Agnus Dei

Ok, so my sleep schedule's all out of whack, I've had way too much caffeine, and I'm waiting for Amy, who is stuck on a bus in a traffic jam, to get home. Hence the 2 am post.

As you remember from the last song I posted, I'm currently working on a project to write a worship mass--here's another installment.

The last movement of the ordinary of the mass is the Agnus Dei. The words are very simple in Latin:
Agnus Dei
Quitolis peccata mundi
Miserere nobis
Dona nobis pacem

In Englsih:
Lamb of God
who takes away the sin of the world
have mercy on us
give us peace.

Simple and wonderful. I started working on this song a few hours ago, right after reading more news on BBC about Israel and Lebanon. The world is sometimes a screwed up place. How fitting that the only words I could think of when I sat down to play were these.



Sorry about the ambient noise. Loud neighborhood. Both the voices are me, in case you didn't notice. Garage band rocks. I tried to keep it thematically similar to the last song I did, since that one was toward the beginning of the mass and this will be at the end. That way it fits together. Yeah, I'm a nerd.

I Live Here

I was talking to my friend Janelle at community group a couple weeks ago, and she asked how long I've lived in Madrid, and when I told her 2 1/2 years, she laughed. "It's funny; I still think of you as one of the newbies."

"That's ok," I said, "most of the time, so do I."

It's really been over the past six months I've come to the realization that I live here. In Madrid. I know that this seems to be obvious, but to be honest the realization crept up on me, some pieces of it slowly, some with a vengeance. None of it with my express permission. I live here.

Maybe I should step back and explain:

University is a temporary thing. You see the end from the beginning. I worked at a credit center for six months. I knew it was a temp job when I started. My first six months here I was an intern with Mountainview International Church. A temporary thing. After that I planned to finish out my year here by taking classes at the Universidad Complutense Madrid. Another temporary thing. Six months became a year and a half, and then several months of temporary life in the U.S. raising support.

This really didn't bother me, especially in the beginning. I don't think I wanted permanence right out of college. Maybe I'm wrong, but I think lots of people graduate from university with a fear of permanence--a fear of waking up one day and it's 30 years later. So we compartmentalize our time into neat 6 month or one year chunks, moving from one transitory state to another.

But in the past 6 months, that fear has been replaced by something else. The desire to live somewhere, to call somewhere home. To "settle down." Spending years in one place, doing the same thing, isn't a scary thought to me anymore. It sounds refreshingly...normal. Sustainable. Grown-up.

Somehow I've come to feel that Madrid is my city. I know this city, and want to know it better. I love this city, and I want to serve it because I love it and want it to be better. I do what I consider "long term" things here now. I have worked up the nerve to go to Spanish doctors. I got new glasses here. I called the persiana guy when our blinds broke. I ventured into an underwear store to find a slip. I got my hair cut here and liked it. I'm developing some friendships that might take years to become close. Small things, but things I would have avoided if there was a chance I'd be moving on in 6 months. I find myself making plans to visit friends in Portugal summer of 2007. Thinking about where I'll live in Madrid when the 5 years on this apartment contract runs out. I'm thinking of where I want God to bring Oasis Madrid to in the next several years, and each time I think of it I see myself still in Madrid.

It's not as easy for me as before to think of my life in six month intervals. Six months is nothing--a sigh. When I'm 40, six months will be a blink. When I'm 50, less than that. Life is more than the sum of six month intervals.

It's not scary. It's not boring. To risk sounding trite, its....nice.

Permanence is a relative term in church planting. I don't know where God will take me. But I know that for now I live in Madrid. I really live here. And that's a good thing.

What a Day

The day started out well. I woke up actually kind of cold, which is refreshing, had my coffee, started well. Later, I had a great lunch with my friend Elsebeth. She's a Danish woman in my community group, and she lives right around the corner from me.

Amy left for Castellon yesterday, so I'm in this big flat by myself. I love it. I was determined to come up with a plan to pamper myself tonight. Or if not to pamper, at least to enjoy myself.

At around 8 I had a concrete plan for the evening. I would take the metro to Troy and Heather's apartment, pick up some pictures and books and stuff I needed from there, and end up at home around 9:15. Perfect timing to run over to La Vita e Bella--a great little takeout Italian place around the corner. I would get myself some delicious pasta to take home and eat while reading. Since it's cool at night, I might stay up and work on our team's display for staff conference while comfortable.

Perfect plan, right? Now, just to carry it out, step by step.

Step 1: metro. Line 4 is hot, but I have a fan and a book, and have mastered the art of fanning myself with one hand while holding the book with the other. I don't even have to stop the breeze to turn pages.

And that was the last step that went well.

I was about 50 metres from the Cady's apartment complex before I realized I had picked up the wrong set of keys--the ones NOT including their keys. This normally wouldn't be a problem, except the Cady's are in Colorado at the moment. I had no choice but to turn around and head back to the metro.

10 steps later I felt a big fat raindrop on my arm. I looked at the sky, puzzled at how it could be raining when there wasn't a cloud in sight. It took about 2 seconds for my brain to register and my eyes to turn to my arm, which was sporting a lovely spot of bird poop.

