The Un-ignorable Awareness

One of the oddest things that happens when you learn a new language is that you lose a

little corner of silence. When you are in a crowded room and someone is speaking a foreign

language, it disappears into a din of indistinguishable chatter. Once you learn that language, you

simultaneously gain an ability to distinguish meaning in the noise, and lose the ability to turn off

that awareness. It used to be mere background noise, and now it is not ignorable. 

During my first days in Thailand, I sat smiling while my Thai friends chattered amongst themselves, sounding

much like ducks quacking to me, and having about as much meaning to my untrained ears. Now,

if I walk into a Thai restaurant or Thai market, I hear every detail about the shelf-stocker’s

mother-in-law’s car that needs to be repaired, and the waitress’s dislike for the guy sitting at the

corner table (how dare he send that Yam Moon Sen back twice!) I can’t not listen. I can’t not

understand it. The smiling silence is gone, it’s not even an option. I cannot un-tune my ears to

this station, for better or for worse.

      It’s the same with football. I didn’t realize how deeply I’d submerged into my new

football culture until I was eating at a local Mexican restaurant with a friend. The big screen

television in the corner was showing a college game. She was telling me details about her

upcoming wedding, and I was listening, but I couldn’t help hearing each play as it happened, on

the screen right behind her head. I nodded in response to a charming idea for favors- he snaps the

ball- fourth and three...the whistle blows...first down! She asked me if I thought the pewter

ribbon was a good match and I thought about it- Can’t believe they called a time out- now! She

debated between the silver and the pewter- and number 11 rushed the A-gap...and he’s down!

“Oh!” The beer glasses thudded on the bar behind us, and every guy in the room exclaimed in

unison. My friend’s blue eyes grew wide in shock, staring at me. I guess I must have joined in

the unison, too. It was at that moment, that I realized I could speak Football.

I wouldn't listen to country music if my life depended on it. Until it did.

I never thought I could be so happy to see a Walmart! 

March 2, 2012. Marysville, Tennessee. I drove through 3 tornadoes- taking shelter at a mall, a chapel on a hill, a Sonic drive in, and a Walmart- eventually reaching my destination of Nashville at 2 A.M.- 3 hours before my plane left. A grey-bearded cowboy prophet at an abandoned gas station told me to go forward- don't slow down or stop for anything- and I could outrun the storm. He also told me to tune into the storm watch: on the local country radio station.



In one bizarre day, my God led me through three crazy storms, and a few times I was pretty sure I might die. "You drove over THAT bridge darlin'?" In my rental car, the only car on the unlit road, just me, Jesus, and Kip Moore, singing me all the way to Nashville-interrupted by the constant beeps of the Emergency Broadcasting Network- straight through the storms. Going forward.

I kind of love him now.

No, really. Yeah he's a cocky cowboy singing about girls and whisky- but that's not it- this song repeated over and over and over on that drive- hammering into me my need for my God, my desperate dependence on his love- and He met me there, and He loves me- drowned in that, I'm unafraid.


  "The floods have lifted up, O Lord,
    the floods have lifted up their voice;
    the floods lift up their roaring.
  Mightier than the thunders of many waters,
    mightier than the waves of the sea,
    the Lord on high is mighty!"
-Psalm 93:3-4

"Set me as a seal upon your heart,
    as a seal upon your arm,
for love is strong as death,
    jealousy is fierce as the grave.
Its flashes are flashes of fire,
    the very flame of the Lord.

Many waters cannot quench love,
    neither can floods drown it."

Song of Solomon 8:6-7

I'm loved like that- no room for fear. 

And this, is totally a worship song to my God:

...Cinderella?

I walked up the narrow, steep staircase leading to our downtown office door this morning, surprised to find an abandoned shoe. A man’s shoe. An athletic man’s shoe. Laced up, and everything. Unmatched. Unpaired. Unaccompanied. Just sitting there- or standing there. Can shoes sit? I don’t know. Four steps down from our locked, glass door. It was pointed up. Towards that door. Alone. Like me. Was this a sweet practical joke from one of my odd and endearing friends? As I unlocked our door and saw the smear of blood on the porch, I figured probably not. You should have heard the cop’s questions on the phone. Poor guy, who gets calls like this? So there’s this Cinderella shoe, I mean, you know, like there’s one shoe, on our steps, and there’s blood. I don’t know if it’s even worth calling, but I just thought you guys should know. What do you even do with that? We don’t know. We just lock our doors and text our friends this odd photo and somewhere out there, is a man with one size 11 shoe, and a dream in his heart.