Hey! Who Turned off the Water? – The Worship/Shower Analogy

This is a repost from MONDAY, JUNE 14, 2010 on my old blog. I hope to include it in a book someday.


A great worship experience is like a great shower and shampoo. When it’s going great, you can just stand there and let the whole thing wash over and envelop you. Ahhh, that wonderful washed clean feeling. Surrender to it.

There are a couple of things that can cause this awesome experience to fail. These are what I’ll call my “pet peeves” of worship, which I’m going to rant about in today’s post.

So for a minute, imagine yourself in the shower, getting ready to wash your hair. You’re looking forward to it. You have everything you need in easy reach. Shampoo, creme rinse, soap, towel, hot and cold water controls. The water temperature is perfect. The water pressure is just right, not too hard, and not too soft. Everything is perfect. Grab the shampoo, palm it for a second, then massage it into the top of your head. That fantastic smell is all around you, that wonderful immersion into the bubbles and the water is deep within you. Let’s let it happen.

Ok, so now for a minute, imagine yourself in the best worship situation possible. The lights are dim but you can still see. The music is perfectly balanced and seems to come from all around. Feel the bass and kick drum gently rock your rib cage. You know the song by heart, the words and tune, you’re ready to start belting out your heart to your awesome God who loves you so very very much. Open up your heart, take a deep breath, sing the words of your joy and pain into the ear of the God who gave Himself for you. It’s bliss. Let’s let it happen.

Now, we get to the pet peeve part. The song winds down and the sound stops. The worship leader is talking about the next song. The moment that was, is no more. We’ve moved on to the next song, but we’re not quite there yet. Waiting in between as the worship leader breaks the mood by pausing the worship and talking.

This is one of my pet peeves. It’s like somebody turned off your water in mid-shampoo. What the heck? Who would do such a thing? What could possibly be so important that we have to stop the worship experience just because we’re moving from one song to another? Do I need to be told that this next song is new? Do I need to be told what the song is about? Do I need to hear anything other than the conversation I’m already having with God?

Nope, nope, nope. I don’t want any of that. What I want is that worship experience turned back on as soon as possible. I want that wonderful water washing over me again, renewing and cleaning me inside and out. That’s what I want and I’m not getting it. My worship is interrupted. It’s going to take me a couple verses of the next song before I can get back in the zone again.

Now that it’s been said, let me let go of the rant. Let me find forgiveness for the worship leader who’s just trying to do his job. Let me return to thoughts of that wonderful worship experience I crave like no other. Let me stop ranting and start to beg.

Please, Mr. Worship Leader, I know your heart is in the right place. I know you love the Lord as much as I do and all you want is to lead others into His throne room. But please, sir, once the worship starts happening, just get out of the way and let it happen. Embrace the medley. Embrace the parade of same-sounding familiar, even trite and mindless songs. We love those songs like we love that same shampoo we’ve bought and used since junior high school. Embrace that familiar warm cocoon of worship that seems to go on forever. Let us lather, rinse and repeat again and again. Let us stand in that warm water long after the last of the creme rinse has gone down the drain. Let us dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen.

That wonderful washed clean feeling. Surrender to it.

I Kiss with my Eyes Closed

This is a repost from FRIDAY, MAY 14, 2010 on my old blog. I hope to include it in a book someday.


I kiss with my eyes closed. I also take a shower with my eyes closed and I worship that way, too.

I think worship is a lot like kissing and showering. Worship is an experiential activity and when it’s good, I want to put my whole self into it. I close my eyes and I let go, just like kissing and showering. To do that, I need to be into it, I need to feel safe, and I need to know what I’m doing.

Let me explain.

I’m into it.

When I’m into it, I’m connected and engaged. I’m kissing a guy I like, the very one I have a crush on, and to whom I want to say “I love you” in a language without words. Maybe I’ve been waiting for hours or days for him to kiss me, and now the moment has arrived and I’m so very glad it’s finally happening. Nothing feels as good as this moment right here and now. I close my eyes and pretend the world is only me and him. I’m into it.

Or perhaps I’m taking a shower to get myself ready for a wonderful day, a big date, or a special event. Maybe I’m showering away the dirt of a day well spent, sweat I poured out persevering through a tough time. Nothing feels so good as that warm water on my skin. I feel my muscles relax as the stress of my day goes down the drain. I close my eyes and relax. I’m into it.

