It smiled in every calm.

Tonight I’m up too late writing a paper comparing two early 1800’s writers and their fight for freedom.  For Sarah Grimké, it was the freedom to be educated and speak publicly as a woman.  For Frederick Douglass, it was freedom from slavery in America as a black living in Maryland.  They both have really poignant and valuable things to say, and I suggest reading some of their work if you feel compelled to make yourself thankful for your freedoms.  Tonight, Frederick Douglass made me thankful for my freedoms by talking about his lack thereof.  Upon secretly learning to read and filling his head with the writings of Sheridan and the like, he starts to comprehend that he could be free, and for the first time.  Interesting how literacy connects with liberty.

Here’s an excerpt from his book Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass:

“Freedom had now appeared, to disappear no more forever.  It was heard in every sound, and seen in everything.  It was ever present to torment me with a sense of my wretched condition.  I saw nothing without seeing it, I heard nothing without hearing it, and felt nothing without feeling it.  It looked from every star, it smiled in every calm, breathed in every wind, and moved in every storm.”

We love the word “freedom”, being alive in a time and place where freedom is so real and so unadulterated, politically and legally speaking.  But freedom is just that to us, political and legal.  It’s defined structurally in contrast to boundaries and barriers, things that would stop us from expressing ourselves and living and doing as we please.  But man that is not freedom, and we don’t know yet “freedom”.  Freedom is bleeding down from that terrible cross, and I don’ t understand it’s weight and implication.

I think maybe freedom looks like my Bianchi bicycle.  Efficient and light, getting me anywhere I want to be in this town within in a few minutes, needing only the movement of my legs.  Freedom, because I’ll be at your house in a few minutes and I’m parking my car on your porch and locking it to the stairs, or maybe I’ll lean it on the tree in your front yard.  I get great joy out of the cheap, satisfying mobility it gives me, and the fact that I think my bike does that better than a lot of bikes.  Also I’m thankful because God thought it would bless me to stumble upon that specific craigslist add for the fixed-gear bike I swore I would never buy, that wound up brightening the whole summer and carrying me to and from class day after day when that summer was over.  Freedom, I guess I’m trying to say, is a little bit like the favor of God.  I guess it is the favor of God.  Pray for that.  Not that the favor of God equals material blessings like a trendy bike, but that the favor of God equals being able to realize the ways you’ve been blessed and living consciously in thankfulness about it.  It isn’t owning a bike that makes me excited every time I take it somewhere, it’s the fact that it took me somewhere and it didn’t have to be that convenient but hey, it was.  Thanks for that, thanks that You make my life easier God.

Now I wasn’t a slave ever, so that kind of freedom is something I don’t really understand.  But I was in a furnace once and saw a person in there with me I didn’t recognize.  He saved me from fiery torment and I didn’t even smell like smoke when I came out.  I was a sinner once, and am still.  But I was all at once restored and now, God sees me holy.  So that’s freedom I understand just a little better, because it’s freedom from  that guilt and confusion and darkness that rained mud into my water and death into my bones.  My Jesus is freedom to me.  Cliche?  No it isn’t.  In Galatians 4:5 God says “God sent Him to buy freedom for us who were slaves to the law, so that he could adopt us as his very own children.”  Real slavery remedied by real freedom for me.  I also know that, by 2 Corinthians 3:17, “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.”  And as for me, like Douglass wrote, as far as the Spirit of the Lord goes, as the freedom it is to me,

“I saw nothing without seeing it, I heard nothing without hearing it, and felt nothing without feeling it.  It looked from every star, it smiled in every calm, breathed in every wind, and moved in every storm.”

Let freedom breathe in your storm.  Let Jesus be that peace.  He is that really possible freedom.

Be of Joy.

Today, whatever you’re doing, whatever you feel like, remind yourself that God is good.  Be of Joy when life is bad, when you hurt, when your heart tells you’re lonely.  Tell it that the joy of the Lord is your strength, no person can be your strength.  You belong to the Lion of the ages, He’s not afraid of the changes, he’s in front and behind them.  He’s not the judge or the jury, He’s the evidence.  He’s got You on His mind.  That’s why I’m of joy, because I’m of Him.  It’s the right team to be on.  Either you’re on that team, or we want you.  It’s gonna light up the dark town you live in.

 

Walk with me in joy, walk with me and that great Fighter, our fearsome Friend, the King and God of all time.  Okay.

