I’ve been going through this constant, drawn out period of introspection. It seems to happen every winter, but it was especially poignant this year. I had an entire day where I felt completely alone; like God had abandoned me and like I was strongly doubting His existence. I grew bitter towards myself for “wasting” my time and for being such a phony leader. (As an aside, I have to give my friend Richie kudos for the wisest thing I’ve ever heard anyone his age say. He was leading our devotions one day in Mexico and going through the concept of wasted time. He concluded that time cannot be wasted, since God is sovereign and in control of time and all of our surroundings. He essentially said that when we start thinking of time as wasted, we are doubting God’s sovereignty and doubting His will for our lives.)

This all stems from my old life of atheism. I always considered organized religion to have a good side to it, rather than how most atheists view it as wholly evil. I knew that religion could often inspire goodness in people. Throughout my day of flashing back into that mentality, I viewed myself as a false prophet and false teacher, leading lambs to their own slaughter. I can’t quite put it into words, because it honestly doesn’t make sense outside of that mindset. It’s a package of lies from Satan. The first one starts with a grain of twisted truth. The next one strays further from the truth, and eventually you start doubting your own faith and start doubting your convictions and start doubting that you are loved by anyone or even capable of love. For me, I start remembering a vision I had years ago in Sun River, Oregon at our youth camp. I was leading people in a dark place. They were all trusting me in every direction I gave. Eventually, I led them off a cliff as I stood by watching each one fall into nothingness. I came back to reality terrified. I’ve never forgotten that day, and it haunts me every time I start questioning the calling on my life.

In other depressing leadership developments, my Bulgaria missions team is falling apart in front of my eyes. A few weeks ago, one of the girls let me know she wasn’t coming back to school and couldn’t be on the team. Last week, we found out that we had been planning for the wrong dates. Instead of June 24-July, the trip is going to be May 24-June 3. Today, because of the date changes, my assistant team leader and the last remaining girl had to drop off the team. That leaves only myself and my roommate. The two of us would gladly go by ourselves, but we’re not yet sure if the missionary wants a two-person team or if our school would approve the trip with only two of us.

Getting back to the whole spiritual battle, my feelings of solitary confinement (I use the prison themed rhetoric to convey the feelings of imprisonment and oppression) are so complete that I feel like the enemy has an entire battalion after me. I’m being bombarded and battered on multiple fronts every single day. I’m missing out on the types of affirmation I know I need. Physical touch has always been important to me, but it goes beyond just that. I know that what I’m truly missing isn’t the types of intimacy and contact my flesh tells me I’m missing (the desire for romantic contact has been welling up, but I both know the timing isn’t right and know that who is interested in me isn’t the person I’m supposed to be with, so I’ll be continuing to avoid that). I’m missing meaningful mentoring and discipleship. I don’t have anyone here yet who truly desires to see me grow and to make it happen. Correction: I haven’t allowed anyone to become that person. I have potential mentors and potential close peers all around me, but I’ve been too guarded and too jaded to let any relationship develop into that.

Last week, after going through the day of doubt, I had to attend some meetings for campus leaders. I thought most of them unnecessary, and several other people agreed with me. Unfortunately, this feeling turned into a full scale rebellion on my part, including just not showing up for the second half of the day. I was angry, doubting my purpose, and tired of people trying to encourage me out of my mood. I was even avoiding the intimate service planned for that evening, until I got a text from a good friend essentially telling me to man up. (The last thing a self-pitying person wants is to be preached at) He simply told me to come to the service. He didn’t sugarcoat it, make it sound nice, or fluff it to meaninglessness. He simply said “Come on, we have service. Get here.” I left my conversation and went. Throughout worship, God was dealing with my hopelessness and my self doubt. Then our leader, instead of starting to preach, opened up the microphone for confession, prayer requests, and true transparency. Essentially, he could have just said “Willem, come get everything off your chest so we can pray with you and show you we love you and we’re in this battle with you.” That time was incredible. I was encouraged, emboldened, and liberated.

Now, I’m just trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. A bit. I’m considering switching over to become an English major. This would not necessarily change my career aspirations, as God has called me into student development and missions, primarily in Muslim areas of the world (along with church planting, the Engage program, and what I’m sure will be multiple years pastoring in the US). My interest in an English major stems primarily from my love for the language (and all languages, really…even French). Many times, I have been told that I should consider majoring in English, for multiple reasons. The switch would also allow me access into many situations as a teacher of English as a second language, which would make accessing “closed” countries significantly more possible and make residency in many other countries more likely attainable.