In worship, there are times when I arrive badly in need of time with God. I’m battled and bruised from the week behind me, I’m fearful about things that might happen in the week ahead. I want to run into God’s throne room, crawl up in His lap, bury my face in His shoulder and disappear into Him. I raise my hands in the air saying “Lift me up, I’ve fallen down.” Or maybe I’ve had such a great week that I can’t wait to thank God about it. I want to kneel at His feet and pour out my gratitude to Him. I raise my hands in the air for a big high five with God. This is an intimate moment and my heart aches for quality time with Jesus. Nothing feels as good as this moment of Just me and Him, that’s all there is in the world and that’s all I need. I’m into it.

I’m safe.

OK, let’s get to a confession. I’m afraid of being judged. Judgment is just a precursor to condemnation and I fear it like nothing else. What if I’m not good enough or smart enough? What if other people stare at me or laugh at me? If I’m kissing or showering or worshiping, I want complete freedom to enjoy myself. I want complete privacy, even invisibility. We know how this plays out with kissing and showering. In worship, it might take some explanation.

I want dark.

I want the room to be as dark as possible. In the dark, I think you can’t see me and I’m safe in the dark. I have complete privacy in the dark. I can make faces of joy or I can weep quietly and only God will know if I’m here in the dark. I’m free from any embarrassment about how silly I might look. I’m safe here in the dark to worship.

I want loud.

Loud is to being overheard as dark is to being seen. I want the music to be loud for the same reason I want the room to be dark. I don’t want you to be able to hear me because I’m afraid you might judge my singing. Think about a rock concert held in an arena. It’s so loud, I can’t hear my friend screaming right next to me. It’s the perfect environment for total all out top of my lungs singing along. It won’t matter if I sing the wrong words, the wrong tune, at the wrong time or during a big solo. Nobody hears me but God. And that’s just how I want it. I throw my head back and belt out my heart to God. I’m safe here where the music’s loud and I can worship with total abandon.

This desire for a really loud worship experience might offend some of my friends who complain when it gets loud in church. I know you want the volume of the music to be close to what it is at your home listening to your stereo. I understand that’s a comfortable listening level. But that’s the point – you’re not supposed to be listening. You’re supposed to be worshiping, singing along at the top of your lungs, too. This is a different experience than the experience of listening and the music level has to be different to make it happen. We want to be safe to participate without embarrassment or judgment and that takes really loud music. With loud music, we’re safe.

I want lots of other worshipers.

Think “rock concert” for a second. The stadium is packed with lots and lots of us, getting into the music, having an awesome time. The sound and excitement in the air are so thick, you can see them. Nobody is looking around. All the attention is focused elsewhere. In a concert, we are focusing on what’s happening on stage: the music, the lights, the performance. In worship, we are reaching for the spirit of God in the room. It’s a paradox of worship that the more crowded it is, the more privacy the individual worshipers have. Other folks, in the dark, surrounded by the sounds, raising their hands, raising their voices, closing our eyes, kneeling, dancing, worshiping. It’s a picture of heaven.

I know just what to do.

So I’m in my happy place, worshiping with all my heart because I’m totally into it and I’m totally safe. This will go well as long as I know just what to do.

Knowing what to do means I’m familiar with the music. I blogged about that in a previous post, 4 Musical Languages of Worship.

I know the next word coming up without having to open my eyes and read the slide. Maybe it’s a familiar song I’ve sung a hundred times before. This song comes alive in a new way for me right here, right now because I’m truly immersed in it. Even an old song becomes new when I’m offering it up in a new way. Eyes closed, alone with God and enjoying my time in the throne room, pouring out my broken heart to my loving Father, or singing out my thanks for the great things He has done for me. I don’t have to think, I don’t have to see, I just open up my heart and let Him fill it up.

How about you? Are you like me? Do you kiss and shower and worship with your eyes closed? Be sure to leave a comment at the end of this blog and let me know.

4 Musical Languages of Worship

This is a repost from WEDNESDAY, APRIL 21, 2010 on my old blog. I hope to include it in a book someday.


Hey, it’s Viqui Dill again. I haven’t blogged in a while and now I have something to say. I want to hear your thoughts about it, too. So please please please leave a comment.

