Terrified

I am home alone. It is not even ten o'clock yet.

Tonight, I am wrestling with a lot of thoughts.

The most prominent one being whether or not I truly want to be honest with you.

-

Tonight I am wildly discontent with the direction of my life.

I am watching as my family is packing up to leave. Alaska, Haiti, Seattle, Bolivia, the mountains.

Starting just last week, planes were boarded and tickets were purchased.

Slowly, surely, faithfully, the Almighty has filled us all up. And He is sending us out. One by one.

But I am here.

In Lexington.

And I can't shake the feeling that I am being left behind.

That maybe I wasn't deemed worthy enough to be sent out.

-

This, of course, is probably not true.

Driving down Third Street the other day, I felt a rampant passion bubbling up in my chest.

The windows were down and the sun was shining. And I passed condemned building after broken down house after abandoned theater...

And I heard words carried on the wind.

I will have a love affair with Lexington this summer.

-

So starting yesterday, I made a quiet promise to myself.

I would take time.

Set aside.

God is in Bolivia. God is in Seattle. God is in Denali. God is in Port-au-Prince.

God is in Kentucky.

And I will find Him.

I will take my shoes off.

Expecting the blue grass to be on fire with His presence.

-

-

But I'm learning something about myself.

I don't know when this mentality developed.

And I don't like it. Not one little bit.

It is, perhaps, the very thing that has been getting in my way this entire time.

My entire life.

-

I sat down at a picnic table at Third and Lime, in the sunlight, and opened my Bible.

Luke 12.

I opened my journal.

I prayed with my words and tried to collect my thoughts.

Ever banking on the fact that Jesus knows my heart and can interpret my aching and my groans better than I ever could.

-

I went back today.

Sat down again.

And came to this realization.

Somewhere along the way, somewhere in between today's prayers and my deepest understanding of how good God is...

I have developed this fear of asking Him to move.

I am afraid to ask Him for patience, because I am afraid He will put me in trying situations.

I am afraid to ask Him to make me content, because I am afraid He will take everything away.

I am afraid to ask Him to fill my lonely places, because I am afraid He will make me be lonely forever.

I am afraid to ask Him to help me trust Him, because I am afraid He will ask me to walk on water.

-

What a horrible Christian I am.

Not that I am afraid of these things...

but that I have spent all this time, convincing you that I have all this faith.

All this trust.

While, almost unknowingly, I pray and yet never voice my deepest thoughts. Despite the fact that He already knows...

I don't talk about what I know really needs to happen.

Maybe He will forget.

Yeah, right.

-

What a weird place I am in right now.

Finally understanding what it means both to be in love with Jesus and to fear the Lord.

To want absolutely nothing more than to see His hand at work.

To, for once, really understand that His way, His will, is truly the best.

To comprehend grace... only because it has been given to me so generously.

To understand the simplicity that is the Gospel.

The intricacy which is Creation.

And yet be terrified...

or maybe...

-

I wonder if you have to feel this sense of terror, in order to truly know what trust is?

If trusting was a no-brainer ... if trusting was easy ...

could you call it trust?

I feel just like I'm standing in the gaping mouth of the airplane door ... parachute strapped to my back ...

terrified to jump.

It's not that I don't want to.

It's not even, really, that I don't trust the parachute that has been expertly packed into my backpack.

I'm just scared.

-

And to be honest... because, after all, I decided to be honest with you.

My confession?

I don't even know where to begin.

-

Even as I said that... these words came into my ears.

"Take my life and let it be consecrated, Lord, to Thee. Here am I, all of me."

-

This is my confession.

Forgive me, if I have ever seemed to have it all figured out.

Ephphatha!

All his life, colors and temperature and texture had bombarded him.

A silent world spun around him.

All thoughts, imprisoned inside him.

Until one day.

-

The Rabbi leaned down and touched his face. His ears, his mouth, with fingers rough and gentle.

And even as the words left the Teacher's mouth,

he could hear them.

A command.

A miracle.

"Be opened..."

-

But before the sounds of the world could rush in...

Before the cries of his family reached his ears for the first time...

the Teacher leaned closer.

"You are loved".

-

Those would be the first words he had ever heard.

Words...

that when the loud noise of the world would suddenly become too much...

he would remember.

The End

It is 11:04. May 5th, 2009. A Tuesday.

I just uploaded my last assignment for Political Science. I turned in my last assignment for Social Work at 3:30 this afternoon.

I am done.

Finished at Bluegrass Community and Technical College.

It has been seven semesters. Sixty-eight credit hours.

I contemplated leaving slowly today.

But once I waved to the old janitor and the security guard and met up with Liza in the lobby and said bye to Melissa in the Dental Hygiene Clinic...

I was done. Ready to say goodbye.

So I walked out of the Oswald Building. Down the steps. Out into the parking lot.

And I didn't look back.

-

I just submitted my final assignment.

And I am doing a little reminiscing.

-

I remember the day I drove into the K Lot for the first time. Lost in a sea of cars and L.L. Bean backpacks, I made my way onto BCTC's relatively small campus. Feeling small. And confused. And overwhelmed.

Then I met Mr. Hinkle.

I would meet a few more people that semester - people that would have a part, to this day, in changing my life. I would make A's. End a relationship. Turn 18.

I moved out of my parents' house that summer.

That fall I met Kip. And Ms. Humble. I met Dwaine and Brittany. I would move again. And learn what it meant to have hope in my Father. I would meet Matt and Derek and Brian.

My second spring semester I met Mrs. Johnston. And Joye. I turned 19 and my parents separated.

Summer of 2007 I ran away to Colorado.

Fall of 2007, Kat dragged me out of bed one Sunday morning to go eat Donatos pizza.

What would happen that Sunday afternoon, would be one of the most significant changes in my entire life.

I would meet Caleb. The passionate, bearded guy. He would be the head of our family. He would rock me to sleep through the next semester.

When my parents divorced. When I moved to yet another new apartment. When I tackled five more classes and made five more A's. When I turned twenty. When I learned how to take photographs... and about fair trade, organic coffee.

A family, stronger than any I'd ever known, was then born out of community.

More change....

A 'B' in Anatomy and Physiology.

Redeclaring majors.

I spent this last spring semester with an online political science class and an on-campus Social Work class.

And the first day of my last semester, I found myself in the same classroom where I had met Mr. Hinkle.

I am a new person.

With a new outlook on life.

A new confidence.

New knowledge.

Hopefully... more wisdom.

Certainly, more experience.

I sat down at the desk and the first day of class, back in January, it would be confirmed through the words of a professor.... I had finally made the right choice.

-

It is over now.

What I just told you... probably is meaningless.

That was the skeleton. I left out the who's and the why's and the parts that really matter.

Of fastings and dance parties and broken alternators and unrequited love and saying goodbye to people I would never see again. Of figuring out who I am. And who I am not. Vegetarian summers. Advocacy and double cheeseburgers. Art out of coffee cans. Falling in love with Jesus. The important stuff.

This season of my life is over.

I could do a dance, just thinking about it.

Because I can see how I've changed.

