Heather and I bowled quite well tonight. I got a 175, my highest ever, I think. Right now I'm listening to music, and certain music drives me to write. It is the feeling the music evokes. Sometimes, I may not know what to write, but the music is telling a story, setting a scene, calling the muse, whatever.

Have you ever been flipping channels late at night and come across a public access or PBS station and see the religious program that shows scenes of nature and plays music (often instrumental). Many times I have stumbled upon it and had to stop because the scene is amazing - perhaps snow falling on a stream covered by pines, or trees in fall colors dropping leaves, or mountainsides with light vegetation and lots of stone outcroppings - whatever it may be, it stops me. They are not still shots, but video. The music is often piano and seems to reflect the scene so perfectly that I feel entranced. Usually Bible verses, or parts of verses, will be printed on the screen, and for the time that song plays and those scenes roll, I am brought to meditation. I feel tapped into God's creation and truth in a profound way. I can recall the joys of fishing with my grandfather, of seeing Rob and Sarah married in a field on an Ozark evening, of jumping fully-clothed into a river with Tina, of trecking across a frozen lake with my Spofford friends Katie and ????(I should slap myself for forgetting her name) . . . and the memories go on, and I thank God, and I worship Him.

Two weeks and still no sub assignments. Sigh. It is easy to feel useless when among so many feelings and memories of a life already lived, you don't know why you were crafted, or who you are supposed to be, or what your gifts are. It is sad to think that perhaps I understand myself less than anyone.