Driving on I-10 west toward Bryan, Texas. I didn't exactly write as much as I wanted to throughout the course of this tour after all, but it has been a great run, and we just left New Orleans headed for the last leg of Texas dates before ABQ on the 22nd.
Tomorrow, my new album goes live for preorders. I can't believe it's already that time. I can't believe how hectic "that time" always is for record releases. I can't believe Squarespace's backend completely collapsed on me in the middle of rebuilding the LTP site and I can't believe they still haven't fixed it. Haha. Was hoping to have a new site up to compliment the pre-orders going live tomorrow, but alas. At least the splash page still works for redirects.
This is, truly, an incredibly exciting time for Brandi and me, and for Alex and Andy out here on this tour with us, and for a lot of people back home who have played such pivotal, irreplaceable role in creating what has become Correspondence (a fiction).
I am entirely expectation-less, entirely nervous and not, entirely everything as we count down the last month before it is officially unlocked from its cage.
The last two days, though, all of my excitement for the release has been clashing against my deep sadness regarding the state of my church back home. This isn't going to turn into that blog, though. The one about what I think about everything. I have kept my proverbial blogger mouth shut for months throughout this whole process and I don't have the time, clarity or wherewithal to open it now, other than to say, there is a clash inside me.
Excitment with sadness.
Horror with hope.
Wishes with reality with prayer with thought with conclusions with whatevers with wrong with right with the hope that someday, I hope I'll be able to articulate whatever it is that I may come to feel, because I believe it will be freedom to me. Maybe to others.
I love my church. Love my family. Love the people that have left my church because by Jesus' grace, we are still family.
And Jesus is still Lord.