And if I learned nothing else... I learned about myself on that little campus.

-

Now, I am staring into the sleepy eyes of a long summer.

A 21st birthday.

New friends, waiting to be made.

Goodbyes to be said.

-

Now, on a Tuesday night in early May, something ended.

Only so something else could begin.

Why?

It is a question that keeps reverberating through my life...

send it out, it bounces against the world and comes back to me.

Why?

I hate this question.

It requires an answer.

More often than not, my answer is simply to shrug my shoulders, "I don't know why."

But sometimes that isn't good enough.

Sometimes "Why" requires a real answer.

And the reason I hate this question ... is sometimes I hate the answer.

Sometimes the answer is that really, truly, I do not know.

Not a cop out.

Not a dismissal.

I do not know.

-

This morning I woke up with a burdening sense of insecurity.

I have not felt this emotion in quite some time.

In fact, I was making steady progress towards self-awareness and acceptance.

So when I rolled out of bed this morning and the burden on my shoulders was heavier than I remembered last night...

I asked "why?".

-

More importantly these days...

"Why not?"

"Why don't you?"

-

This shifts this question, but not the answer.

Ask me "why" and I respond with "I don't know", I am simply admitting my limited knowledge. I'm unaware of why I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, why there are gallons of tears behind my eyes, why I don't love him anymore, why I won't go up and say hi, why ... why ... why...

Ask me "why not" and I respond with "I don't know", and I have failed to act.

-

"Jesus, they are hungry, please give them something to eat."

"Why don't you give them something to eat," He responds.

Why don't you....

There are fewer good responses.

Fewer acceptable excuses.

-

I can't.

Why not?

-

Blowing in the Wind

My thoughts are often consumed...

sometimes I think I can feel three thousand little hearts beating...

and I want you to know their story.

I will fight for them.

But not just for them.

I will fight for humanity.

For all the ones Jesus loves.

-

All day yesterday, I saw people walking around campus with green t-shirts and backpacks on. I'd smile, quietly, knowing that I'd see them soon. They were one of us, we were on the same team, whoever they were, wherever they were going. I could tell just by watching. I want Christians to be this way. I want to look at you (not what you are wearing, not the music you are listening to, not the bumper stickers on your car - just you.) and be able to identify you as one of Christ's loved ones. I want to know you... because you love the world. I want to recognize you... because you are full of grace.

I walked into Triangle Park and was nearly blown away by the wind.

Bob Dylan played over the loud speakers, "Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have Before he can hear people cry? Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows That too many people have died? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind..."

We struggled to put up the tents, to secure them into the lawn so they didn't blow away. My hair was in my eyes, the leaves rustled over my head.

The forecast had said: 80 degrees, sunny, and lots of wind.

For some, it was a nuisance.

For me, it indicated the presence of God.

God was with us... because He created those three thousand little hearts that I can feel beating.

-

I stood with pamphlets in my hands, waiting for them.

The abductees.

We kept getting phone calls that the ceremonious walk had begun.

They were coming.

We waited in anticipation. I imagined their footsteps were like drum beats... creating a rhythm all of Lexington could hear, could feel.

Then I saw them.

A mass of people. All in green.

-

Our project had begun.

We laid out our sleeping bags, filled out water bottles. Some rolled up their pants legs and waded in the fountains.

We registered people, collected money, started making phone calls.

Together, we were waiting to be rescued.

We needed some to come and see us. Find us worthy of saving.

To ceremoniously lead us out of captivity.

-

Periodically, one of the volunteers in blue shirts would get up and announce some form of progress. We raised one flag after the other - indicating a step completed, a goal reached.

The celebration that would ensue was strongest amongst those of us who understood what was happening. Loudest throughout those who were invested, who were in love with the abducted soldiers of the LRA.

-

Then we were rescued.

By a man, who not only represented our government, but believed personally in our cause as well.

The media showed up - whether out of obligation, annoyance, or curiosity. Tonight, on the 11 o'clock news, the footage will be shown.

-

And our waiting turned into a celebration. Shouting, clapping, pictures, ceremoniously raising flags, hugging, and at one point... a group of people gathered in the middle of the park to pray.

But there were hundreds of people still waiting.

In cities around us, in neighboring states, there were people gathered, rallying, raising awareness just like us.

Waiting to be rescued.

So we sent a few of our people... with an address and a GPS... up to West Virginia.

Rescue Riders.

Coming to the rescue - adding to their numbers. Joining forces, voices, hands.

All over the country last night and this morning, teams have been rescued, and have sent others out to help rescue more...

-

We would spend the rest of the night in the park.

With the trees illuminated with lights.

The fountains gurgling, casting dancing shadows on the sidewalk chalk drawings.

The wind would blow all night long.

And as the city of Lexington slowly fell asleep, so did a few of us.

-

But I laid there. In a sleeping bag.

I drifted between alertness and a light sleep.

I heard as the people around me slowly wound down, crawled under blankets, laid their heads on pillows. As a guy from Asbury slowly picked away at his guitar, as the buggies flew by with their sirens on.

At some point in the night, I rolled over and looked up at the sky.

I felt so protected.

Not at all like I was laying in an open park in the middle of downtown Lexington.

But like I was enclosed... safe and dry and warm.

I felt my heart beating in my chest.

-

When the sun rose, I rolled over in my sleeping bag and watched the morning light crawl over dozens of sleeping bodies, scattered randomly across the park lawn. One person stirred. Then another.

Before long, we had the park back to normal. All tents disassembled, all trash thrown away, all sleeping bags rolled up and loaded in cars.

We left the park better than we had found it.

There was no trace of us.

Except for the sidewalk chalk drawings...

"If we don't save them, who will?"

-

I never expected to have enough room in my heart for this.

-

As Nikki and I walked away from the park today, all I could think was how last night changed my life.

How my first experience with true advocacy, might only be the very first time... the beginning of a journey.

And how I hoped the next time we all gathered for the sake of 3,000 children from Africa, it would be to rejoice their homecoming.

To celebrate their rescue.

Trust

I am coming off a crazy busy weekend.

And am currently procrastinating, waiting until the very last minute to take my poli sci test, staying up too late, somehow convincing myself the later I stay awake, the farther away Monday morning is.

I had a conversation on Friday night, sitting at the tables outside Common Grounds, with one of my favorite men in the world. He and I don't do much interaction when it comes to big groups. Even when we're with our family, we hug and say hi, but don't exchange too many words. But every once in a while, I get him all to myself. And we have had some of the best conversations, just me and him. Listening and talking, give and take. His eyes light up when I talk, and I know he hears me. This means the world to me... and causes me to delve deeper into my heart, leading to understanding and change.

One of the lessons I learned? A realization I caught and internalized, sitting there on High Street?

We claim to have faith.
"Everything works out for the good..."
"For I know the plans I have for you..."
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart..."
"But He knows the way I take..."
"Do not be anxious about anything..."
"Do not worry about tomorrow..."

But then we become nervous wrecks when our worlds turn upside down. We are disoriented and consumed with thoughts of the future and worries about our well-being.