Re: Love like old people

I love old people who love kids.  Some old folks just don’t care for kids and I don’t blame them, but the elderly who like kids, I really like.  I remember being a kid, like maybe nine.  I was at a church garage sale with my mother, outside in front of the building our church shared with the post office in our small town.  I forget the woman’s name now, but she was always so nice to my sisters and I.  She had made some sort of beginner embroider kit items for the garage sale, apparently not understanding that you get rid of old things you don’t want at garage sales.  She had instead created some things for the sale, and I found myself at her table.  I picked up a little blue and white standalone pocket thing she had made, matching cross snugly inside its fold.  There was a typewriter-written poem on white paper stuffed behind the cross in the pocket.  I thought the thing was fascinating, not even reading the poem till I got home.  When I picked it up and asked her how much it cost, I saw something move behind her eyes.  She put a soft hand on my back and told me sweetly that I could just have it.  She then bent over and pulled out a plastic bag, like the kind you get at the grocery store when you don’t ask for paper.  She began to put a number of other things in the bag, telling me they were all things I needed.  She gave me a few things to give to my mother.  I didn’t say very much, because although it didn’t register in my eight or nine year-old brain, I was humbled and almost embarrassed, feeling guilty that this person I didn’t really know was giving me all these little Christian keepsakes and treasures she made that now I’ve lost a long time ago.  There was a very pleasant, warm feeling on my back and shoulders, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.  It was like goose-bumps and butterflies in my chest.  I was moved inside at her kindness. I was like ten.  Throughout my life, I’ve gotten that same feeling from other older people when they’ve shown me unusual kindness.  Another example is Alma Suhonnen, a woman my mother used to pray with a lot. Alma passed away a few years ago now.  This lady was so sweet and so kind.  She sang in the worship team my parents led at a church in Parker, CO.  Her husband Bill played saxophone in the band, and their son Mark went on to be a professional drummer.  Playing all kinds of music in all kinds of countries.  He influenced me to play drums when I was maybe twelve, and I still communicate with the man on rare occasion.  Last I knew he was in Korea or something playing his electronica for tens of thousands of Koreans.  Life is strange.  His mother though, always gave me that same warm feeling.  She would pray for me and lay hands on me with my mother when I was sick or bothered.  I think it was her that my mom prayed with over my stomach when I had swallowed a penny at age four and was in need of surgery to avoid an ensuing hole in my stomach lining around the stuck penny.  The first miracle my mom ever felt was the penny moving out of the lining of my stomach and safely into my system, right there in that room.  She says she felt the penny move.  Now and then when I’m digging through storage back home looking for something, I’ll stumble upon a manilla envelope with the x-rays of my small body, the penny a bright reflective hole in the picture.  I think about it and the day I painfully passed the penny out of my system, never to eat money again.  God’s miracles are the basis of my life.  There’s another good, more memorable example of old people that make me feel that warm sticky cared-about feeling. I met a girl at youth group senior year of high school named Courtney Carrington.  She had a hell of a past, with family problems, health problems, the whole works.  I should have not hung out with this girl as much as I did.  I think she liked me more than I liked her and I must have hurt her.  I had known her for a number of months when I left for college, moving to the town where I still live.  I didn’t have a car for my first year of college.  I had a trashy bike and a good pair of shoes.  Those got me faithfully around campus, but I had to call on my friends for rides around town and rides back home an hour and a half away, South of the school.  One weekend, as Courtney was trying out schools, her, her mother, and her two sisters all came up North to visit my school.  We spent some time together, I showed her the campus, the dorm I lived in, the IHOP nearby, and the Village Inn a few minutes away down the main road in the town.  I decided as they were leaving that I needed to go home that weekend, so I bummed a ride down with them, sharing the back seat with two little Carrington girls as their big sister drove, sitting next to mom upfront.  We listened through every CD I ever burned for Courtney on the way down.  We stopped by the house they were staying in and I had the pleasure of meeting Courtney’s grandfather, Kirt Gandy.  Him and I connected over the fact that we both enjoyed cigars.  I don’t smoke much anymore, but I had fun then sitting on the back porch conversing with him about it as Courtney got ready inside to take me the rest of the way home.  Apparently she had to change clothes to do that.
About the time she emerged and was ready to leave, I had been ushered into his library and was seeing his collection of books.  The man is a Bible scholar.  He has a degree of some sort that he exhausted before he retired and he also has whatever sort of credentials you get after spending enough time at seminary.  Anyway in his long life that I really know nothing else about he developed this library.  That day as Courtney waited in the living room for me, he showed me book after book I needed if I was every going to study the Bible seriously.  The whole time as he poured out his heart to me regarding the depth and character of the word of God, I was covered in those same goose-bumps I had as a kid at the church garage sale, and felt that same warmth I felt when Alma Suhonnen would pray over me with my mother.  I can’t get enough of that distinctive feeling.  Later that year a box of books showed up with Courtney one day when she came over to see me at our old house in Parker.  Her grandfather had put together a small library to “get me started”, as he wrote on the first page of the blank journal that came with the collection of books, the journal he intended me to fill with clever scholarly notes like the notes he made all over every book he had given me to help me better understand them.  It was the most meaningful gift I had probably every received up to that point, bar my first drum set and guitar, not that I realized it then.  I remember sitting on the floor of my room in the basement later that night after Courtney had driven her mom’s car back to Aurora.  I looked through this box of books, lots of them still brand new, purchased by this guy just for me, and got that same feeling of warmth and unspeakable joy.  He had included a little broken book rack, three or four new versions of the bible I didn’t have, a few books on worship and worship music since he knew that’s what I did, and also a book called “How To Read the Bible for All It’s Worth”.  As we speak, I’m halfway through reading this book and it has already changed the way I read God’s word.  I’ve read a lot of the books from that box, I’m pleased to say, and one of those bibles is now my everyday reader.  The collection is now nicely arranged on my bookcase on the shelf under the fantastic array of worthless math and science textbooks I hope to never use again.  Every time I open one of those books and read through it, I get that feeling again as I stumble across something he’s underlined for me or notes he’s personally made in the margins.  I get the feeling of someone caring for me deeply and genuinely in a way I didn’t earn and don’t deserve.  Kirt Gandy must have thought I was marrying his granddaughter for the time he put into the gift he gave me.  I came back over to the house he lives in a few weeks later with a long thank-you note and him and I talked for a while.