Today I want to talk about the 4 Musical Languages of Worship.

We don’t all speak the same language. The language or languages you speak depend on the places you’ve been, how you grew up, and the languages you heard as a kid.

The same is true for music. Music is language and we don’t all speak the same one. The music that moves you, makes it possible for you to worship, will depend on the music of the places you’ve been, the music you enjoyed in happy times, the music that comforted you in tough times, the musical language of your walk though history.

The quickest way to get somebody in the worship mood is to speak their musical language. The quickest way to disconnect them is to urge them out of their musical comfort zone. So I think it’s important to try to speak each person’s musical language at some time during the worship experience.

I think there are 4 such languages, and the languages correspond to the group of folks that speak that language. There are four groups: the regulars, the n00bs, the shoppers, and the traditionals. Let me explain.

The regulars

The regulars are the folks who come out to worship regularly. Like Homer having a beer at Moe’s Tavern, the regulars want things to be pretty much the same as they were last week. They loved the way things were last week or they wouldn’t be coming back week after week. The regulars like to worship to songs that they know, songs from the top 10 or 20 songs on your CCLI play list, the songs you play week after week. The regulars love the hits from past Sundays. The regulars love those contemporary worship songs that you sing regularly. The regulars love what you play already.

The n00bs

The n00bs have never been to your worship, in fact they may not have ever been to any worship of any kind in their adult life, so they won’t know much contemporary church music. They’ll know and like the music they hear in their regular lives, music that gets airplay, music that gets downloaded, ambient music played at the gym and the grocery store, music from movies, music from tv, music of the street.

The shoppers

The shoppers have a background of regular worship attendance but for some reason, they’re not plugged in to your specific community. They are looking for a new place to plug in, with all of the things that they loved about the old place, just none of the things that made them decide to make a change. This group includes college students away from home, kids at a new summer camp, family members visiting relatives from out of town, committed worshipers who are new to the area, as well as folks looking for a change because they just don’t like where they’ve been going. What kind of musical language do the shoppers speak? They like the hits, the songs from the CCLI top 25 for the last year, the songs chosen for compilation CDs and WOW Worship. Like the n00bs, the shoppers listen to some kind of radio station, and like the songs played on the radio, downloads, movies and tv. But this time, the stations, downloads, tv shows and movies are playing Christian music. For the shoppers, we should choose those popular worship songs that worship leaders love to hate. Yes, we’ve played “Shout to the Lord” a zillion times, and yes, we’re tired of it and want to play newer cooler songs, but the older reliable songs are the ones that will touch the heart of worshipers who are not familiar yet with your current favorites.

The traditionals

Traditionals love that old time religion and are still looking for a place to get some. They like those old hymns, and some of the new hymns too. The more traditional the hymn, the more comfortable the traditional worshiper will be. n00bs might like traditional hymns, too if they had an older relative that loved them very much and brought them to church. I have seen small group worship experiences dissolve into happy tears whenever I’d play a traditional hymn. Afterward, folks would come up and tell me “That was my grandmother’s favorite hymn. She used to let me sit on her lap when we visited her church. I cried just thinking about her.”

So, there are the four groups of people with their preferred musical languages, the songs they prefer to hear in a worship experience:

  • regulars like what you already play
  • n00bs like what’s popular on secular radio, on tv, or downloaded
  • shoppers like the top worship hits, what’s popular nationwide
  • traditionals like those old hymns

So why not speak all four languages when you’re choosing songs for worship? You’ll be helping more folks plug in to the worship service because they’ll hear the gospel spoken in their own language at sometime during the service.

Need a scripture reference for this? Try these. God asks us to speak in the language of the listener, not in our preferred language. Check these out.

Acts 2:7-9 (New International Version)

7 Utterly amazed, they asked: “Are not all these men who are speaking Galileans? 8 Then how is it that each of us hears them in his own native language? 9 Parthians, Medes and Elamites; residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia,

1 Corinthians 14:16-17 (New International Version)

16 If you are praising God with your spirit, how can one who finds himself among those who do not understand say “Amen” to your thanksgiving, since he does not know what you are saying? 17 You may be giving thanks well enough, but the other man is not edified.

