Out of Water
Last month:
“Can we sing As the Deer?” she asked, “I LOVE that song!”
I was almost nauseous as I felt the bottom drop out of a project on which I had been working for several weeks… again. Screw these people. They’re not your friends. I acted like I was going to the bathroom, then slid out the side door, walked all the way around the building to my car and left. Would anyone have really cared if I had gone straight out the front?
Two weeks ago:
Whilst I kept busy with my favorite, though utterly pointless, hiking games, “Guess which U.S. President…?” and “Does he have a beard?”, I was constantly catching little bits of deeper conversations about theology, relationships, mentors… all of the things I wish I had myself but don’t know how to get.
Last week:
I stopped in my kitchen at a picture I pass everyday. I picked it up and stared quizzically for some moments at… myself… with shoulder length hair. That can’t be right?
And on:
So, I’m now the drummer for my church group. The drummer. By request no less. I drum even worse than I play guitar. As a matter of fact, I once was determined to play “live” drums on one of my songs, but my rhythm was so off that I eventually just recorded the drum track twice in the hopes that the mistakes would average out.