where the music takes me.

As of late, I've taken up the big table by the windows in the quiet section of the library, where I sit in the sun or under the rolling clouds, and I neglect homework to look down from the second story at all the people passing by on the sidewalk outside.  The most striking thing is the way they stare at their phones.  Those electronics that fit in their hands, or their pockets.  It seems as if no one is capable of walking alone - without friend or phone.

But I can't say that I'm any different.  Introvert to the core, I sometimes avoid eye contact with people I don't know (and sadly, sometimes the ones I do).  I admire those that make others comfortable by their mere presence.  The ones who draw me out and encourage, and call me by my name.  

Looking people in the eye is scary.  Because sometimes, I accidentally stumble on their souls.  Maybe this is why I spend so much time by myself, in the library, thinking, studying, watching.  It's easier.

I am comfortable in my rolling chair at this table by the windows, and I listen to Bethel and take it slow. Some music is timeless; it doesn't take me to a particular decade or year, but a place.  And sometimes, that place is a person, or a group of people.  A van ride at 3pm.  A worship night where someone asks me to pray for them, and we both hold hands and cry.  A midnight walk under the stars in the cold, wet grass to sing hymns in a gazebo.  A birthday party at ranch with horses and lots of people where I turn 9.  A piano competition where I don't win, but my teacher cries happy tears.  An orphanage in a third-world country where I hold a little boy in the heat and realize he will now be my brother.