I don’t know if everyone has that same sensation when they encounter selfless love like that.  I’ve felt it at a number of random times throughout my days, strangely always from older folks, but all those times are still so memorable.  Thinking of it now I get that feeling of warmth and closeness, even here alone on my couch tonight.  It’s my favorite feeling in the world.

I think the woman of God I marry someday will make me feel this same way.  The lucky pattern God has established in my life is called undeserved blessing and unmerited favor.  I have lots of things I don’t deserve and lots of meaningful, personal things he’s given me or done for me that were not things I asked for but have greatly improved my life.  Good room mates, for example.  A car.  Good musical instruments.  A phenomenal family and extended family.  A worship leader position amongst people my age.  Just to name a few in no particular order.  I think God will appoint for me a woman who is like these things.  A wonder, a person to make me warm and happier.  She’s sweet and sincere, uplifting and gentle.  I think she, by being a gift I don’t deserve like a box of books or a heartfelt gift from an old church lady, will give me that deep and warming feeling.  When she hugs me as I come home from work, I’ll have that pleasant prickly goose-bump sensation as a sign that not only am I with the right person, but that God is himself a giver of undeserved and marvelous gifts.  From his Son’s death in place of mine, to a lifelong companion someday so that I might not go through life alone, God’s generous character is evident in the lives he’s crafted for us.  I like how I get a warm feeling when people reflect God in this way.

He just smiled at me and set the house on fire.

I watched the new Bond movie again last night with my family.  Round three I guess.  Every time I’ve watched Quantum of Solace I’ve taken something different out of it, so here’s what I’ve got this time….

 

Camille Montes, the new Bolivian Bond girl played by Olga Kurylenko, is out for vengance in the movie just like Bond.  I think she’s a great character, nothing like the classic Bond girls who are all body and no brain.  She has a crazy story-line and all kinds of motivation that are wrapped up well by the end of the film. As the story goes, her father was an officer in the Bolivian Army until the Bolivian General, Medrano was sent to kill him.  Medrano also kills her mother and sister after raping them.  She was “Too young to cause any trouble, so he just smiled at me and set the house on fire…”, she says.  Not a fun story.  So the girl is out to kill General Medrano. Brief summary of the story for you.