Along with the long-term vision, I’m trying to figure out exactly what that means for today and what God’s vision for my present is. If I’m going to live the crazy life I just described, I’m going to need quite a special partner for that. What that means is that I’d sure better prepare myself to be deserving of someone like that…one of God’s most beloved daughters. That means redefining purity, healthy relationships, and manhood. Along with preparation for the future, I have opportunities to model all of these changes; this progressive sanctification. I’m finding more and more chances to pour into other guys here on campus, to challenge them to live intentionally.

Oh yeah, and I’m involved at church now. I serve coffee on Sundays, help strategize and plan for the young adults group, and am transitioning onto the leadership team for the youth group, which is exploding. Our church is going to three services this month because the place is absolutely PACKED each week. Our pastor is asking us, the college students, to staff the third service. I, of course, am finding roles to fill. So much to do…

Anyone have advice? Thoughts? Questions? Hit me in the comments.

Since I moved here, I haven’t been to the same church twice. Now, I know it’s normal to search around for what’s supposed to become your “home” church when you get to school, so the process isn’t as depressing as I make it out to be. However, the method I’ve been using disgusts me. I’ve been looking for whichever place is already established; where I’ll be able to simply come to be stimulated every Sunday. I instantly ruled out a church just because I didn’t like their style of worship. Another didn’t make the cut because of the annoying voice of the worship leader. I axed another because I thought the preacher was obnoxious. I liked the megachurch I visited, but I’m not sure if I liked it because of the style of worship, the preaching, the video announcements, all the opportunities available, or because I was with people I was comfortable with.

Over the last week, I’ve been struggling with where to call home. I ruled out the megachurch for various reasons, which for the time being will remain private. I’m down to the last two I visited. One is led by a man of great vision who is establishing the precedent for great things to come. The other is a seemingly dying hispanic church that seems entirely set in their ways. I know I would be useful to both. One is on the way up and I could learn a lot and be a part of something great and successful. The other is on the way down and I could be a part of something miraculous or disastrous. I really don’t know where I’m going. I’ll let you know in the morning, I suppose. Either way, where I go tomorrow is my new home. God will let me know.

“Like a dog that returns to his vomit is a fool who repeats his folly”(Proverbs 26:11 ESV) is the first. The Jamieson-Fausset-Brown Bible Commentary comments: “11. returneth . folly-Though disgusting to others, the fool delights in his folly.”

“What the true proverb says has happened to them: ‘The dog returns to its own vomit, and the sow, after washing herself, returns to wallow in the mire.’”(2 Peter 2:22 ESV) is the second.

I couldn’t help but think of these references today as I returned from a visit to El Colli. Our favorite (I know, I know, we shouldn’t have favorites) family from the neighborhood is a mom (who babysits Seth during the week) and her six daughters, and she had just moved back into the neighborhood. You’d expect us to be excited to have her back, right? Wrong. She should have stayed three hours away in Aguascalientes with her parents, where we helped move her several months ago. This woman has run away from her drunk, abusive, deadbeat husband more times than she can actually remember, and she keeps crawling back. Why? Why does she do it?

“My daughters miss their dad” was the excuse she gave this time, as the two oldest girls rolled their eyes and shook their heads behind her back. The oldest is now 17, with a baby boy of her own and a deadbeat runaway boyfriend to match. The second oldest is 13 and has recently started to recognize and vocalize the ridiculous decisions her mother is making, but without any guidance is doing so destructively and disrespectfully. I glanced around the sparsely decorated one-room shack, smelling the dust mixed with the odor of an overfull outhouse, feeling the pocked and pitched, broken concrete beneath my feet, leaning upon the bunkbed which slept six girls and a baby boy, soaking in the chill of the open doorways and the symphony of torrential rain on the aluminum roof. My eyes wandered back to “Mom.” She was currently explaining how her husband was “actually changing this time.” How she “could hear it in his voice.” She rambled on about how “even though he’s said all of these things before,” she “knew he wouldn’t hit [her] anymore…certainly not in front of the girls.”