But if we never give God the opportunity to take care of us, how will we ever come to understand the lengths to which is Glory extends?

How would we ever know how powerful He is, how much He cares about every small aspect of our lives, unless we give it to Him to take care of?

This is a trust issue.

One my Father and I are working out even as we speak.

So, tonight, I urge you simply to let go.

When it is all too much and your eyes cant see far enough and you are too weary to continue....

open your hands.

The Rock's Cry

I am heavy.

It took many men to roll me into place.

I sank into the ditch, hollowed out to keep me from shifting.

One side of me basks in the sun, is caressed by the wind. Whitewashed, I am passed by mourners, touched by the grieving. My every crevice can hear them weeping.

The other side is dark and cold. It is quiet on this side. A resting place. Unclean and still.

-

They carried another inside.

Rolled me into place.

I shifted, with a thud, and settled.

My job was only to keep what was outside from coming inside.

To keep what was unclean inside.

The dark side of my face slept.

-

Night came.

The sun rose.

Crossed the sky - morning, noon.

Night came again.

-

Stillness on the inside.

-

The sun rose again.

My external face began to feel the first rays of morning light, my solid matter filled with heat.

-

But suddenly

-

What was dark became light.

-

What was still, moved.

-

The quietness was filled with the sounds of breathing.

My every sand-filled pore could feel the beating of a heart.

Slowly at first.

Gaining rhythm.

-

What was this?

-

"Holy, holy, holy"

-

I did not know I had a voice.

-

I was suddenly filled.

I felt myself shake.

Something inside me

was compelled to cry.

-

Dead men did not wake.

Dead men did not move.

Dead men did not speak.

-

But he was waking.

He was moving.

And he spoke.

With a voice, which had been quiet for three days.

-

A voice, no longer forsaken.

Filled with spirit.

And authority.

-

The I Am.

-

He reached out and touched my cold, dark side.

I thought I might shatter.

-

"It is time," he whispered.

"Holy, holy, holy" I whispered.

His hand lay flat on my grey, cold surface.

And I filled with overwhelming heat.

-

The tomb, which I guarded, suddenly was filled with light.

Light, very much unlike the light from the sun.

On the outside, the trees began to hum.

And the blades of grass whistled.

-

I was rolled away.

-

And the two worlds met again.

Two beings, dressed in radiant white, bowed on their knees as He stepped out into the sunlight. From their lips came the same words I had uttered.

I could not stop.

From the very depths of me, my most solid center, the words would not cease.

I would be whispering the words for the rest of eternity.

"Holy holy holy, is the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come..."

-

I watched Him walk away.

-

The two beings laid their hands on me and urged me to keep a secret.

"You will sing again," they assured me. "It is their turn now."

And I saw as the mourners came...

I longed to tell them.

"Do not cry. He has risen! Do not grieve. The Messiah has risen indeed!"

-

Holy, holy, holy...

Sunrise

He had told them exactly what would happen.

You will betray me.

You will deny me.

The rooster will crow.

In three days, this will all be over.

Everything will be alright, I love you. In three days, just three days, we will be together again.

-

Then the sky turned black and the veil ripped and so did His body.

One betrayed.

One denied.

The rooster crowed.

And they took His body down from its hanging place, and they buried Him.

-

And much like we do, when we've lost a friend, a loved one, they mourned.

They probably gathered together. Couldn't eat much. Didn't sleep much. They were probably angry; at the system, at the Romans, at Pilate.

Their world seemed dark without Him. They had dropped everything. Forgotten everything to follow Him. To be with Him. And now He was gone. Their worlds were shattered. Had everything been in vain?

In their grief, they forgot His promise.

-

But three days later, the sun would rise.

The rock would roll away.

The angels would be stationed... waiting. Laughing, I think, with joy. Maybe they waited in heaven to hear from the Lord, anticipated the call to tell Yahweh's precious ones a secret. I doubt after all these years the angels had gotten tired of terrifying people; of bringing huge news that no one believed at first...

-

"Why are you looking for the living among the dead?"

The women would race home. Leaving their spices and oils at the graveside.

And no one would believe them either.

Except for Peter.

Who would race to the grave. To see for himself.

Jesus had been right. Peter had denied him three times.

Jesus had been right. Judas had betrayed him.

The rooster had crowed, his body had been broken.

-

Three days ago, Peter had watched his best friend die the death of a criminal.

Today was the third day.

-

Peter probably counted the days on his fingers.

Counted the hours. The times the sun had set and risen.

Yes, three days.

-

And there He was.

Holes in His hands. Holes in His feet.

He was hungry.

-

The Rabbi was the Messiah.

Christ was a man with carpenter's hands.

-

With the sun that morning, hope rose.

It was hope, which swelled from inside the grave.

Overwhelming it.

Just as Yahweh's love had overwhelmed the holiest of places.

-

Death was not strong enough to contain.

-

Peter had, for three days, known a world without his Lord.

-

And he would spend the rest of his life fervently pursuing the kingdom.

Compelled by the hope, which rose with the sun.

The Veil

I represented your separation from God.

A physical reminder of how far you fall short of glorifying Him - of being good enough - holy enough.

Until that day.

When Yahweh's love became too big to be contained behind my folds.

Too powerful to be constrained by my length.

I was privy to the workings of both the world and the Holy of Holies.

I saw all who were deemed worthy to enter into the Lord's presence.

I saw how much the world needed Him.

As if the Heavens had erupted
Suddenly all the light either world knew-
radically transformed.

I, being the manifestation of separation, could no longer contain the love which swelled from inside.

Which began in the holy place

And needed more room.

In agony, in utter devotion, in purest love, the Almighty stepped down.

I saw Him reach.

He reached for you.

I was the symbol of the I Am's separation from the ones He loved most.

To get to you, I was torn. Rent, from top to bottom.

He came down to meet you. Stretched beyond the ancient and sacred confines to love you.

Two Thoughts.

Thought One:

"Ever since happiness heard your name, its been running through the streets trying to find you..." (Hafiz of Persia)

Happiness is not the goal.

Comfort is not the goal.

Exhaustion is not the goal.

Discomfort is not the goal.

Pain is not the goal.

Fame is not the goal.

Invisibility is not the goal.

Need I go on?

-

I heard His name... felt Him in between my shoulder blades... felt His breath on my skin.

And ever since, I've been running through the streets. Looking under rocks, knocking on doors, peering around corners. Trying to find Him.

Abba Father.

I heard Your name, caught a glimpse of You as You passed by.

And nothing has been the same since.

You see, this life is about the pursuit of Him.

And the glory of turning around and realizing that, in fact, He is pursuing you.

-

Thought Two:

The social work class I am currently enrolled in requires 25 hours of community service.

Never before in my life have I found it so hard to help people for just a few hours a week.

I am not a certified-anything.

I am not a trained-anybody.

I am not a skilled-someone.

I am an undergrad. With an Associate's degree and a weird bank of knowledge. I am good with kids. ( Sometimes. Really, it depends on the kid. ) My heart hurts when yours hurts. I want to know your name and I want you know you are loved. I want to help you recognize God and beauty's presence in your life, and watch as you fall in love with both.

