For Now: devout

"You're special."
That phrase alone has so many connotations. It came into my life under a less than usual circumstance on Wednesday.

This semester, the Spanish class I took met five days a week which gave all of us beginning Spanish speakers plenty of time to make acquaintance with mostly everyone who had the energy to come to the closet in Matherly. One of the girls' names is Nisha, a senior, Trini or Trinidadian?, and eager to learn the language. She also is eager to spread the word of the lord. I discovered this earlier in the semester when I walked with her to our next class. I was asking her how she handles having so many morning classes (as it was I had trouble making it to this 3:00 Spanish class). Her response: "I wouldn't have been able to do it without the Lord." Being unsure of what I believe about the after life, religion, and everything in between, I politely tip-toed my way out of that conversation and said something along the lines of, "Yeah, whatever works for you." She was a nice girl and I didn't want to shoot down her ideals and even less did I want to get into a debate over my already precarious standing with all things holy.
The semester continued and Operation Conversion was successfully avoided. On the occasion I'd notice her WWJD shirts or that one time when she had a picket sign with a message from the almighty Himself. But, hey, freedom of speech right? Peaceful parading is allowed.

Wednesday was the last day of classes and before I headed over to Spanish I was hanging around the Hub so I could eat a bagel and then study for one of my finals. I saw Nisha in line at Einstein's so I invited her to sit with me. Amid our casual conversation about her graduation plans, my summer plans, etc she throws out how I should find the Lord and accept him into my life. There was no avoiding the conversation this time. We were sitting at a table together, I couldn't just pull out my invisibility cloak and sneak out unscathed. She knew that I was defenseless so she pulled out all the stops. She told me about her past and how God got her off drugs, turned her life around and that he could do that for me. I half-assed made up something on the spot as to why I wasn't in a rush to go looking for Jesus and we finished breakfast and I was making my way to a quiet spot to study.
Just when I thought I was safe she found me again. Finally, after this approach I realized that this was her last chance to share these thoughts with me, these beliefs that she felt so strongly about. Looking at this conversation, one that I usually see as so abrasive and personal and intrusive, I appreciated what she was doing. She was simply sharing her passion with me. The best part of all of this... it made me think about what I could possibly feel so passionately about. I came to the realization while talking to my mother.
Music. It's music. If there's anything that I'm always trying to talk about, influence, share and just ramble about it's music. I listen to my Bible on my iPod except it's written by Hendrix, Mayer, Mraz, Gaga, Lambert, Hova, Weezy, Common, Kanye, Gaye, Pink Floyd, etc. I worship these artists several times a day, I spread their gospel, I never leave the house without them.
John Mayer: Patron Saint of Heartbreak; Jason Mraz: Patron Saint of Gratitude; Lady Gaga: Patron Saint of Fashion; Jay-Z: Patron Saint of Swagger; Lil Wayne: Patron Saint of Rappers; Marvin Gaye: Patron Saint of Healing...
So, on that note I'm going to drown out the world and dive head first into my music.
For Now,