We had helped this sow remove herself from the mire (I don’t mean to call her a pig; I love this woman and think she has a heart of gold, but that’s the biblical example I’ve got to work with so I’ll use it.) and wash herself clean, giving her a new start in a new city free of her old problems. True to form, she then promptly returned to wallow, taking her litter with her. We feel so powerless to help her, because she won’t help herself. The true pain, though, lies with the girls. What are those girls learning about strength, about love, about role models, about respect? What will the impact be on their future relationships with guys?

There is so much work to be done here, and so much we are powerless to do. I am so thankful that we can rely on Christ Jesus to transform hearts, minds, and lives; to redeem the enslaved, to heal the broken, and to encourage and strengthen the weak. I’m praying for this family and this neighborhood, and I would be honored if you would join me in that prayer.

There are thousands of prostitute ministries in this world, and I salute every single one of them. Certainly, some may be approaching the field without having counted the cost or without having a faint inkling of what they’re supposed to do, but they’re trying. They’re reaching out to broken women and offering the hope and the healing that only God Almighty can provide. While not perfect and certainly not easy, clean, or simple, prostitute ministries are something our Father absolutely throws His weight behind. Why? Because it’s an attempt to step inside His will for His beautiful and beloved daughters.

Here’s where our lives in Mexico get messy. Men who have had surgeries to try to look like women are not God’s beautiful and beloved daughters. Instead, they are God’s valiant and mighty sons. They are the leaders of families. They are the strength and the backbone of society. They are the governors and warriors of the people. They are sons of Adam, hand-crafted in the image of God Almighty, the Father in Heaven we are created to worship and enter into a loving relationship with. At least that’s what they were meant to be.

Instead, they are little boys tortured and sexually abused. They are cold, twisted, black hearts. They are bound and shackled by fear, by hate, by disease, by disgust, by neglect, by loneliness, by Satan. They are confused. They are hurting. They are lost. They dwell in darkness. They prowl the streets, repeatedly entering into slavery most foul. They sell their bodies and, thereby, their destinies as mighty men, for drugs, cash, or for a sense of belonging, of being wanted. They are looked upon with scorn by people of all walks. They are mocked by homeless beggars. They are threatened. They are pressured. They are hopeless.

Check that. They are not hopeless. We have a hope for them, and we once seemed hopeless ourselves. I’m reminded of 2 Corinthians 1:9-10

^“9Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us^(A) rely not on ourselves^(B) but on God^(C) who raises the dead. ^10(D) He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us.^(E) On him we have set our hope that he will deliver us again.”

How, when we have been snatched from death (Romans teaches us that the wages of sin are death, and that we were all in sin before Christ snatched us from it with His sacrifice), though we were unworthy, how do we turn a blind eye to these tormented souls? How do we judge them? How do we condemn them? How do we determine that they, or anyone else, is beyond the hope of Christ?

Is it not our responsibility, no, our command from God Himself, to hold out hope for these men? Is it not our responsibility to hold them in prayer? Is it not our responsibility to love them at all costs? Is it not our responsibility to share the love of Jesus Christ, as well as His Good News, with them, before they are lost to the depths of Hell forever?

Of course it is. That’s not the question though, is it? We all know our responsibility. We all know our charge. What we don’t know, is how to do so. For now, it’s with a prayer-walk combined with praying at home for direction (half the group on the walk, half at home) every other Friday night. Someday, we hope to partner with a local church to physically launch this ministry (This is the Engage way. We make sure a local church is involved with our ministries so they will continue in case anything diplomatically catastrophic causes us to suddenly leave the country.), but until that point we are relegated to prayers and prayer-walking only. This is not to diminish prayer, as it is a vital part of one’s spiritual life and any ministry not covered in prayer generally serves very little, if any purpose whatsoever. However, we, as missionaries, tend to be people of action rather than people of waiting. These men are dying out there, and we want to intervene and help.

Please join us in prayers for these men, for the daily lives they lead (Who knows what that looks like? Do they have families? Day jobs? Can they even go to the store without being mocked and ridiculed?), for the nights they suffer through, for conviction and transformation, for light in their dark world, for partners in this ministry, for their safety and health, and for God to be glorified when they are redeemed by the blood of Christ. He died for them too. They just don’t know it yet.

