Travel Journal: Cuenca, Day 11

A New Thing

My worldview has been wrecked on multiple occasions over the last year and a half. I almost wish that was an exaggeration, but it is not. Sometimes for the better, always for the unknown. Each time feels unprecedented, each revelation seemingly irreconcilable with life as I have known it. But that's the point. Each of those instances has been a point of no return. One cannot put bubbles back in the bottle after pouring out dish soap. We cannot shrink our minds or appetites for adventure back down to former size once God has blown them wide open with possibility. (Plus, it's much more fun to have bubbles everywhere.) Faith tastes like the gunpowder-residue air that comes with fireworks. There's a right good chance that things will explode, but it's going to be beautiful. Whenever it happens. However it happens. Why is it that as we're eagerly searching the skies, refraining from blinking as much as we are able, barely hanging on to the edge of our se...

The Tyranny of Stands

For many, singing or playing an instrument in front of other people is a terrifying prospect. Music stands erect a barrier between the individual and the congregation, and are a constant safeguard against the potential humiliation of forgetting the next lyric or chord. Music stands are, in the simplest terms, a crutch for these persons. For others, singing or playing an instrument in front of other people has become as commonplace as breathing in front of other people. Music stands, while generally unnecessary, still put some distance between the individual and the congregation, and assure a recovery after an accidental slip-up. Music stands are a crutch for these persons as well. Before hot objection and defensive indignation bubble to the surface (if they haven’t already), I need to confess that I am not far removed from the tyranny of stands. In fact, this past weekend was the first worship set I can ever remember playing without chord sheets. Th...

not in a hurry

I’ve always detested exercise. My sister loves to tell people that I threw up on my socks in the 8 th grade when forced to “run” a mile in P.E. class. By a genuine miracle of God, my metabolism keeps everything fairly trim. It has not ever been because of any physical effort on my part... I’m just being honest. Yet, for some reason, I’ve gotten up twice in the past month or so to go for a jog. I can’t call it a run, in good conscience. (It’s not that serious.) But I did that, and I’ve been swimming laps one or two days a week for… you know… a week or two. I realize this is all largely unimpressive, especially to people like my former XC-running roommate, but I call it progress! Yesterday morning was the occasion of my second jog. I was not a bucket of cheer when I woke up. I started out mad. I blasted worship music in my headphones and mulled over the litany of things I was upset about. (Tip: Those two activities don’t go together. It’s impossible to keep rehearsing your p...

lengua de corazón

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