That... doesn't look so impressive on a resume.

So I am working in a few different venues, getting in these volunteer hours. Like clockwork, I walk into an organization, tell them I am a social work major and I need community service time. Do they need my help? They say yes. And hand me a baby.

This just thrills my little heart. But I will laugh at the end of the semester if for some reason, it doesn't "count". ( Some say social work is about more than that. I say, social work is about doing what needs to be done.)

But something I realized tonight, after finishing some volunteer hours in Winchester, is that Read to Succeed is a dual blessing for me.

Since about the end of February, beginning of March, I have been driving into Winchester every Wednesday afternoon. I spend some time with my little sisters (who really, aren't so little anymore). I go and tutor. And then I go to the library.

Not to get more books.

To see my mom.

You see, on Wednesday nights she works at her own little desk. In the back of the library. Away from everybody.

I get her all to myself.

For once.

It's my strategy. Corner her. So she can't get away. So she really has nothing better to do.

She has no choice but to listen to me. I'm the only one there.

And then, apparently, my subconscious self decides that Wednesday nights around 7pm in the back of the Clark County Public Library, is the best time to let a week's worth of tears loose.

I cried tonight for a lot of reasons.

I cried because we didn't get to say goodbye. I cried because he cheated. I cried because his first experience with life was that people can be cruel. I cried because they are good people. I cried because she is leaving. I cried because she is grown up. I cried because he doesn't see me. I cried because I want to hold someone's hand. I cried because she is pregnant. I cried because they are getting married. I cried because I am tired.

I cried because... tonight, more than anything, I want an adventure. I need to "break the chain of routine". I am here, waiting in anticipation for the change that is sure to come.

And in the mean time, I feel like the most boring, dull person in the world.

I just laughed a little, thinking about that statement. Because I know it's not true. Because I know, in about four or five weeks, that said change is going to start happening. And I will have not even a little bit of a clue as to how to deal.

My life does not look like yours.

I don't want my life to look like yours.

I want whatever it is this crazy, loving God of mine has planned.

But even those thoughts didn't stop my ocean of tears tonight.

And I realized, I needed to be in Winchester on Wednesday nights more for myself than anything. If only so I could corner my pretty, young mom in the back of the library and steal her attention. And talk through all the crap that tends to clutter my head.

My life doesn't look like yours.

And it certainly doesn't make sense right now.

But it is 10:40 on a Wednesday night and my legs are sore from running and my heart is aching from searching and my soul is stretched to capacity it seems.

And there's nothing I can really do to change anything tonight.

And I am okay with that.

Tomorrow is a new day.

Mississippis

Lightening illuminates the sky.

One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
Three Mississippi.

Thunder rolls across the earth, coming from inside somewhere.

Sky is black and long. Stretching farther than it did earlier in the day... clouds and arms outreached over the horizon.

-

I was driving to work on Friday morning when Katherine called and proclaimed her newfound love for morning time. "I'm a morning person, I just didnt know it!" And I felt a twinge of jealousy.

I don't know what the world looks like in the mornings. What the new sun feels like when it's low in the east. What early morning dew feels like on my bare feet. What bright morning sunshine might feel like on my skin.

Dramatic?

It feels that way, when the only light I know is light that is on its way out.

-

On Sunday I went to church and sat through service with the best man in my life.

We watched one of our favorite men play the drums.

And I watched art being formed on the stage.

Then I went upstairs to take care of babies.

I held him in my arms. Fed him. Rubbed his bald forehead as he fell asleep.

He sank in my arms as I rocked back and forth on my heels.

And I knew, on some level, I was meant for this.

-

We didn't have a scheduled meeting tonight.

Two of us missed our family desperately. So we made a few phone calls. Drove down the street and met up with our sisters and a brother. Ate and laughed and walked through the rain.

Spontaneous. Intentional. Beautiful.

-

Rain pelts down on the asphalt.

Shoes off.

Pants rolled up.

Run.

Body falls into line.

Limbs move in rhythm.

Rain pelts on my face.

I feel connected.

-

One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
Three Mississippi.

The sky is full.

Our lives are full.

Drenched.

We must learn to see.

In anticipation of thunder, which rolls beneath our very feet.

What is beauty?

-

Beauty is life.

Being drenched by the rain.

Holding life in your arms.

Understanding, for the first time, that life is short.

-

Beauty is the Mississippis you count between the lightening and thunder.

When your breath is captured in your chest and you watch the sky...

And instead, feel all you know rumble beneath your feet.

Vessel

I am a vessel.
Created for a purpose.
Filled.
But without You I am not full.

Broken, I am shattered to pieces.
Whatever I carry, spilled to floor.
Counted as loss.
Of no real worth to me. Or the world.

I am pieced back together by Your gentle hand.
Though empty and scarred
Uneven and cracked.
I am whole.

Faced with a decision.
To return -
To be filled again with that which shatters me.
That which has no meaning.

But instead I turn to You.
A vessel, I am, begging not to be filled.
But to be full.
To carry within my walls something of worth.

And You pour into me.
You do not stop.
Until I am not full,
but overflowing.

I am full now.
Of light.
Overflowing with love.
A vessel, saturated in Your presence.

A vessel.
Broken and emptied -
Again and again, only at Your feet.
I was created for a purpose.

To carry Your light.
To be a place in which You dwell.
A vessel.
A temple.

Answers (Part Two)

"Do not be afraid, Abram. I am your shield, your very great reward."

"Do not be afraid, do not be discouraged. Be strong and courageous."

"Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit."

"But Jesus immediately said to them: "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid."

"The angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified."

"But the angel said to her, "Do not be afraid, Mary, you have found favor with God."

"Then Jesus said to Simon, "Don't be afraid; from now on you will catch men." So they pulled their boats up on shore, left everything and followed him."

-

I walked into church tonight, hoping for a miracle. I even voiced this to my sister before leaving my house. I was hoping for a silly little miracle. A serendipity... Turns out, my expectations were low.

You see, I walked into a series at TSB titled "Miracles".

Tonight, we talked about Peter.

A simple man.

Who stepped out of a boat.

And in the face of fear,

he fell into the waiting arms of Jesus.

-

Through the windows in the Atrium, the Jessamine County sky was growing dark and lightening flashed and the clouds raced by.

Steve stood in front of the windows and said, "I've heard it said, faith is about going to the end of all the light you have. And taking one more step."

This definition of faith in essence means we are always taking steps forward. As believers, as little Christs, we carry our light with us.

Then Steve said, "It seems to me that every time God, Jesus, or an angel shows up on the scene and says 'Do not be afraid', something really big is about to happen."

I sat in my seat and my mind ran through the though Esther and Ruth and Moses and Abraham and Joseph and Mary and Peter and Daniel and David... of angels who appeared to shepherds. And then I remembered the Bible I had been handed just yesterday.

I had opened up to the passage in 1 Chronicles... "Be strong and courageous... Do not be afraid".

I claimed this verse as my own.

"Do not be afraid..."

That was my answer.

-

Something big is about to happen.