I’ve been humbled and corrected. The week of “El Colli Boot Camp” was spurred by our total neglect towards preparation, both in physical work and spiritual, for El Colli practice and “game day.” We showed up to Thursday’s practice with terrible attitudes, completely unprepared to teach everyone our roles and parts for Saturday’s ministry. Because of this, that Saturday ended up being rather underwhelming. This all sets up what we experienced over that week.

On Monday night after our meeting, we were handed rules for the week. These rules dictated two pairs of clothing for the entire week, including socks, shoes, underwear, etc. No electricity use except for homework. No computer use except for homework. No shaving. No toiletries except for one bar of soap per bathroom and a toothbrush and toothpaste. No using the dryer. No hot water. Spending limit of 20 pesos for the week. Most importantly: no complaining.

That night (Monday) we slept on the floor at Matt and Angie’s house. Guys in one room, girls in another. The next morning, we were given 1.5 hours to get everyone showered, using no hot water or electricity, still in the dark. Since “everyone” included 13 people, this was quite a task. We also divvied up 6 granola bars, 6 apples, and a box of cheerios between everyone. For the cheerios, there were only cups, no bowls, and no spoons. Also, we had one box of milk that was not cold. The morning was surprisingly smooth and we all got out the door and off to classes in plenty of time. That might have been the last smooth part of the week.

Tuesday day was not too terrible. We’ve all gone a day without a shower, right? We felt fine. Shoot, some of us were downright chipper. Tuesday night after La Fusion was a different story. We’d been stuck in a hot sweaty room with a bunch of kids (whom we dearly love) who were driving us crazy, we were hungry, we were sticky, and we weren’t allowed to use the microwave to heat up our dinner, or use the lights even though they function perfectly, or allowed to take a shower. That was a rough night’s sleep.

Wednesday we were allowed to take bucket showers. If you’ve never heard of a bucket shower, you don’t have to be a genius to figure out what it means. There’s a bucket. It has cold water. You give yourself a “shower” with a cup or sponge in the bucket. Simple, right? Actually, yes. The bucket showers were a lot less brutally frigid than the 2 minute shower at Matt and Angie’s, but since it isn’t hot water you still don’t quite feel clean. Wednesday mornings are worship devotionals, so Carolyn led us in a bunch of songs a capella. This turned out so much better than I had expected it to and we all drew close to God. We concluded with some heartfelt prayer and headed off to school, where we all felt self-conscious about wearing the same clothes as the day before. Wednesday is generally a pretty slow day for ministry, so we didn’t have to do much after school except study for our other classes and hang out with each other. (One awesome little aside about Wednesday is that Kim Crannell, a great friend since Mr. Bono’s Pre-Algebra class in 6th grade, sent me three pairs of brand new shorts in the mail, since all of mine had ripped and had to be discarded. They arrived on Wednesday and they all fit perfectly and Kim has earned my love forever, although she already had it)

Thursday was back to normal cold showers (still only in the morning. For everyone else, this is normal. For me, I’ve been a night shower person since I was about 7 years old when my sister started Kindergarten. Showers slow me down and put me to sleep, so this was of particular annoyance to me, and I had to repent of my frustration at the end of the week when I realized what was going on), but they weren’t nearly as bad as the first ones because, again, we had time to do it carefully. The quirk for Thursday was twofold: Thursdays are “Dia de Español” and we were not allowed to use silverware for the day. Dia de Español means that, outside of meetings, we are only allowed to speak in Spanish for the entire day, from the conclusion of morning devotions until dinner commences in the evening. This is easier for some of us, but with sleep deprivation, stench, discomfort, and general discontent stemming from living with people for a month and a half, we were all approaching a breaking point that day.

Friday was the zenith of the experience. We were allowed showers on Thursday night (still cold) and I took mine right around 11pm, figuring that would be the best timing for the water to be the warmest (in Mexico, potable water is kept in tanks on the roof, so the water is being warmed by the sun all day). I was right. That shower felt absolutely amazing. We were also allowed to change into our second pair of clothes on Friday morning, so we felt refreshed throughout the day. That night, we opened up the youth center and spent hours playing with kids from both Arenales (the youth center neighborhood) and from Casa Hogar (a home for abandoned/orphaned boys). We also attempted to get them to watch Shrek 3 in Spanish, but that didn’t last long. It did last long enough for them to consume inordinate proportions of Coca Cola and Jiffy Pop, though, which they loved.

