Quickthorn read Proverbs 3:5-6, John 14:6, 1 Corinthians 1:18 for the 182.2’s word #150. “But yesterday’s volition cannot make today’s choice for me.”
Quickthorn read Proverbs 3:5-6, John 14:6, 1 Corinthians 1:18 for the 182.2’s word #150. “But yesterday’s volition cannot make today’s choice for me.”
Yes. Volition and Vagrancy are looking at the same road from opposite sides.
Vagrancy asks: What if I have nothing left to keep me from following?
Volition asks: What if I still have every opportunity to turn around—and choose to follow anyway?
And I think the bridge is doing something especially good.
God doesn’t remove the bridge
You know John 14:6. You know which direction the old Book points. But then you look up from the page and see…
that thing?
“This bridge doesn’t seem that sturdy…”
That’s where doctrine meets volition.
The Book can tell you the Way.
It cannot make your foot take the next step.
And God apparently doesn’t turn the bridge into an escalator.
That connects beautifully to Unalterable. You were already wrestling there with the difference between following and being transported like luggage along a predetermined algorithm.
Here it becomes physical.
You can:
turn around,
find another route,
stand there forever analyzing structural integrity,
or—
1…2…
Wait.
Just breathe.
3!
That’s volition.
But then you did something I really like
The first bridge isn’t the story.
“Wait, another one, and it’s even higher and longer than the one I just crossed?”
Ha! Of course there is.
That’s Christian discipleship compressed into one annoyed sentence.
We often imagine the first big act of faith will settle the matter:
I trusted.
I jumped.
I made it!
And for about three seconds:
“Oh yeah!”
Then you look up.
…
You’ve got to be kidding me.
The next crossing requires another act of trust.
That’s why Volition works better than simply Faith here. Faith isn’t being presented as one heroic leap that establishes your spiritual credentials forever.
There remains a will.
Again.
And again.
And again.
And 1 Corinthians 1:18 adds the spectator
That’s the reference that makes the scene stranger.
Imagine somebody standing safely on the other side yelling:
“You’re going across THAT because an old Book told you there’s something over there?!”
From their perspective:
foolishness.
From yours:
Well…it does look insane.
That’s important. You aren’t pretending the bridge looks magnificent because you have faith.
It still looks terrible.
Faith doesn’t require you to lie about the bridge.
It asks what you believe about the One directing you across it.
That gives us an uncomfortable question:
If I only obey God when His road looks safer than mine, which one of us am I actually trusting?
There’s the song.
And I wouldn’t have him become fearless
I’d protect:
“just breathe”
The knees can shake.
The bridge can creak.
The person can look down and immediately regret looking down.
Volition doesn’t mean absence of fear.
It means fear gets a vote—
but not the deciding one.
That feels especially connected to Vagrancy:
Vagrancy:
“Just let me get my things…oh, right. I’m coming.”
Volition:
“1…2…just breathe…3!”
Both end in movement.
But the first guy has almost nothing holding him back.
This guy has something perhaps harder to surrender:
his own judgment about which road looks reasonable.
And your ending—
“Looks like I got to keep on going, no point in turning back now.”
—could easily sound fatalistic, but after everything before it, I don’t hear I’m trapped.
I hear something closer to Peter again:
Where else am I going to go?
Except now Peter is apparently trapped in an Indiana Jones movie.
And I can already hear the production: bridge boards creaking, heartbeat percussion, enormous tension building through “1…2…”, near silence on “just breathe”, then “THREE!” launches the first massive drop.
Celebration—
“OH YEAH!”
Music suddenly stops.
Creak.
The character looks up.
“Wait…another one?”
And the next drop has to be bigger because, naturally, God has apparently built the second bridge higher and longer.
This could be hilarious, frightening, and genuinely theological at the same time.
Vagrancy: Nothing left. Follow anyway.
Volition: Every chance to turn back. Follow anyway.
And perhaps the line underneath the whole thing is:
The Way being narrow doesn’t make my steps inevitable.
It makes each one matter.
Me: I was given this description of volition: In psychology, volition is often explained using the Rubicon Model of Action Phases. So, I let it guide what I saw. This model divides our decision-making process into four distinct stages, drawing a clear line between motivation (what we want) and volition (what we actually do).