So let’s learn to speak the language of our worshipers. Let’s learn some music that may be not our favorite, but will speak love into the world of those who hear it. Let’s learn some songs that may be new to us, but will speak comfort and love into the ears of the listener, whether they’re regulars, shoppers, n00bs, or even traditionals.

Man in the Middle, Mom on the Sidelines

This is a repost from MONDAY, JULY 26, 2010 from my old blog. It was a good day gone horribly bad. It strikes me as I read my own words how very first person the narrative is, maybe even narcissistic. But I wanted to get the story down before I forgot it and I wanted to give some props for the folks in my world who are so good to me.


 

Dill Pickers at at Morgan Arts Council

It is July 24th and I’ve been looking forward to this moment since the blizzard back in February. I’ve just sung two of my favorite songs, played bass like a man, and my husband, two microphones away, is about to sing a big crowd pleaser, “The Man in the Middle.” The band is hot (I’m so lucky to be playing with these guys), the summer breeze is cool, the sound crew is skilled, the folks at Morgan Arts Council are wonderful. This is a terrific day and a terrific moment to be here and now.

And then in a flash of chance and gravity, things go horribly wrong.

I look up from the stage and see my son, Jim Dill, in horrible pain, and bleeding profusely from a gash in his shin.

A million thoughts and impulses fly through my head like a freight train. My heart leaps out of my chest, across the canal, and into the gaping wound. How did things go so bad so fast?

OK, let’s go back in time.

It’s February 2010. I’m snowed-in in what will be known as the Snowpocalypse. The phone rings and it’s Gordon Macleod from the Morgan Arts Council. He says they want the Dill Pickers to play in their summer concert series. My friend Lynn Greer has helped us get this gig by hand carrying our press kit and I’m so happy for her support. Now, they say they like our sound and we discuss the business end (I’m terrible at this) and schedules and money and such. I grab my laptop and email the other pickers, who are as excited as I am. This is gonna be a great summer.

Fast forward a month or two and add the much prayed for springtime thaw. I’m cyber-chatting with my good buddy Ron Furgerson. Ron has been a Dill Picker supporter from the beginning and has even used our music in some of his youTube videos. Ron would really really really like to have a video of us performing “The Man in the Middle.” I would, too, and I think that maybe this summer’s gig in Berkeley Springs will be a great time to film it.

And that’s how it happened.

At the gig, Jim was hired to be videographer and photographer. He was using my camera to take some stills and some video. I had asked him to be sure to get “The Man in the Middle” on video. Jim was not expecting to have to be filming so early in the set and was nowhere close to the stage when I asked him publicly and into the mic to start the video. Jim’s a good photographer and he takes his job seriously so he rushed back to the stage to catch the song from the beginning. And he almost got it, too.

But on the way, he had to cross the stone waterway. One leg makes it, the other leg slams shin first into the edge of the stone retaining wall. *Expletive*

And we got the aftermath on video, because even badly hurt, Jim does what he says he will do. So as the camera runs, you can hear Jim react to the fall, the blood, the wound, and the feeling that his leg may be broken. The video is very hard to watch. For the first 10 seconds, Jim is breathing heavily and groaning in pain. And yet, somehow he continues to hold the camera and continue with the video. At 0:55, he says calmly “That was a mistake.” At 1:38, someone off camera comes to help and offers to bring some ice. At 2:14, the folks getting ice alert the wonderful Dr. Matt. Yes, there’s a doctor in the house. Hallelujah. The ice arrives at 2:24 and Jim asks for medical attention, initially asking for an ambulance, but getting a better solution with Dr. Matt just a few feet away. Dr. Matt and my friend Kathryn Rack arrive at 3:00, one to check out the situation and then retrieve his black bag, and the other to check out the situation and offer help with the video camera. At 3:30, Jim utters the understatement “I tried to jump the gap.”

From 3:30 on, the video looks normal. Kat frames the band, even getting happy footage of the dancing girl on the front row.

Looks normal from the outside, but I know what’s happening on the inside. My child is in terrible pain, maybe even terrible danger, and my heart is breaking with worry and guilt. But on the tape, I look fine, sing fine, play fine. You can’t tell what’s going on inside me. I suppose that’s a good thing.