It's been building for a while.

I've been in a state of preparation and growth...

I am, even now, seeking my true identity. Looking for my purpose.

Growing up.

I have been residing in this middle ground for a few years now.

In betweens and transitions and gray areas.

Getting ready for what comes next... always anticipating.

This season is coming to an end.

I am reaching the end of all the light I have.

-

It will soon come time to take a step beyond.

In faith.

In the face of fear.

To fall into the waiting arms of Jesus.

-

"Be strong and courageous... Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord God, my God, is with you. He will not fail you or forsake you..."

Answers

This has been, by far, one of the strangest weekends of my life.

Saturday morning, I woke up on a king sized mattress on the floor in Winchester. We ate pancakes and drank bad coffee. And five women took showers and got ready without quarreling for the first time since living in the Long Avenue house.

Around 11 o'clock, I took the keys, got in the car, and drove my mother to her wedding.

That is another story entirely... for another time. It's not even been a week yet. I am nowhere near digesting all the thoughts and feelings I have experienced the past few days. When I do... well, the words that come will be a milestone.

I have a different story.

I was standing in my mom's kitchen yesterday, visiting for her 43rd birthday. She came into the room with a few things in her hands. She and her new husband have been cleaning out the closets -- and the closets in the Long Avenue house are quite full of surprises and lost treasure and some trash.

She distributed a few items between us and then, in passing, handed me a Bible. "You want this," she said as she walked away.

Time stopped there in the kitchen.

I had been waiting for moments like this. When I start receiving sentimental things that no longer belong in that house...

It was a Jerusalem Bible.

I opened it. Knowing what I would find might break my heart.

And on the front page, in his familiar handwriting, I read:

"July 10, 1989
This Bible was bought in Pigeon Forge, TN. [We] were here in search of an answer from God. I will write later if we get one."

There wasn't a single thing written anywhere else in the book.

No answers?

I put the Bible away with my purse and keys and brought it home with me.

When I got home, I thumbed through the pages. Unread? Untouched?

Then it fell open to a page, somewhere close to the middle.

"Be strong and courageous, and do the work. Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the LORD God, my God, is with you. He will not fail you or forsake you..."

Almost twenty years later...

I closed the book again and felt like an answer from God had finally been found.

Maybe not an answer for the two, twenty-somethings who purchased the book a few decades ago.

Today, it no longer matters what questions those two were asking.

For their daughter... who was just over a year old when they went seeking those answers...

God would leap from the page.

God would seek me out. To give me an answer.

Springtime

Helen Hays said, "All through the long winter, I dream of my garden. On the first day of spring, I dig my fingers deep into the soft earth. I can feel its energy, and my spirits soar."

According to my calendar, tomorrow is the first day of spring.

Nothing magical will happen in the morning, I'm afraid. I will wake long before the sun rises, go to my office, and sit with my back to the window all day. Then I will leave and feel the afternoon sun for the first time, as if my day begins at 3pm and not 7am.

Nature does not heed the instructions of the paper calendars very well. For the past few days, the last of chronological winter, the earth has been whispering promises of spring. Warm winds, short rain storms. I could hear Tates Creek's marching band practicing this afternoon. My windows in my car have been rolled down for three days straight now. My sister's birthday is in just a few days.

Just because the calendar says tomorrow is the first day of spring does not make it so.

But it has been a long winter.

I am itching to get my hands dirty. To hike a trail, to climb a mountain. To touch the earth in a way winter will not permit. To be part of something big. To be made to feel small.

Part of me secretly wonders if the onset of a physical spring might induce a spiritual spring as well. If March 20th won't ring in the season of singing after all.

The world is waking up around me. The physical world, the spiritual world. Our windows and our hearts are being thrown wide open. To let new air in, old air out. Time to shake the dust off. Expose our skin to the sun. Let our bare feet sink in the dirt, be tickled by the grass. Let our minds be renewed, opened to new ideas.

I have been preserving hope throughout this past winter. It was not in ample supply, that is for sure. This was the first Kentucky winter during which I experienced a level of seasonal depression. Perhaps this is because only in the past few years have I discovered my God in nature. And the onslaught of a winter in the Bluegrass means inconsistency, ice, bitterness, grayness. Containment. Confinement.

It is almost as if tomorrow holds a promise.

Whispering of an opportunity.

To reconnect.

With who I am.

And who God is.

To climb a mountain and be close to Him.

I might have even fooled myself into thinking that by being in nature, I might find some direction. By becoming lost in the woods, I might find my way.

These past few months have sent my brain spinning. My heart. As if my faith, my creativity, my perseverance, and my hope were seeds. And a big wind came and scattered them right out of my palm ...

And I've been lost without them.

Like every aspect of myself has been pulled in an opposite direction. Setting me flailing ungracefully.

But the promise of spring awakens this hope for peace inside of me. For what can only be called a reunion. A coming together. Congruency. A joining of soul and body.

I have a suspicion that this awakening hope has nothing to do with the 70 degree weather.

-

Maybe soon my flailing will be transformed into a graceful pirouette. I will regain control of my limbs and my thoughts and my aspirations and my fears.

And the world will make a little more sense because all of me will be spinning in the same direction.

-

I look forward to Saturday when we will all pack up cars with people and bagels and hiking shoes and drive to Slade.

There we will enter into a sanctuary.

A holy place filled with Him.

Set apart ... nearly untouched.

Where our hearts are safe.

And we can fall to our knees, let our hands sift through the dirt, and be reminded.

God is everywhere.

All the time.

Forgotten?

We want to be respected for who we are.

Not for what we can do.

Not for what we bring to the table.

But for who were are, stripped down, simple, without degrees, labels, or achievements.

-

We want to be known.

Fully.

Not as who we pretend to be, but who we are when we look in the mirror.

The quirks of our personalities. Our faults. Our attributes.

The way we process information, the way we handle conflict.

Why we do what we do.

-

We want that person, the "real us", to be loved.

For someone to see us for who we are, for what we are not, and consider us something worthy of love. Of admiration. Someone to see us worthy of pursuit, or investment.

-

We know we want this for ourselves.

But very often, more often than not, we forget others feel this way as well.

Such needs are reciprocated, mirrored in the face of a stranger, echoed in the voice of a neighbor, written on the arms of a lover.

-

But

-

We are selfish.

Every last one of us.

And we are forgetful.

-

We forget to love others as we would want to be loved.

We forget to see.

We forget to recognize worth.

We forget to value.

-

This is why we continue to hurt.

To be lonely.

Not just in the context of romantic relationships.

But in regards to community in general.

We do not love with the kind of love we long for.

Which is all it would really take...

-

We worry about what strangers think of us.

Neglect the person who lives across the hall.

Our love, our attention, is farsighted.

-

We long to be known.

Yet settle for casual, unintentional relationships.

Our arms reach for a warm embrace.

Passing up the waiting arms already extended to us.

-

How is it we have forgotten the desire of our heart?

To love and be loved.

To know and be known.

-

Troubled Mind Blues

Life usually makes sense in my head.

Not since I was fifteen years old was my life in such chaos that I didn't know which way was up.