After sending all of our munchkins off for the night, we headed over to El Colli to split up into two groups and walk around the neighborhood observing just what happens. I cannot stress this enough: that was a dangerous thing to do. The violence in this neighborhood isn’t something we couldn’t handle, since there really aren’t guns or things like that, but the spiritual oppression and the perversion of this place is not only palpable, it’s so thick in the air that it feels like you’re wading through a bog of sin, fetid with the stench of decay and rife with the whispered lies in the shadows. I stayed close to our girls, ready to do anything necessary to protect their innocence, their comfort, and their bodies. After the walk, we met back up at the van and discussed all that we had seen, felt, heard, smelled, and sensed. At the end of the night, we came home for dinner, which was eaten hurriedly and with much loud complaining about the week.

At the conclusion of dinner, Angie commented on how little it sounded like we had learned based on our conversation and complaining, going so far as to mention that the week could be extended if necessary. Angie drilled home the point of the week: “You’re supposed to be learning what it’s like to live in El Colli, not that that is possible living in an amazing house with a real bed and fans and going to two colleges at the same time, but you’re supposed to be gaining an understanding, be it ever so minute and limited, about the kids you’re serving. It doesn’t sound like you guys learned anything. I want you to take a moment to think about this week, then every person is going to explain what they’ve learned.”

That ring around the table was one of the most passion-filled, compassionate, heart-breaking conversations I’ve ever had the pleasure and the honor to take part in. Each of us spilled out intimate heartcries for the rest of the group to hear and each of us broke down at one point or another. For my part, I spoke of my brief stint as a homeless person in college, which almost nobody knows about. I related it to this and said that even that was becoming a source of pride, that the enemy was lying to me about my supposedly superior experiences and my supposedly superior wisdom and that I had been listening to and putting credence in those lies. In truth, I have more to learn than I could have ever thought possible, and I am now even slower to learn it because I spent so much time thinking I already knew it. I repented and asked for forgiveness from the group for my arrogance and my pride.

The next day was El Colli, but I stayed home. Normally, this is not allowed. On this week, I have no idea why it was allowed, except that I had almost no responsibility at the ministry that day and I had to get a ton of homework done so I could go to a retreat with the youth group at my church (Esmirna) that night, where I ended up making a ton of friends, building relationships like a madman, got asked by the youth pastor to lead worship some time in English, and discovered that I now have at least one Mexicana who has a crush on me. That last part is the least exciting, by far.

When we got home on Sunday, we went straight to the finish line of the Guadalajara Marathon to watch Angela Tiffany (not Matt’s Angie) and Matt finish their race. Unfortunately, we were on Mexican time (I’m not sure why they even say time in that phrase, since Mexicans both have no concept of it and don’t keep track of it), which meant we were about 30 minutes late to see the finish. They both finished, however, and I am so proud of both of them.

On the way home from the marathon, I did something crazy. I signed up for a 10k this weekend. Oy vey. This could turn out to be a very bad decision.

I’ve been very short-tempered lately, especially with one person in the house. I seem to be looking for faults to call pet-peeves, looking for opportunities to criticize and harass, and looking for specks in this person’s eye, while I clearly have a log the size of the Florida panhandle in my own.

I’m also feeling lonely. I’m surrounded by people I think I actually enjoy, working in ministry and living in a house and supporting each other in two different schools, but I feel completely alone. I have God with me, and I know I need to be looking there for comfort, but I feel anxious. I think this stems from my unwillingness to give up my desire for marriage and to find my mate for life. I had been thinking about that for a few months before coming here, and now that I’m strictly forbidden from dating (which is a policy I fully understand and support) I’m feeling forlorn; like it’s so much further away than I want it to be.

I’m also not doing very well in school (SAGU). I’m not organized or adhering to the organization that I did set out for myself, so I fell behind and have been trying to play catch up, but all my classes suffered because of it. I’ve taken three tests in three different classes so far and did well on one, barely passed another, and I feel like I did horribly on the third. I’m trying to get caught up and organized this week, so hopefully I’ll be feeling secure soon.

I guess that’s all for now. I’m going to go hide in my room to repent, read, pray, and cry myself to sleep.