At 4:40, before the song is over, I turn to Frank and ask him to talk for 30 seconds so I can run off stage and check it out. I drop my bass and scurry off to see about Jim. By that time, Dr. Matt is in motion, Jim has shown that he can walk on the leg, and I’m a little bit calmer. Frank is wonderful, chatting happily with the crowd about anything and everything. I’m back on stage a few seconds after that and the show must go on.

Now that it’s over, a few words of heart-felt thanks.

Now that it’s over and the gig still went well, now that we know that Jim’s leg is not broken and he didn’t need stitches or an ambulance ride or a tetanus shot, now that we got that Berkeley Springs crowd to dance a little in the 99 degree heat, now is the time for me to express my gratitude to the folks who were so fabulous.

Thanks to my fellow band members, Keith Dill and Jamie Leonard, and especially to Frank Nanna, for holding it together and covering for me while I freaked out inside. I definitely lost my mojo that day and these guys made it all fine with their amazing musical skills and supportive attitudes. Frank’s banter while I ran off stage is just another example of what a great entertainer and improvisor he is. I am so lucky to be playing with you all.

Thanks to my friend Kat Rack, who was wearing a MOMS ROCK piece of flair, for stepping in to quietly fill in the mama role. You rock, indeed my friend. I don’t think you had to do much, but seeing you there and knowing that you had your eye and your love on things is so greatly appreciated.

Thanks to the Morgan Arts Council for their support, in particular to Dr. Matt Hahn for answering “yes” to “Is there a doctor in the house?”

And thanks to all the kind folks who came out to the gig. We had so much fun and you guys make our work all play. You rock our worlds and we love you like nothing else. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Hope to see you again, maybe next year.

 

Witnesses, not Judges

This is a repost from SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 5, 2011 from my old blog. The message is still true.

It’s the last thing Jesus said to us, before he flew back home.

Acts 1:8

“But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

I like what he said, and I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about how to carry it out. He’s asking us to be witnesses. Notice how he doesn’t ask us to be judges. For some reason, we like to get those two mixed up. Time to focus on being a witness – in my neighborhood, and beyond.

What is a witness?

So what does it mean to be a witness? A witness does more than just observe. A witness also testifies. A witness sits in the witness box, waiting for the right time to tell her story.

A witness has to get his story together, sort things out, get them in order, and be ready to share. A witness has to tell his own story, anything else is hearsay. It’s OK to talk about yourself, to tell your own story.

I have many stories to tell and I love to tell them, when the time is right.

I am the mother of a brilliant college student. My story had a tough beginning, including the time when doctors told us our child wouldn’t learn to talk or return our love. This story has such a happy ending now that I love to tell the story. It’s a story of hard work, desperate searching, a mom’s blind faith, and a boy’s courage.

I am the wife for 23 years of a talented musician and entrepreneur. Our story has many tough chapters. We have been through things that have lead other couples to divorce court, even to commit murder. Yet our story has a happy ending now and I love to tell the story. Our story is about commitment, forgiveness, loving and letting God do the loving for me when I had no love of my own to give.

I am a worship leader to whom God gave a vision long before he gave me a job. The journey takes me on a path straight through churches that had issues with women in leadership, issues with musicians who also performed in the secular world, and issues about doctrinal uniformity. Still, this is a happy story and I love to tell it as it twists and turns. My spiritual odyssey takes me down interesting paths, into strange and wonderful places, and introduces me to the most amazing traveling companions.

So what is your story?

Jesus asks us to tell our stories and to be witnesses. Tell the tough stories. Tell the happy stories. Tell all the stories when the time is right.

Be a witness, not a judge. Don’t tear down the stories of other witnesses by judging them. Share your own story, your experience, strength and hope. Listen to others as they tell their own stories. Compare notes, laugh and dream. Tell your story.

So, what’s your story?

A Tale of Two Little Girls

my sister in blue on the left, me on the right in pink

my sister in blue on the left, me on the right in pink

This is a first person story I have needed to tell for some time. It’s a story of two little girls: me and my younger sister.

We were two little girls who grew up in the South in the 1960s and 70s; two little girls raised by the same family, playing with the same toys, sharing the same friends, attending the same schools, worshiping at the same churches, and growing into two remarkably different women. This story is written to share my personal experience and is for you, regardless of whether you think that sexual orientation is influenced by nature or nurture.

