It's amazing how significantly music influences what I decide to write. Right now, I'm listening to Ray Lamontagne. A little soul. Good beat. Easy on the ears. I have no agenda with this post, I just felt that I was due. It's a creative outlet, and I find myself looking for such outlets more and more these days as I am living at home in grand ole Sparta, Illinois. Already over the past 6 weeks as I've been back in the old stomping ground, here in the home of the 1967 academy award-winning In the Heat of the Night, I've had much to face.
Throughout this adventure of raising a support team in order to return to the U of I campus as a missionary with Great Commission Ministires, I've had to ask the question, "Who is Jonathan King?" Maybe I dont' look in the mirror repeating these words, but there are bound to be times in all of our lives when we must face ourselves. My six months in southern Africa was one such time. This is another. I grew so used to the community of friends that I had as a student at U of I. I'm normally a fairly gregarious person, so being back here in Sparta, without that close community of friends my age (i.e. peers), and friends who are in this struggle to follow Jesus Christ with me, I find myself writing a new chapter on how to depend on God. No, I suppose I'm not all alone. Me? Overdramatize? No way.
In my current situation, in which I often feel a bit of isolation, I have had the opportunity to dive into some books and other things that I'm finding out I enjoy, like Adobe Photoshop. I currently have my nose in Don't Waste Your Life, by Piper. Read it. Seriously, who wants to waste their life?
Sycamore trees have always intrigued me. Besides the ever-so-catchy children's song about that "wee little man," I've only ever seen huge sycamore trees and they have this unmistakable white bark. Most striking to me though is a sycamore tree in the winter time. Every other tree, save conifers, appears dead, but the sycamore stands out among the crowd with its white bark. I took this picture today on the farm. And there are many others. We don't have any sycamores that are bunched together; nope, everywhere I find one, they stand alone. Bright. Brilliant. Broad. Tall. and True. Unmistakable. I'm listening to Sigur Ros now, its peaceful and contemplative ambiance causing me to think very meticulously about the image of the sycamore tree and its relation to my life. Quite relevant for this whole period of self-discovery (ooh, did I just say that?) that I find myself in these days. It's time to catch some shuteye...