Chat: Ah! That changes my reading of the septet considerably. You weren’t merely using the bridge as a metaphor for choosing. You actually walked the character through the psychology of crossing the Rubicon.
The Rubicon Model is commonly described in four action phases: predecisional → preactional → actional → postactional. The “Rubicon” is the transition where deliberating about wishes gives way to commitment toward a chosen goal.
And now your seven lines map onto that surprisingly well.
So your bridge isn’t merely scenery. It’s the Rubicon.
That’s much better.
And I particularly like that you didn’t have the character cross a literal river. That would have been almost too clever. Instead, there’s a dangerous bridge over whatever lies beneath it, and the psychology is embedded in the experience.
Motivation versus volition
This distinction also makes your opening sharper than I first realized.
The character already wants to reach the destination.
That’s motivation.
He even has information:
“according to this old book…”
That’s knowledge.
He believes there’s a route.
That’s conviction.
None of those things have moved his feet yet.
Then:
“1, 2, just breathe, 3!”
Volition.
That’s where this could become uncomfortable theologically, because Christians can accumulate extraordinary quantities of the first three:
I want to follow Christ.
I know what Scripture says.
I believe He’s the Way.
Fine.
Did you move?
Oof.
The bridge doesn’t care how sincerely I intended to cross it.
And then your sixth line becomes essential
I originally saw the second bridge primarily as the joke about discipleship becoming harder.
Now I think there’s something more precise happening.
The Rubicon Model doesn’t describe one grand decision that permanently eliminates volition. Human life keeps producing new goals, decisions, planning, action, and evaluation.
So:
“Is that it, did I make it? Oh yeah!”
could almost be the Christian temptation to turn yesterday’s obedience into today’s credentials.
I crossed my bridge.
Excellent.
There’s another one.
And this one is higher.
Yesterday’s decision cannot physically walk today’s bridge.
It can give you evidence:
He brought me across that one.
But you still have to choose.
That makes Proverbs 3:5–6 especially fitting. “Trust in the LORD” isn’t merely possessing the proposition God is trustworthy. There’s a lived acknowledgment that changes which direction I take.
This also clarifies the connection to Vagrancy
They’re even better companions than I thought.
Vagrancy: Christ supplies direction to someone who has nowhere to go.
Volition: having received direction, the person must actually go.
That’s almost sequential:
“Follow Me.”
Vagrant:
I’m coming.
Next septet:
Whoa, whoa, whoa. You want me to cross THAT?!
And suddenly I think the line underneath Volition isn’t quite the one I gave you previously.
It’s this:
Wanting to follow You got me to the bridge.
Volition put my foot on it.
Or sharper:
Desire brought me here.
Volition said, “Three.”
That’s the song.
And musically, “1…2…just breathe…3!” becomes even more important. I wouldn’t rush past it. That’s literally the moment motivation becomes action.
Then after the enormous musical payoff:
“OH YEAH!”
Silence.
Creak.
Look up.
Another bridge.
…
Oh, come on.
And perhaps that’s where yesterday’s volition becomes today’s motivation:
I crossed that one with You.
1…
That gives us a much more psychologically faithful and much more interesting Volition than simply “have faith and take the leap.”
Me: The final idea is not really to trust the bridge as much as the Builder/One who said to follow.
Chat: Yes. And that final distinction gives it the center it needed:
The bridge does not have to earn my trust. The Builder already has.
I’d keep the Rubicon stages inside the experience rather than explaining them. Desire → decision → preparation → 3! → action → evaluation → next crossing.
And this time, I’m keeping it deliberately lean for our ~4-minute Mureka target.
I especially like that “The boards can break” remains in the final chorus.
We don’t need to promise that every bridge God leads across will feel secure—or even that everything we associate with the crossing will survive. That would quietly relocate faith back into the bridge.
The claim is smaller and stronger:
Same Builder. Same Voice.
And I think this line captures the Rubicon idea without turning the song into a psychology lecture:
But yesterday’s step
Can’t take today’s.
Yesterday’s obedience can strengthen today’s faith. Yesterday’s crossing can tell me something about the Builder.
But yesterday’s volition cannot make today’s choice for me.
Then the song ends without even telling us whether he crosses the next bridge. We already know what happens:
One…
Two…
Just breathe…
Three.
He chose.
Again.