Boy-Crazy from Birth

family vacation at Watoga State Park in WV

family vacation at Watoga State Park in WV

I can’t remember the first time I was aware that I am heterosexual. I remember being crazy about boys from the very beginning. Boys were such a mystery and so fascinating to me. When I was around a boy I liked (and I think I liked all of them), my heart would race and my sense of reason would fly out the window. I remember wishing that my Barbie doll had a Ken so she could be happy. I remember putting my scratchy crinoline slip on my head and pretending to be a bride with a big veil.

My first crush was on a boy named “Chris” who was from England just like Davey Jones, and when I was around him I could not think straight. When I was not around him, I thought about him constantly. Chris had a younger brother my sister’s age and their play together was so different, not awkward the way I felt. When I look back on it, my interactions with boys were different than my sister’s because the way we each felt about boys was different from the beginning. My sister amazed me by the way she could be so cool headed and rational about boys when I was absolutely inept.

Our Favorite Christmas Present

in Gretna, LA, sister on the left, me on the right, playing teacher

in Gretna, LA, sister on the left, me on the right, playing teacher

Christmas of 1967, we were living in Gretna, LA, a suburb of New Orleans. Santa Clause brought the most amazing doll/action figure play sets of Jane and Josie West. I got the Jane doll because I was older. The dolls came with everything a cowgirl would need for riding or making a home on the range. So we both dug in and loved them. When you removed the gear and plastic leather clothing, the dolls were dressed in denim and boots, not naked and busty like that Barbie. And they could be whoever they wanted to be, outdoorsy or homie, glamorous or athletic, or both. And that was exactly what these two little girls needed because we were both outdoorsy and homie, glamorous and athletic, just like the West girls.

Jane West action figure

Jane West action figure

Josie West action figure

Josie West action figure

Coming Out, 1981

sisters in cowboy hats, just like Jane and Josie West years before

sisters in cowboy hats, just like Jane and Josie West years before

So I got to be the first family member to whom my sister announced her special secret. I remember she phrased it carefully, as a question not a statement: “What if I told you that I was gay?”
My response was kind of neutral. I said “Well that would be all right. Are you gay?”

I remember that what I was really thinking is that I wouldn’t be able to be her maid of honor or Aunt Viqui to her kids. Looking back on my response, what a narcissistic princess I am, thinking about how someone else’s situation would impact me before I thought about the reality of how hard life must be for my sister and how hard it must have been to share the secret out loud with me. I don’t remember if I hugged her, but I hope I did. I do remember laughing and feeling happy to have another secret to share with my sister. After we laughed together that day, I felt good, like we had survived yet another family drama and come out on the other side together and stronger.

I Was Born This Way

sister, brother, and me, posing on a family vacation beside the Big Boy

sister, brother, and me, posing on a family vacation beside the Big Boy

So there’s a piece of my personal story. How I grew up to be a flaming heterosexual, despite growing up in a house where the same environment produced different outcomes. I never made a conscious choice to be straight. I was boy-crazy from birth. My sister was different from me from birth, too.

I was born this way.

We’re gonna do this together with Viqui Dill – Content Content podcast

You can listen to me chatting with the fabulous #TechComm influencer and podcaster, Ed Marsh, on his Content Content Podcast from June 25, 2019. We had a whole lot of fun and Ed is a great interviewer.

Check it out.

Viqui Dill, Senior Technical Writer at American Woodmark in Virginia, talks to Ed Marsh how everyone is a project manager in some form, life in the (literal) hardware industry, her day of 500 hugs, what is just-in-time documentation, and more.

Viqui is also an accomplished “bad-ass bass player’ and a self-proclaimed techcomm evangelist.

Viqui Dill – 2017 STC Technical Communication Summit

Mentioned during this episode:

Viqui Dill #PowerOfStory 2019 07 16

Viqui Dill presents her story to celebrate her 60th birthday. #PowerOfStory #StopSuicide

Free downloads of the music are here https://www.reverbnation.com/viquidill

Blog post: A Tale of Two Little Girls http://viquidill.blogspot.com/2011/12/atale-of-two-little-girls-my-sister-in.html

Blog post: Letter to myself in 1987 https://viquidill.wordpress.com/2012/09/30/letter-to-myself-in-1987/

Blog post: Letter to myself in 1997 https://viquidill.wordpress.com/2014/12/31/letter-to-myself-in-1997/