We often talk about being made strong in our weaknesses by giving God the opportunity to work through us, but what about becoming stronger in our strengths? So frequently, we pridefully believe that we can do something without God’s blessing or assistance because it falls into one of our so-called strengths. I want to challenge that pride. To arrogantly proceed without seeking God is sin, and we do so every day.

When I came to Mexico, I considered verbal communication to be my biggest strength and gifting (both on a preaching and a relational level). While I have the opportunity to speak in English with my team members and to build them up and encourage them, I can rarely communicate while doing ministry. This is an area of growth for me, as I’m learning that even my biggest strength can be as nothing to simply showing God’s love. Honestly, I can’t even hold a full conversation with an eight year old kid, so I’m learning to allow God to work through me more freely.

The thought I really am trying to convey here is that God deserves your whole heart, rather than just the parts you think you can’t manage on your own. Give up your weaknesses, give up your strengths, watch Him create something wholly new. It’ll blow your socks off.

Written 7/10/08, Revised 8/16/08

V1: These strongholds/

Are invading my heart.

The devil’s/

Been tearin’ me apart.

PC: But (now) I know/ (now is second time)

That I’ve got a way.

To fight back/

To keep him at bay.

C: I’ll repent of the sin I’ve been livin’.

I’ll rebuke all the lies I’ve been given.

I’ll replace ‘em with Your truth from above.

And I will receive your eternal love.

V2: The devil’s/

Been tryin’ again.

To tempt me/

And trap me in sin.

PC

C

I’ll repent.

I’ll rebuke him.

I’ll replace.

I’ll receive love from You.

This is my battle plan.

I’ve been up and down of late, on several fronts. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I know the good is trying to prevail, and it will.

Friends are weird. I feel like I’m just dropping the old (old? how can anyone I hang out with be an old friend? I just moved here in September and I haven’t know anyone in this area for more than two years, not to mention that, aside from Brian, I haven’t really been close with anyone here for anything close to that amount of time) friends I have around me and picking up new ones. I feel like I’m not fighting for them when they try to let me go. I feel like I’m not fighting for them when they fall, when they stumble, or when they’re simply in need of my arm reaching out when they’re refusing to reach out their own. I feel like I have a friend or two that’s rejecting me based on lies, but I don’t know how to get through to that. I don’t know how to cut through the muck and tell him I love him and that I want the best things in the world for him, but at the same time I know what he seems to be reaching for isn’t good for him. I don’t know how to confront that, and it’s eating me up.

At the same time, I’m making all these new friends and doing these new outreaches and undertakings. I feel like I’m growing so much with God, but it often feels like some of my friends aren’t. It pains me to see them passing on opportunities to expand their relationship with Christ, but what pains me more is how wrongly I’ve been approaching that. I’ve been listening to lies of the devil about superiority. He’s a clever enemy; he really is. He’s taking the growth that I’ve experienced and the freedoms I’ve gained and turning them into a sense of superiority; like I’m better than my friends because they’re not learning what I’m learning; they’re not doing what I’m doing.

That’s a lie from the devil and I rebuke it. I cannot and I will not allow that stronghold to stay inside of me. I need to want my friends to grow like I am and more, but I cannot for a moment think to judge them, pridefully scorn them, or think myself in any way superior to them. Who am I that God has saved me? Who am I that my God loves me? I am nobody, and I do not deserve what He has given me. Therefore I will not allow this pride to build within me. I cast it off, disallowing it in my life. It has no place here. God, forgive my transgressions. Forgive the bitterness and the lies that I’ve been living. Please forgive me for the pride and the judgment I’ve been harboring, for I need none of that if I am to truly draw near to you. You have freed me of so much, and I declare now in your mighty name that I will be humbled. I come before you weeping, knowing I am nothing without your grace and your love. Your word says that the joy of the Lord is our strength, and right now I ask for the strength to bow down before you. I ask for the strength to stand again, running free with you. I ask for the strength to lead and to follow. I ask for the strength to shoulder another’s burdens, as you have commanded. I ask for the strength to desire humility, earnestly. I ask for the strength to bare my weakness, for in you I am made stronger. God, you are so good. You are the provider I seek. You are the redeemer and the forgiver. Without you, I am but nothing, and I worship you tonight.

I’m gonna go turn on some music and sing until I fall asleep. Tomorrow will be a better day.