I am a statistical impossibility. Unless I'm mistaken, most people go their whole lives without being pooped on by birds. Am I wrong? Even if they do, it's maybe once or twice their whole lives, unless they work in a chicken farm or something. My count is now up to 3 in the last couple years, not to mention
the gross dead-pigeon incident that was somehow even more disturbing than bird poop. All have been in different places, at different times. There is no pattern.

I was so anxious to get it off my arm that I quickly swiped it against the nearest tree. It got the poop off alright, but I skinned my arm on the tree in the process, and still felt gross.

Another metro ride home, not as successful with the book and the fan because I was trying to hold my arm away from my body because of the bird poop germs.

Now on to the Italian place, where I ordered what looked like a lovely creamy pasta. The day was not wasted! I got home, sat down with my ice water, and put the first lovely bite in my mouth.

The sauce had gorgonzola in it. Think of a mix of bleu cheese with a taste that matches the smell of dirty feet. There are very few things in the world I hate more than gorgonzola cheese. I don't care if I just paid for this pasta, I will not eat this. I suppressed a gag as I carried it to the kitchen.

But here's the thing--I'm really cheap. Even if I can't eat it without gagging, I can't throw away a perfectly good (minus the horrible taste) pasta with cherry tomatoes and spinach that I paid for. I got the bright idea to rinse the pasta, spinach, and tomatoes. How hard could it be? Then I could put some olive oil or some pesto on it, and it would be edible again.

Gorgonzola cheese is not easy to wash off of pasta. It breaks up into minute, almost microscopic chunks of foulness that lodge themselves in the center of each penne noodle. But again, I am cheap. If I have to wash each noodle individually, I WILL SAVE THIS PASTA!

20 minutes later, the pasta is clean and pestoed, and I don't even want to look at it, much less eat it. Looks like a nectarine for supper for me!

This story has a happy ending. The nectarine was wonderful and hit the spot. Which just goes to show you that just because you do something stupid, get pooped on, skin your arm, and unwittingly shove dirty foot cheese in your mouth, the cloud has a silver nectarine. Or something like that.

OH MY GOSH!!!!

This may be my big moment. This may be when everything changes. My life could take a new direction.

Switchfoot is having a cowbell contest.

Yes, a cowbell contest. You video yourself playing the cowbell, and if you win the contest they fly you to L.A. and you get TO PLAY THE COWBELL ON SWITCHFOOT'S NEXT ALBUM!!!!!!!!! I could pee my pants. Oh my gosh.

Click on the title and it will take you to the site.

Now I just have to work up the nerve to video myself playing the cowbell and risk it being posted on the Switchfoot website for all to laugh at. But come on! This is my dream!

Why I am not in Hollywood

I was going to film my apartment and post it on my blog so that family and friends in the States can see where I live. While this video will serve that purpose, the main reason I post it now is this: pure comedic genius. I couldn't be more of a video nerd if I tried. It is quite possibly the most horrible cinematography of all time and definitely the worst narration.

But I know you will all get a kick out of it, so here it is, in its entirety. The flat is amazing, though, no?

Look closely and see if you can spot the bag of dirt, and some cleaning supplies left out where they shouldn't be.

Without further adieu....

Life after Sidney Bristow

We've been watching DVD's of Alias that we borrowed from the Cady's. This is probably the first series that I've seen every episode from start to finish. There's nothing better to do on a day off than spend hours watching Sidney, Jack, and the gang kick criminal mastermind butt over and over.

Watching too much Alias does mess with my sense of reality. It makes me say things to Victoria like "I wonder if they could invent a kevlar skin cream--that way they would be protected all over and not have to wear that hot vest," or "Hey, if we got some really slick shoes, we could just slide/surf down the bannisters of the escalator--it would make things much faster." I disagree with other spy movies because I have a thorough knowledge of the inner workings of the CIA, through Alias. I think up elaborate schemes of escaping our apartment (in case of invasion) using the scaffolding in our courtyard, to go up to the roof and then rapel down the outside, slipping away in an incredibly cool wig (and while we're at it, Sidney's incredibly cool fitness) and with whatever incredibly gorgeous guy she's with. I am Sidney Bristow.

We finished seaon 5 on Thursday, which is the last season. Maybe it's a good thing for me, so my brain can get back to reality, but I'm sad to see it go. Things ended as I had hoped (I'm not giving anything away for those of you who are still waiting), but the sad part is that they ended.

Maybe I'll start borrowing DVD's of Lost.

In an Old Notebook

Eventually I'll post about Prague. Until then, here's this to tide you over. I found this written in a notebook I've not used in about a year, and from what's written I think it was written at the leaders' retreat at Aguas Vivas camp in April of 2005. I love my bad poetry, so you all get to indulge me today.

To squint into the sun
until the jagged black outlines of the mountains come into focus
To turn my eyes
from the intense light, only to see it reflected, golden warm,
on a thick bed of pine needles
To hear nothing
but the conversation of birds
the buzzzing of flies
the laughter of children, somewhere out of sight
To make a bed in those pine needles, lean agains a tree
and listen...
to the wind
echoing from rock to rock
loud, then soft,
then loud again
To feel it move through my hair and my eyelashes,
over my face
Blending warm and sweet with the sun
and the fresh, earthy smell of the pine needles
To sing to God
and to hear HIM sing back
in color
in smell
in wind
in the conversation of birds
To pray
This is to pray.