But here I am again.

A lot of time has passed between then and now.

I have learned a lot.

It still feels like chaos. Pure and utter.

But this time, I know what waits for me when the spinning stops.

I know that this is the discomfort of stretching.

The pains of growth.

Life works in cycles like this. In seasons. There are patterns and inconsistencies and valleys and peaks.

Right now...

I cannot make life make sense in my head.

Simply, I do not know how I will make it work come August.

How I will pay for housing. Will I commute? Where will I work?

These are questions I answered three years ago when I moved to Lexington.

I thought the next time I made a huge lifestyle change, education would no longer been an inhibiting factor.

But I am looking at two more years of school. And a scholarship that requires I remain full time.

A car, which might explode at any minute.

Preparing to possibly live on my own for the very first time. No roommates. Just me.

And maybe this all wouldn't be so hard... so stressful ... if I didn't care about people so much. I cannot consciously sacrifice my relationships for a successful career/education. Nothing is so important that it is worth secluding myself. I have dreams that have nothing to do with a BSW or a stable career. Dreams that involve people. Beautiful people. People I cannot live without.

That is what troubles my mind these days.

Trying to make the world make sense in my head.

-

And I find myself praying this prayer:

"Father,
My mind cannot come up with anything new. I have run out of ideas. I've been here before and You've walked me through. Open my eyes. Let me see a third way. In the middle of this crazy, spinning world, teach me to stand still. Still the wild beating of my heart. And let a peace fall on me that is unexplainable."

And desiring, deeply, these things:
To be in a quiet place. A high place. To climb and look out over the world. To be close to God. To hold hands. To rebuild family. To push myself. To drop the dark baggage I carry and walk in light. Walk in love. To be loved. To help. To be able to put into real, meaningful words what it means to live this life...

-

That's the stuff that makes sense in my troubled mind tonight.

The logistics are hard to come by... I wasn't prepared for change in this direction.

But real change always takes us by surprise, I suppose.

And no matter how old you are, how experienced, how wise... you are never prepared.

-

So I will climb up to the top of a mountain.

He'll make the world stop spinning for a while.

And years down the road we'll laugh about how I thought this was hard... and I will have learned lessons and grown stronger and smarter and gained skill and sharpened my personality.

This is life, you see.

My troubled mind just forgets sometimes.

Invisible

I am experiencing an emotion that has no name.

It is an emotion paired with an internal rhythm.

Matched with a deep calling.

Married to an unparalleled purpose.

-

I remember when hundreds of people slept in Triangle Park one night a few years ago. I stood looking at the television with Larry in my grandparents' kitchen and asked: "what is that all about? it seems so pointless. do they even know what they are doing this for?"

It would be years before my question was answered.

Before I realized why they used terms like "invisible" and "displaced".

-

The first time I watched the documentary, it was required for my communications course. My COM252 professor led us all to the auditorium and we all sat together.

I held back the tears that came. Pushed down the swelling in my heart. This was a vulnerability I didn't want to share with classmates.

-

I wanted to DO something.

-

Tonight, in a different auditorium on the other side of campus, they showed a second documentary.

I walked in the cold and sat down.

With people I trusted with my vulnerability.

And I felt the rhythm.

-

I saw faces.

I learned their names.

A familiar story unfolded.

The villain was finally introduced.

A plan was forming.

A plan of rescue.

-

This plan, which has impacted humanity,

was set in motion by three men my own age.

Humans with a passion.

Who found a third option.

Who are acting more like Christ than most preachers I know.

-

Humanity is being terrorized.

Innocence is being stolen.

Beauty is being extinguished.

-

But the gates of hell are being stormed.

-

I sat still in the auditorium for a few minutes when the documentary was over.

I was crying internally.

Weeping in my heart.

I could feel the swelling in my chest.

-

You see, I've always wanted to DO something.

-

There's a rhythm inside of me, which I feel belongs with a larger one.

As if I were created to be a part of a symphony.

I've always felt called to be a part of something BIG.

-

It's why I declared social work my major.

Because I can sit here on my bed and write down pretty words all night long.

But change only comes through action.

Change occurs when we take initiative.

-

When we cut a path where there has never been one before.

When we ask questions.

When we explore.

When we step outside our limits, our capabilities.

-

There are invisible children everywhere.

In our country.

In Kentucky.

In Lexington.

On your street.

-

The rhythm in my heart is growing stronger.

-

Let your prayers rise with the incense tonight.

For children who are being held captive.

For people who have been forgotten.

For those who are brave enough to do something about it.

For humanity.

-

Jesus has called us.

Let us storm the gates of hell.

And rescue the children.

begin anew

Across the table she smiled knowingly.
"It really is just so hard to get your life started."

My heart skipped a beat.
I thought I had already begun...
I thought it had already started?

She meant the career, family-building, home-making life.

She meant a season I've yet to come to.

What she said was not wrong.

What she said made me think.

I get this sense of finality... when I think about my life the way it is now.

This season is about to end.

I am in the dead middle of a winter.

My emotional, social, even spiritual life are buried deep in cold, preserving snow.

But I hear it some days...

the sound of ice melting.

And I know the seasons are about to change.

-

With that sense of finality, along with that sense of change, I feel a paralyzing fear.

Because everything familiar will soon be gone.

What is comfortable, habit, normal, will disappear.

And I feel helpless.... as if I am starting back at square one.

New job, new home, new city, new people, new school.

The past four years or so there have been a lot of transitions and changes in my life.

More than I can really count.

But there have been some constants...

Small things I could rely on to stay the same.

-

It is time for the constants to change.

-

And I feel like all of this was for naught...

These three and a half years spent at a two year college.

These four years spent in an office.

Three years learning the roads of downtown Lexington, where to get the best cup of coffee, the shortcuts home.

-

I was struggling with this desolate feeling a few afternoons ago.

Starting over.

The thought just broke my heart.

I feel like I have come so far...

Only to return to the drawing board.

Futile.

Wasted?

It's a nasty word.

-

On this afternoon, I was on Limestone.

Just past UK hospital, the light at Washington Street to be exact.

And a Volvo passed by.

As the Volvo drove ahead of me, I saw on the bumper a single sticker.

It looked homemade, the way it was cut.

"begin anew".

-

I dug for a pen.

Wrote on my palm.

Watched the Volvo drive away.

I marveled at the idea of God showing up on the bumper of a car.

-

I knew this was the answer.

Not starting over.

Not square one.

-

Yes, back to the drawing board.

But I am returning with a new set of skills.

With new eyes.

With more calluses on my hands.

With stronger muscles.

-

It is not starting over.

Because I grew this season.

The old garments won't fit any longer....

-

Very soon, I will begin anew.

Adding.

Building.

Reinforcing.

-

And I wonder if that is not, in fact, the beauty of it all.

The tragedy.

The romance.

It's the purpose.

It's the story.

-

So what else is there to do? But return and anticipate change.

beauty for ashes

Blown away by the wind.

Destroyed by the water.

Burned in the sun.

My hands are gray, full of ashes.

