Which I’m not going to do. I feel like I’ve done enough of that for a fortnight straight, and tend to sound a lot more negative than I intend when I do so.

Just the first part of the song (which is to some extent- musically- hard to listen to and yet lyrically brilliant in its simplicity) I relate it to faith. I’ve seen a lot of comments about the song on the internet, and depending on how literally it’s taken, some people insert what they think the “word” might be, with suggestions ranging from “love” to “Jesus.” And even though I point that whole paragraph (I think of it in written terms) to “faith” I wouldn’t insert it so directly. I think of my word as a perspective to go along with the lyrics, and each line as a step in a journey, and her “word” as one of those steps.

As an obvious, identifiable stage at a specific point in time, I would say (broadly, with no academic backing) all of our faiths began as an emotion. Be it guilt, joy, or wonder, at some point in your life you feel something that points you Heavenward, and should that be or grow to a hopeful sense of assurance, you began to think and know God on your own. The biggest leap here, at least for me, even more so than getting to the personal thought part, is that “word,” speaking Truth to others, and even more so the “battle cry” in strength and confidence.

Much like a lot of her other stuff, this song is way darker on deeper inspection. In a word of extremes and absolutes, forgiveness vs sin, faith vs doubts, the world vs the Church, the Trinity vs the Enemy, (and especially in such terms) it should be so much more evident how important it is to know who your fiends are as you head off to the war. (Has anybody actually noticed the pattern? If you’re really that coffee-deprived, I’m italicizing the lyrics).

The less and less vague you get, the less and less anything I write will mean personally to anyone who reads this. So we come again to my musician’s dilemma, and this is about where that side of me wins and I (as usual) let you connect the dots.

And I said I wouldn’t relate this to where I am and where I’ve been (physically) but I’m the author and I can do whatever I want, including reneging on whatever I like. And I’ve read and listened to the lyrics at least a dozen times in a row now and I’d just like to point out that it says “I’ll/You’ll Come Back” “When it’s over/when they call me/you.” That’s all.