 

One of the first things you notice about her is the scar on her back from the fire, and throughout the film whenever you see her, she’s wearing a dress or a shirt low enough in the back to see the scar. This is interesting because though most girls would hide something like that, she sort of shows it off.  It’s part of her story.  Part of the heartbreak that gives her so much drive and passion.  I like the thought of this.  I feel like we all need to bear the scars that make us so motivated to be like Jesus.  I don’t mean that we need to get tattoos on our arms that say “Former Alcoholic” or “Abused by my father” or anything, because the past is something God has delivered us from.  What I’m saying is that instead of hiding our scars and pretending they never happened, why don’t we live by them instead and claim victory over them, through Jesus, for the world to see?

 

I don’t pretend to understand what you’ve gone through, and I know my afflictions have been light compared to most people, but if you believe in a loving God you must believe that hardships and trials exist to bring glory to the Father by making you stronger and wiser.  Is this true or not?

 

My dad and I have stuttered our  whole lives.  Some genetic disorder.  You may or may not have noticed that about me, either way no big deal.  It doesn’t freak me out anymore and I don’t let it slow me down.  I don’t stutter as much these days, but It’s by hours and hours of therapy and humbling flash-card repetition as a kid that I’ve gotten to this place. Now and then I’ll stumble over a word, but it’s not half as bad as it was.  It’s been a unique and difficult trial,  and one in a hundred people face it, most of which outgrow the disorder’s effects by age ten.  A few of us, however have such a bad case of it that we will fight it our whole lives.  As God would have it, I was dealt that card.  Ok.  Could have been Cystic Fibrosis.  

 

What I’m saying is that I fought with God for years about why I had this problem talking, but eventually came to the realization that it’s been a blessing.  God has used this weakness to make me stronger, even though it hurt as a kid to be ridiculed mercilessly for it.  I also know that He said to me in 2 Corinthians 12:9, “’My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”  I love this and stake my life upon it.  Another blessing is the way I can relate to stutterers better than anyone else.  Moses and I would have been best friends I think.  What used to torment me I now take a bit of pride in.  I am HONORED that my Lord and Savior viewed me as worthy of this trial.  He cares enough about me to put time and effort into refining my faith and my trust in him.  Why would I hide that?

 

I’ve dealt with my scar a little differently than Camille Montes from Quantum of Solace.  My mind has not been on revenge as much as it’s been on healing.  Read 2 Corinthians 12:9 again and pray about it.  Satan wants those scars to cripple you and take your joy away, but Jesus came so that those scars could bring you life like his scars brought you life.  That’s all.

Something about giving.

Saturday was ridiculous. And wonderful.  I was in a parade.  I was on a float in a parade.  I was playing drums on a float with my old worship band in a giant Mexican Jesus parade.  It was a big all-day affair and I’m still recovering, but it was a great experience.  ”Marcha de Gloria!”  Something like 20,000 people and three hours of parading through barricaded streets.  Playing Bluetree’s “God of this City” and hearing it bounce off the buildings was remarkable.  Most unreasonable worship gig ever.

 

Later that evening, still covered in the grime of downtown Denver and my own lingering drummer stank, I found myself at a nice Italian restaurant with my grandparents and my cousin from out-of-town, Katie.  We talked quite a bit, and the food was great.  So good to see Katie!  She’s all over Africa and getting her Master’s and stuff; I envy her ambition.  My grandfather, whom we all lovingly refer to as “Howie”, insisted on me giving him a ride back to his house after dinner, which I gladly agreed to do.  On the way he asked me to pull into a gas station because my fuel gauge was characteristically on zero, so he wanted to fill me up.  Have patience with me as I tell this story.  This is worth hearing.

 

A good preface to all of this would be that I am awful with getting gifts.  I cannot stand to be given something I do not deserve at someone else’s expense, especially when it is a sacrifice for them.  The gas pump asks for Howie’s ZIP code, and twice it doesn’t accept his entry, so we go inside the station.  Howie is long retired, and although the expenses of life have increased dramatically, his income has stayed the same for years.  To fill up my car is not a cheap thing for him, and I saw it as a sacrifice he really didn’t need to make for me, even if I honestly needed it in order to get home.  So as we walk into the station I’m feeling totally guilty.  I’m being awkward with my words, awkward with getting the door for the poor man, and awkwardly analyzing the situation in my spirit, fueling a fire of guilt.  They make us pre-pay, and Howie tells the nice woman of similar age to put $50 on the card and give him the change.  Her and I both know that $50 isn’t nearly enough to fill my very-empty gas tank, but we both roll with it.  I go out to my car and begin to fuel as Howie makes the woman inside smile and laugh with his genuine joy-of-the-Lord sense of humor.  $50 comes and goes, and my tank is about 4 gallons short.  I go inside and Howie’s got two packs of Hostess Zingers picked out for me for the ride home.  They were to be bought with the change from the $50 he put on his credit card.  I regretfully tell him that there’s no change, he brushes it off and pulls a $20 from his billfold to pay for the Zingers.  We say goodbye to the gas station lady and walk to my car.  On the way he gives me the Zingers, and the change from the $20 he broke to buy them.  I keep saying things like “No, I can’t take it!”, and “You do too much for me How…”, but he doesn’t understand that I’m really bothered by his giving.  Just that week his wife had sent me a $100 check because she “Knew I needed it”, which was entirely true, but had been bugging me all week.  Now this.  These people do not have a lot of money.  We get back to his house and I hug everyone and thank them for dinner before I head off to Fort Collins.

