The train just keeps rollin’

The Tacoma Dome peeks out at me from under the freeway. As the train pulls into the station, I can see its refle tion on the glass. Sleek and low, it glides through the valleys and forests, heading north to Seattle. It’s my first time on the train. I already know that I am going to do this again sometime.

The bistro car is the place to meet people. There really isn’t much conversation in the staid passenger cars. People just sit and being in the NW, read. Almost everyone has a book or magazine that they are slowly making their way through. In the bistro car, you will hear conversation. A woman tells her coworker how her hysterectomy sent her straight to menopause. I sat with a woman who is getting her PhD in Math. We talk about men, relationships, and arranged marriages. She is beautiful and becomes very animated when she talks about India and her husband. She knows that arranged marriages are not for everyone but she has been successful in hers. Behind me, a man calls clients – I think he sells insurance. The cut of his jeans tells me that he has money. He is probably good at what he does.

The countryside is beautiful and the Sound sparkles even under the cloudy sky. The I-5 corridor is usually boring; rolling farmland or just nothingness. There’s only so many miles you can travel in territory like that before you start to go crazy. The train is preferable. I can’t type and drive at the same time and it costs less. I can also read.

I’m reading “Praise Habit: Finding God in Sunsets and Sushi” by David Crowder. A friend recommended it so I’m holding it hostage until I finish it. Somehow, the book is fitting for the journey. Crowder uses passages from the Message version of the Bible. The Psalms come alive – David (King, not Crowder) uses emotions that reveal the vulnerability of his soul. Stripped of poetry, the soul stands naked and the confused heart is exposed. David writes of his triumphs and his dark days. A murderer and a man after God’s heart. Both and.

Crowder tells stories from his own life, gently guiding the reader on an unorthodox (meaning untraditional not heritical) journey of probing the meaning and habit of praise. He uses nuns, urinals, and Peeps (yes, the nasty marshmallow things) to illustrate life messages and random stories about himself. It works.

The book reads me as I read it. I like the fresh thoughts. I may not always agree with them but I appreciate them just the same.

The train is howling. I must go.


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