Today wasn’t supposed to be musical.
It started like a practical checklist moment — preparing gear before my upcoming trip, putting guitars back into their cases, making sure nothing is left plugged in or vulnerable while I’m away. Just another pre-travel task.
Two new cables arrived — the Fender Hello Kitty 10ft and the Fender Contour Coil 30ft in dark pink. Naturally, before packing things away, I had to test them. Nothing fancy: Spring, straight into the Pro Junior. No pedals. No loops. No polish.
First cable: works fine. Cute. Functional.
Then I plugged in the coiled one.
I didn’t plan to play anything specific — but somehow my fingers drifted into “I Worship You, Almighty God” in A major, soft fingerstyle, like a quiet conversation rather than a performance.
And something shifted.
Spring felt alive — articulate, expressive, almost intentional.
The Pro Junior gave just enough warmth and edge to remind me why tubes still matter in a world full of modeling amps and impulse responses.
But the surprising part wasn’t tone.
It was how personal the moment became.
It wasn’t practice.
Wasn’t testing gear.
Wasn’t songwriting.
It was worship.
Simple. Unplanned. Honest.
Two minutes — no more.
But it was enough to feel gratitude, stillness, and presence.
Afterward, I gently wiped Spring down and tucked her into her gig bag — like putting a good book back on the shelf mid-chapter, knowing the story will continue later.
Switzerland is next, and the Spark Go and iPhone will do fine for the journey.
But today, before all the trains, snow, and travel, I got a quiet reminder:
Sometimes music doesn’t ask for time —
just availability.
And when the heart’s ready, even a cable test can become worship.