 

So a few minutes later I’m on C 470 with a big rock of guilt in my stomach, talking out loud to myself about how I’m supposed to be taking care of them and whatnot, being angry and stressed because of their sacrificial kindness, when it hits me.  God’s gift of his son to us was so similarly sacrificial, and made the way for God to bless me and favor me like he does.  God couldn’t be so good to me if he hadn’t given up Jesus for me.  It cost him so, so much, but I was worth that to him.  He handed me the Zingers and the change.  I still felt guilty, but now it was because Jesus had died at my hands more or less, so I could be so happy and blessed.  It made sense.  The guilt turned into a healthier reverence, and an understanding thankfulness that continued through my day.  I am amazed by this God I serve.  He’s like my dear old Grandpa Howie, slow to anger and rich in love, abounding with blessings for me.  Even when my undeservedness is painfully obvious he chooses to give me every good thing.

 

On the way home I stopped by Sean and Josh’s for some chicken and some porch time, we all talked and it was great. Good to see those guys.  Then when in Denver on the way back up to the Fort, my sister called and said that everyone from Marcha De Gloria (she had co-led one of the stationary bands in city park with our friend Peter Rodriguez from The Sentinel Event) was eating at Bennegan’s off Colorado Blvd.  I pulled off the highway a block and joined the happy loud group for an hour or so as they passed around a handy cam with footage of the day’s musical gloria.  We laughed and talked I finished off Becky’s chicken salad, my third chicken meal of the day.  Tyler Goerzen was there, and we got a bit more caught up about his new girlfriend and his new church in L.A. where he goes to Bible college.  I love my friends.  They are my family.

 

I have every good thing.  I have blessings uncountable.  I have a semi-full tank of gas and a freezer full of ice cream and corn dogs to live on.  I have a pretty Mac desktop that’s about to be shut off for the night.  I have a circle of friends that edifies my spirit.  I have musical gigs the next three nights.  My life is rich and blessed, because Jesus gave me everything in heaven and on Earth when he gave up everything in heaven and on Earth.  I doesn’t make sense to me, but I humbly take hold of it:)

Guitar effects are far too much fun.

I’ve been playing music only a short time by most people’s standards. I started playing drums in 6th grade, and now that I’m in 14th-or-so grade, music is still most of who I am in addition to Jesus. So with that said, let me tell you about my new favorite part of being a musician. Guitar effects.

I have a whole bunch of these random old Boss single-effect pedals from the early 80’s. A great man named Austin Schauer gave them to me when I started to play electric guitar late last year, and now it’s time for them to go. I put an add up on craigslist, and already I’ve had a ton of fun offers for trades and such. Too much fun! I’m sure I can get a DL4 and maybe a cool overdrive out of the deal? I will surely consult my guitar mentors before any big transactions go down.

Tomorrow night I head down to Denver to play drums at ORCC the next morning with Seanster. Sean’s got a cool Marshall Delay for me there and I’m pumped. I find it strange that I have had the exact same tried-and-true drum setup for the last two or three years, yet in the seven-or-so months I’ve been a serious electric player I’ve already altered my rig numerous times. Hopefully this will be a healthy and continuing pattern.

I sat at home today for a long time and played guitar. My Calculus test was done at nine, and my new job doesnt start until noon tomorrow, getting off at one thirty (some lousy free training thing). So I’ve had plenty of time to spend on guitar learning. This weekend I’m playing at my church up here in Fort Collins, and I’m super excited. The college pastor here was in some punk band in the 90’s, and around that time invested in a Mesa Boogie Dual Rectifier. They’ve outlawed us to use it during the main service because you have to make it so loud for it to sound good, but this weekend I’m trying to use the cabinet (complete with four Celestion 30’s) in addition to my AC15. I discovered that you can change the output impendance on the Vox with a little switch in the back, so I can connect it to the Mesa cabinet. The sound is interesting, and certainly different than the Warfdale speaker in the Vox. Not sure if I like it or not yet. Trying something new I guess.