What I thought was worthy... what I thought was precious...

In my hands, powder and dust.

Cupped hands, ashes sift through my fingers.

Because what is worthy

What is precious

are the calluses.

the fine lines from laughter.

the deep wrinkles from the sun.

the blisters on my feet.

muscle's fatigue.

-

If God is in the world...

And we are here...

then God is among us.

We are constantly in the presence of God.

And we come in contact with His gifts every day.

-

Yet here we are.

Stockpiling the gold.

Worshipping plastic.

Unaware of how lavishly we have been adorned by His love.

How richly we've been clothed by His grace.

-

So we offer to You, all we think we are worth.

-

But You have stooped low,

to wash our gray, sooty hands.

Making us clean.

-

You bind the wounds inflicted by this world.

Put salve on the blisters we've worn on our skin...

On our heads You have placed a crown.

-

And for our ashes, you have given us beauty.

The Wall

I hit the wall last night.

We all knew it was coming.

It happens to me like clockwork every semester. My heart feels full... I feel like I'm on the right track. Life still doesn't make sense, but the challenges I'm faced with are manageable.

This time, I had found my tangible calling.

As a child of God, I am called to love people.

I had found a way to incorporate taking care of people with my career.

And I was elated.

But I hit it last night...

face first.

Like running into a corner in the dark.

I didn't see it coming.

The wall.

-

I sat there in my desk.

She hadn't said anything new at all.

No new information that caused me to reconsider.

Nothing fresh and overwhelming.

But in my weakness, in my fatigue, in my loneliness...

my mind started playing tricks.

It was as if I were sprinting,

And ran headlong into a brick wall.

-

I had pushed "fast forward" on the tape of my life.

And was confused by all the blurriness.

I had tried to guess the mystery.

To figure out the plot.

And my finite mind only saw obstacles.

Only saw impossibilities.

-

I folded in on myself there in the classroom.

Mentally staring up at a wall that towered into the sky.

Menacing. Taunting. Logical.

I left class with an extensive take-home test in my hand.

And for the first time, wondered if I could make it.

Doubted I had the courage. That I had what it takes to do... whatever it is I was trying to do.

I thought about quitting.

See what a wuss I am?

What a coward I can be?

I wondered, almost immediately, if there was an easier route.

-

Aren't we all always looking for the easy way out?

Do we ever find it?

There are easy detours. But they are temporary and eventually lead to hard roads again.

Because life is not about getting by without scrapes and sore muscles.

Life is not about who can come out on the other side the cleanest.

-

And I forget this.

Standing in the face of the wall.

I lift my face and my mind projects far, far past my control.

Far, far past my ability.

My knowledge.

My wisdom.

-

I am such a hypocrite.

Seriously.

I tell you I believe in a divine plan.

In soul mates.

I believe He has a plan.

He knows the way I take.

-

Why in the world do I worry?

-

I worry that I don't have what it takes because, well, right now I don't.

Today I do not have what is required to be a social worker.

But I dont have to be a social worker today.

If I so passionately believe in a plan, then I must also believe that part of that plan is to equip me.

To prepare me.

-

The only thing that is required of me right now

is to keep going.

-

Because I can't stumble onto His plan, if I've planted my feet firmly in defeat.

If I give up.

-

So all I have to worry about today is getting over that wall.

-

2 Samuel 22:30 (Msg)

"Suddenly, God, your light floods my path, God drives out the darkness ... I vault the high fences. What a God! His road stretches straight and smooth. Every God-direction is road-tested. Everyone who runs toward him makes it."

The NKJ says "and by my God, I can leap over a wall".

-

I decided to get it under control tonight.

The things that are in my control, that is.

So I got a few numbers for my service project hours.

I applied for the appropriate programs.

Knocked out my stupid poli sci homework in an hour.

I washed my bedsheets. And I washed the dishes.

I made dinner.

I made coffee.

-

I'm still standing in the face of the wall.

But it doesn't look so tall anymore.

It doesn't stretch so far into the sky...

I've begun to climb.

-

And I will climb until I get over it.

And I will run again.

Headlong into His grace.

Emptied

I hit "E" today.

I had been flirting with the red line for days, weeks.

Exhaustion. Confusion. Decisions. New schedules. All drained me... used up all my energy, my fuel.

I didn't realize how dangerously close I was to empty, until today.

When I finally got there.

When I finally reached the end of myself.

It happened in the middle of the gym.

Not physical exhaustion.

Because I ran my heart out.

No, it was mental exhaustion. Emotional exhaustion. Psychological.

-

Tonight was the first Wednesday of the month.

That meant that a very large family was gathering across the Jessamine Co. line.

And they were calling my name.

Somehow, I have always known I can run there when I need to feel safe.

When I have tears that need to be shed, this is where I go.

It is my safe place, my haven.

My God is everywhere in this world. In every nook and cranny.

But I feel Him there. I always have.

-

So I drove. I couldn't get there fast enough.

And I walked in, sat down, and felt myself sink.

The tension left my muscles.

I felt the tears well up in my eyes.

I had sought Him.

And found Him.

Not because I was in a church building. But because I had deliberately pursued Him, with intention.

-

They opened with the song Desert by Hillsong:


"This is my prayer in the desert
And all that's within me feels dry
This is my prayer in the hunger in me
My God is a God who provides...."

-

There came the tears.

God had beckoned me there, to comfort and hold me.

And He didn't waste any time letting me know.

-

When things go awry, when our world turns to chaos, we must teach ourselves to return to the heart of worship. To remind ourselves that He has offered all of Himself to us. And it is more than enough. His cup is bigger than ours.... and if we accept the gift, we will overflow.

We must come to Him with an empty cup.

Lift it up high.

"Fill us up, Father".

-

The song ends this way:

"I know I'm filled to be emptied again
The seed I've recieved I will sow"

-

However, we do not fill up to remain forever full.

If we did not know what emptiness felt like, we would not know the joy of being full. The satisfaction of being satisfied.

So we are filled up.

We are called to go pour out into the world.

And return again.

With empty cups raised high.

what if

What if?

What if God is a storyteller.

And we are the characters in His story.

-

Over time, we have turned the story of the cross into a story about us.

A story that centers about us, our lives, our accomplishments, our sin, our need for grace.

We sing about God's love for us.

And His need for us.

And His plan for us.

-

What if...

we are a part of His story.

A part of His story that He loves deeply.

Characters He has created for His purpose.

-

This life is very real.

Nothing fictional about it.

-

But like Don says in Blue,

there is a reason we are drawn to stories.

"And there it was: setting, conflict, climax, and resolution. As silly as it seemed, it met the requirements f the heart and it matched the facts of reality. It felt more than true, it felt meaningful. I was starting to believe I was a character in a greater story, which is why the elements of story made sense in the first place."

-

Ever since the fall...

we've been pretty selfish.

On small levels.

On epic levels.

And just the idea that we are characters in a story that is not about us,

drives some of us crazy.

Makes us not just a little bit uncomfortable.

-

Like supporting actors.

The story might not be complete without us.

But our role is not vital.

Not central.

We... you and me... we are not the main character.

