I am the woman at the well,
I am the harlot.
I am the scattered seed
that fell along the path.
I am the son that ran away.
I am the bitter son that stayed.

My God, My God,
Why hast thou accepted me
When all my love was vinegar
To a thirsty King?

My God, My God,
Why hast thou accepted me?
It’s a mystery of mercy
and a song, a song that I sing.

—Caedmon’s Call, Mystery of Mercy

I’m coming to find out that, some days, it’s decidedly easier to be humble after coming face-to-face with the iridescent reality that I’m a big fathead.

Sarah and I went with our friends to go see Caedmon’s Call (minus Derek Webb) and Jars of Clay in concert last night—an experience that I’m still working on putting into words. More later.