(This is my beautiful, friendly, and tastefully traditional church.  Sunday we introduce Desperation.)

 

This Sunday is an important one for Faith. We’re playing a loud, strong song by Desperation band called “I Will Go”. This isn’t my favorite Despo song, but I definitely like it. Regardless, this is the loudest, most driving song in our church history. We’ve got it nailed down pretty well, and our leaders, Dan Pahlau and Ben Schuchard, certainly sing the song more pleasingly than Jon Egan, the writer of the song. So it will be fun. Pray that this sound of music will be accepted more by the congregation. This isn’t our only “fast song” of the morning, but it is sandwiched by organ-led hymns. I love organ-led hymns, but more so when in addition to loud music written in the last 40 years! Should be an interesting Sunday.

So I should be studying for finals.

Blogging has become a wonderful distraction to me.  When I have a lot on my mind I can come write here.   Avid bloggers say “amen”.  In approximately seven hours I sit down for possibly the most important test of my life so far, the Final exam for PH141, a Physics course at Colorado State University.  Having recently decided to follow physics as a course of study, I am now required to get no less than a C- in any physics class I take.  If I do well on this final, it will be no issue.  If I fail, I retake the class.  But my God will provide as he always has. I love being able to trust that; I can’t imagine how much more stressed I would be if I felt like I was controlling my own destiny without any external help.  I just sounded very Calvinistic, didn’t I?  Ok, so my performance IS directly related to how many times I take this fairly impossible class, but I can trust God to make it worth it to me in the case of a retake as opposed to being mad at him for “making me” get a D or whatever.  If I have to redo the course I will come out with a mastery of it that will carry me through other more difficult courses.  A win win, right?  Maybe now I’m just pep-talking myself.

 

Well a wiser student would be sleeping now, because he or she would have finished studying, finished their crib sheet, and written their due-in-the-morning comp paper by now.  But here’s JD, pumped up on caffeine from the delicious raspberry affagato (less-serious coffee drinkers look that one up) he just consumed at the Alley Cat with his friend Ashley when he should have been getting work done, trying to cram all of the above into the next seven hours, hopefully along with a couple hours of sleep to carry him through a couple hours of panicky test taking in the morning.

 

One thing I can say about this lifestyle is, although sometimes lonely and sometimes overwhelming, it is so full.  I mean I am living so crazy, so alive right now that nothing at all could slow me down.  Freshman year of college is over in a matter of hours, and that puts me 25% of the way through my college career, making me statistically more likely to “succeed” in life than the 99% of the world who will never make it through this much of a college degree.  Scary.  Mildly pressuring. Also very humbling. These days I find myself envying the satisfaction of so many of my friends who are doing exactly what they want without any kind of higher education at all.  Here I am learning about big, big ideas that have little to do with music.  I feel like I’m trying to manufacture some kind of artificial interest in the subject maybe?  Even though this is fascinating stuff I’m learning, the passion I have for music and worship makes this degree feel like a petty backup plan in case I don’t “make it” or whatever in music.  But I am counting on, I am counting on God!  This University certainly feels like the right place to be.  Campus Crusade (still hate that name) for Christ needs my help playing drums right now, and there are many lost people (i.e. Keller my roomate) who I have been able to reach out to in ways I didn’t think I could.  That doesn’t mean Keller “got saved”, but now he has a better understanding of what Christians live for and why, whereas before he just thought of it as a pious crutch.  So I’m in my place tonight.  I really should not blog anymore, I should finish this paper and get some sleep. 

 

At 9:00 AM tomorrow my physics final is over.  If I pass, I pass.  The important thing is I will be up all night tonight with my lover.  I will take my test tomorrow with that lover beside me.  I will walk out of the Clark building with that lover.  I will get on my rickety old bike and ride back to Summit Hall with my lover waiting for me there when I get back.  Three, maybe four years from now I will graduate from this loud and often trying place with that same lover next to me.  I will grow old, and my lover will remain ageless.  I will die, and go to be with that one great love I was blessed to have through all my days.  Regardless of how I do on this terrifying test in the morning, on that day my love will still say to me “Well done, my good and faithful servant.”

 

So what am I so stressed about?