by jot and tittle

There is something delightful about surveying your crumpled home after a particularly good visit. Its almost as though your house doesn't know that everyone is gone and you're the only one left to put things back in order. You see, the place still wants to laugh. The carpet is clothed with crumbs from the chocolate cake, the couch cushions are squished together in an awkward fashion rather than cuddling nicely side by side, the toy airplane is lonely on the floor next to the piano, and the teapot is begging me to boil more water and fill her up so she can hear another good conversation. I do turn on the kettle for one more cup of tea before bed and then fill the sink with water to move the dishes from the dirty side of the counter to their drying rack. Yes it was a particularly good visit. There was laughter, advice, serious conversation, cake, and tea. What else could you wish for? As I scrub away I think about hospitality and that verse in Hebrews 13 about entertaining st

S5. That's what the ticket said. Finding our seats in the middle of the first floor of the bright auditorium, we sit down. Music, if you could call it that, flitters through the air as one by one people dressed completely in black take their places on the stage and begin to tune, then they remember something and go back behind the curtain. This dance continues for several minutes. Musicians going back and forth, spectators finding their seats, aids handing out programs. Once everyone is more or less settled the lights go dark, a violinist in a tux comes onto the stage, everyone tunes to his string, and then the conductor arrives. The applause are silenced as he raises his baton and Brahm's Third Symphony begins. Fast, slow, happy, sad, playful, depressed, and sometimes silent, the music fills the room. There are many different instruments. Not everyone plays violin or drums or trumpet. Not everyone plays the same notes, timing, or in the same key depending on the instrumen