(Hello Tornado.)
Sam's podcast was released live without a hitch this morning for Easter service, along with explicit and thorough instructions on the website and as well offers of a paper copy of the sermon to be emailed or even post-mailed if necessary to anyone who called or emailed and requested such. It's a weird and comforting thing to listen to him preach through my headphones. His voice is comforting and soft, authoritative and convicted. He talks about Jesus like he's a friend, a member of the Collective soon to return.
I suppose he is, though we are, as always, reluctant to welcome strangers.
He's been here before, Sam reminds me and I press resume, as I want to hear it again. I'm almost blissfully thankful that I have few recorded examples of Jacob's voice. If I listen to him it's a knife through the heart, making it hard to breathe.
Lochlan comes by, yanking out the knife, wiping it on his cargo pants, putting it in the sink to wash, staunching the flow of blood, mixed with misery to make it rainbow-glittery, bringing me back to life. He asks if I'm done with church yet, saying he would like a trip down to the water if I want a swim, still a little angry that I went for one yesterday with Duncan but without a swimsuit.
Duncan didn't swim though, I reminded Lochlan at the time.
I know, he scowls. And had I known I would have gone, he says, sending me up in flames.
When we get down to the beach I strip out of my clothes, still dressed in tattoos and grandeur.
Well? He says. Sink or swim.
But I don't run into the water, away from his eyes like I did with Duncan. Instead I move in close so I am right in front of him, the wind whipping my hair into my eyes and mouth, looking like a tornado with nowhere to touch down.
Come in with me.
He looks out at the water, then up at the steps and then back at me. Then he says Okay, and takes off his clothes. We run into the freezing cold water holding hands and then run back out before we get our hair wet.
Best Easter service ever. If Jesus comes back right this second, he's going to get an eyeful.
Sam's podcast was released live without a hitch this morning for Easter service, along with explicit and thorough instructions on the website and as well offers of a paper copy of the sermon to be emailed or even post-mailed if necessary to anyone who called or emailed and requested such. It's a weird and comforting thing to listen to him preach through my headphones. His voice is comforting and soft, authoritative and convicted. He talks about Jesus like he's a friend, a member of the Collective soon to return.
I suppose he is, though we are, as always, reluctant to welcome strangers.
He's been here before, Sam reminds me and I press resume, as I want to hear it again. I'm almost blissfully thankful that I have few recorded examples of Jacob's voice. If I listen to him it's a knife through the heart, making it hard to breathe.
Lochlan comes by, yanking out the knife, wiping it on his cargo pants, putting it in the sink to wash, staunching the flow of blood, mixed with misery to make it rainbow-glittery, bringing me back to life. He asks if I'm done with church yet, saying he would like a trip down to the water if I want a swim, still a little angry that I went for one yesterday with Duncan but without a swimsuit.
Duncan didn't swim though, I reminded Lochlan at the time.
I know, he scowls. And had I known I would have gone, he says, sending me up in flames.
When we get down to the beach I strip out of my clothes, still dressed in tattoos and grandeur.
Well? He says. Sink or swim.
But I don't run into the water, away from his eyes like I did with Duncan. Instead I move in close so I am right in front of him, the wind whipping my hair into my eyes and mouth, looking like a tornado with nowhere to touch down.
Come in with me.
He looks out at the water, then up at the steps and then back at me. Then he says Okay, and takes off his clothes. We run into the freezing cold water holding hands and then run back out before we get our hair wet.
Best Easter service ever. If Jesus comes back right this second, he's going to get an eyeful.