A Vision and a Mission without a Plan.

A quote from my testimony of what God did at Mancelona Camp.

"I just graduated college, so naturally, I have no idea what I'm going to do with my life. But this week, God has been calling me to be a missionary to Wicker Park, the artist neighborhood in Chicago, which is convenient because I just moved there two weeks ago. So, I still don't have a plan, but I have a vision, and that's enough for now."

God be praised.

Chicago days and nights

I'm starting to get used to this whole being away from home thing. The sting of being in a large and unfamiliar place is losing its bite, and the worries over rent have been taken care of. Now it's mostly just a matter of getting myself established and getting to know people. There's a church down the street that I want to go to, but I won't be able to until three weeks from yesterday. There's also a bar with open mic nights every Thursday and Sunday. I hear the patrons are pretty eclectic, which is just the way I like them. I miss Fiddler's. I need a new weekly home.

Reminder

It was said, 'We went in search of America, and we found God instead.'

and
'I feel like after years of learning about what God is like, I'm finally learning who He is. And the biggest thing I'm learning is that He will always provide recklessly.'

And now, here I am worrying to death about rent and car repair and finding a job?
I'm almost ashamed of myself.

La Vie Boheme

Yesterday, I woke up at ten and got dressed. I went into the living room, surprised to find Kriss awake on the couch. We talked for a bit about my nervousness and how I should be fine. I sighed and steeled my resolve, grabbing my guitar and walking out the door. I grabbed a day pass and hop on the L train downtown.

I get off and find a plaza outside of a mall. I look around nervously. I see people in conversations, on their cell phones, etc, and I don't want to be intrusive. I set up in corner of the plaza that borders the sidewalk and open up my case. Nervously, I start playing Purple Rain. I haven't experienced anything quite as uncomfortable as I did at that moment. A guy gave me a flier about unemployment. A woman looked at me awkwardly and gave me a quarter. After two more songs, I packed up and left.

I walk up and down Michigan Ave looking for a place to play. I probably wasted a hundred opportunities for my fear of the awkwardness of opening up a guitar case and playing in the middle of a pedestrian crowd. After walking around for an hour or so, I get back on the Subway, even more intimidated. I get off at State and Lake and go to a bench. I open my case and strum the first few chords of Fake Plastic Trees. There are two people on the bench next to me. A few people's eyes glance to me, but quickly look away. Two bars in, the lyrics come in. Inside, I swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

I'm not sure how to describe what happened, but as I started singing at full volume, it all changed. No longer did I feel like some intruding nuisance. I became some sort of traveling poet--a true troubadour. When the train came in, a man crossed the station and dropped in a dollar and a pamphlet with the address to his church. The next crowd that came in dropped in a few more dollars, then another crowd and a few more, then I was asked to leave.

And that became my day--playing in a subway, getting some tips, and being asked to leave, getting back on the subway and going to another station and repeating the process. And it's so punk rock. And I love it.

Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road

I am now a Chicago resident. That doesn't mean I have a Chicago drivers license or that I can vote, but I do have a Chicago apartment. The next few days, I'm going to be busking in Subways and parks and such to get a feel for it and see if I can make a living off of it.

I'm going to miss my girlfriend, but it's not that hard to visit. I visited her at work before I left town.

I have a bit of unpacking to do still. But I don't mind it.

I love my life.

Bucket List

See Bob Dylan live: check.