A Story of Oranges

Everything begins and nothing ever ends without something beginning again: walking out your front door, going past the stop sign in your neighborhood, getting your driver’s license, saddling up your car for college, saying goodbye to the United States, growing up, there all dependent on each other. Today was my first day in Spain. I ran down the up section of an escalator to catch a flight, met a neat military man from Louisiana in Madrid (by far the most befuddling airport experience of my life), and talked soccer with my cabbie named Marcos. He spoke no English and a little French, which proved to be no help at all; it was the best ride of my life. Around two in the afternoon, Seville time, I found myself sitting in a café, pigeons fidgeting curiously around my chair (as if they knew I was the new guy in town), underneath the beautiful orange trees of Seville. The guys and gals in the travel books weren’t playing games about the copious (that vocabulary usage for Will Nettleton) amounts of orange balls giving taste to thousands of trees throughout the city. I liken the amount of oranges in Sevilla to the number of red and blue solo cups in the grove on Saturdays. The little orange fruit is so big here that the guys say, “la naranja de Seville” about girls, which means the orange of Seville or “your dream girl”. The city is beautiful and the people or very hospitable. However, the city’s street design is anything but hospitable. It seems the calles here have a strange sense of humor as the asphalt all works together to from a wondrous Spanish labyrinth. J.D Stark took me on an extensive tour of the city and really impressed me with his uncanny internal compass. It was nice to catch up with a good pal and brother in Christ and surreal to do so in Europe of all places. I think J.D is already a Spaniard. The jet lag is causing me to run out of strong so I am going to read and hit the sack. Last thing, these people love soccer over here, this looks like the beginning of something beautiful. If you can not speak Spanish you can always speak soccer. The whole world speaks it. Also, be praying that Rob Clayton, J.D., and myself can find a Christian community over here. I’m thankful to have those two with me on this adventure.


Ciao