I haven’t updated in a while. It’s been a crazy crazy quarter. I am taking less credits, with more work than ever before. It’s been good though, I have learned so much. I am growing a good deal, though it doesn’t always feel like it. There are little things that God is changing in my life, and I think that I will be able to see them more fully over time time during break or even beyond.
The sun is out today in Seattle, it’s one of the few times I don’t regret coming to school here. The sunshine reminds me of freshman year, Ed/Min with Dr. Smyth and laying on the green Demarray lawn while pretending to do homework. It reminds me of the times at Gasworks, and dancing in the Loop, the clouds at Marshall, Wednesday night Rendevouz and so much more.
I’m listening to David Crowder, and I should be working on a paper. But I can’t focus right now. I can’t seem to stay on topic, I can’t think of what to say about Brad’s music and John Wesley. There’s so much to say, and yet, it’s all been said in the simple lyrics. I am wishing and wishing that I could do justice to his words, but instead I am distracted by the guy in the green shirt in Martin Square. He keeps checking his cell phone, and he has a funny black and red bag on the ground below the bench that is bathed in sunlight. Earlier it seemed the whole of campus had descended on Martin Square below me. There was Molly and the boy talking to her was the same one that flirted outrageously with Leah last year. Emily was there, wearing the unecessary red jacket, and the red hat that didn’t quite match crowned her black hair. Yikwa was sitting there with his laptop, his timbuktu bag still slung over his shoulder, covering his waist. He is probably working on the same paper as me.
But now I’m watching Lindsey walk away with Molly. I don’t know when Lindsey in her bright yellow sweater arrived on the warm bricks set in such a confusing pattern. And now Yikwa has picked up his cellphone, checked the time, closes his laptop, stands, adjusts his timbuktu, and grabs the laptop in one hand, then waddles away. And the boy with the bright green shirt, short sleeved despite the faint chill; the one wearing the funny brown hat that makes him look Russian or Mongol; he has slung his odd red and black backpack over his shoulder, checked his cell phone one last time, and he has moved from my line of vision.
ah the windows in the third floor of the library.
so entirely distracting.
but Wesley is calling…