We are not the hero.

-

What if,

God has a specific plan for each of our lives.

But it, the plan, is meant to be interconnected with other plans.

To be a part of the biggest plan.

To glorify God.

The involved Narrator.

-

The God who opens up the skies and pours rain on the earth.

Who opens up the skies and sends down a dove.

Who looks upon lovers and encourages them...

Who speaks and blinds and raises the dead.

-

Not just a big Voice from Heaven.

But a God who walks among us.

A hero.

-

The story is about Him.

And His love.

And His grace.

-

So when we pray...

when we ask what our purpose is...

what if

it is simply to tell His story?

Suð Í Eyrum

I can hear it.

I feel it.

Like an army of raindrops making their way down a mountain.

Like a thousand rustling leaves.

A single heartbeat.


It is faint.

And there are days when I believe it has died.

But I can hear it.

And there are days my body shakes with it.

It has taken up residence in my chest, coursing to my fingertips, hovering behind my ears.

There are moments when I catch a fleeting glimpse of it.


It is as if...

for one brief moment...

all the world moves in sync.

As if we hear the same rhythm.

And our muscles respond.

And we move.

Together.


It is a brief moment.

But it is what feeds hope.


Then the world returns to its chaos.

A song that seems to have lost its cadence.


But I heard it.

And I have felt it.


I live and work for the moment when we move together again.

As one body.


A drum beat...

bare feet hitting the floor...

dust being shaken loose...

ice cracking...

the world will quake.


Some of us have found our rhythm...

I can only describe it has a "sliding into place".

Like a toddler with a puzzle.

We push and move and turn until the piece finds its spot.


Where we belong.

Where we fit.


The body sways.

Gracefully.

Passionately.

Aggressively.

We move.

Extending our arms, lifting our legs.

We spin in circles with our faces lifted to the heavens.


There is a rhythm.

I hear it.

I feel it.

It is carried to me on the wind.

It rises from the core.


It is elusive.


But it is intrinsic.


It is anticipatory in nature.


It grows.


And weakens.


Swelling.


Requiring participation.


And with a great roar -

A thunderous boom -

We will clap our hands.


The world will move as one body.

In rhythm with one song.


There are days when I feel it.

Days when I hear it.

Two Figures

Years ago, we went to Cincinnati to visit a museum. A free museum. With my mom's best friend.

At the time, i couldn't imagine anything more boring. I remember being itchy and hot and my feet being tired. There was a Monet there that year. And all I wanted was to go home.

On Saturday, about fifteen of my friends and I piled in our cars and headed north to Cincinnati again.

It had been a few years.

This time, I was excited.

This time, I couldn't wait to get inside the huge building with tall ceilings and the maze of rooms.

We climbed the road to the museum, alongside Mount Adams, and a skating pond where boys were playing hockey.

-

We walked into the museum and all scattered, finding the art we loved.

-

And found ourselves staring at the same painting.

-

I walked close and then stepped away.

My eyes focusing on the colors, the lines.

My mind focusing on what it was my eyes couldn't see.

-

Everyone began to whisper.

'This is the most romantic thing I have ever seen.'

I smiled.

Over and over again, I heard it said.

It was a painting of 'a couple who had been together forever'.

-

I lingered for a while after everyone moved on.

Because in that painting, I could hear the wind blow.

I felt as though I had stumbled upon something secret.

A private moment.

I could hear the trees singing...

-

Vincent never tells us whether this couple is in love.

Hey never tells us where they are.

Or where they are going.

-

But somehow we know.

-

Museums are no longer boring to me.

I don't get tired or itchy or hot.

All I can think about is how one day, a long time ago, someone sat before a canvas.

Someone created the work before me.

From a white canvas.

-

Someone sat down to tell us a story.

-

And decades later, I would know the wind was blowing.

loaf of bread

I walked into my only on-campus class on Tuesday afternoon.

Familiar hallways. Familiar classroom. Familiar, uncomfortable desks.

This is my last semester at this school.

I waited for the professor to show up. I talked to a few people in the class. Anything to break the uncomfortable silence that always falls between new students.

I looked around the room and noticed people. Wondered who would last the semester. Wondered if there was someone in this room that would one day change the world. I wanted to know their names... and I wondered who I'd become friends with by May.

The Carol walked in. Ms. Stiles. She started babbling about how it only took her 15 minutes to get to campus from Hamburg. About cataract surgery. And how next Tuesday we won't have class.

She explained the syllabus. And her attendance policy. Which is, "you get six absences. No more. If you want to take a mental health day, take a mental health day. It's up to you. But six is all you get."

I smiled.

I always worry when I like my professors right off the bat. The pattern has been, the ones I love on the first day, I loathe by midterm, and have taught me more about life by finals than many other people in my life combined.

I like Ms. Stiles.

Here we go.

So she tells us about her 30 years in social work. And about how we are required to have 25 hours of volunteer work for this semester. That teaching Sunday school doesn't count.

I left that class with that feeling in my chest, like my reservoir had just been filled.

I went back to class today. Having had a particularly hard day. I had lost the full feeling. I was empty.

Drained.

Desperate.

Lonely.

Worried.

I tried to push my emotions down. Shut them off. Tune into my logical mind. But I am not good at that yet. So I prayed.

Does it make me crazy that I have to pray for protection from myself?

I waited for Ms. Stiles to walk in. She had lost her keys. So she took off her coat. And left again. Only to come back, triumphantly dangling her keys from her fingers.

And so we began.

-

We all introduced ourselves.

The refugee from the Congo sat next to me.

The Iraq vet behind me.

The little lady from Mexico across the room.

Beside the ex-felon.

And the Vietnam combat nurse.

And the twenty year old with the colored markers.

-

I sat and listened.

And I felt my tank being filled.

Stories of what they wanted to do with their degree... what led them here in the first place....

And I wondered again if there wasn't someone in this room that might change this city.

-

Then Ms. Stiles started talking.

"Social workers get dirty".

And she had my attention.

"I start all my students in practicum off with folding clothes. I had a student one year tell me that she wasn't going to school to learn how to do laundry. And I showed her the door. If you are not willing to fold clothes for little kids to wear, I don't want you here."

I almost cried.

Ms. Stiles laughed. "Got it?"

We started talking about LCSW and psychologists and about field work and volunteer time. About how many fields go hand in hand and how people need help from a lot of sources.

"A social worker's job is more about helping people get a loaf of bread than understanding why they don't have that loaf of bread in the first place."

I laughed at this.

Considering the only counselor I know, does both for most of the people he comes in contact with.

"Social workers work mostly with the poor."

"When they have no one else to talk to, we are there."


And then....

"I see a lot of nursing majors come through my door." Ms Stiles smiled. "They say: I HATE biology, I dont know why I chose nursing, I just want to help people. Without biology."

It was as if she had been talking to me. About me.

"I just want to help people."

-

I left slowly today.

After her announcement that next week we would have a new classroom. OSB 305.

I walked out into the cold and got in my car.

The full feeling had returned.

-

It might be a stretch to think that a little, middle-class, white girl could cause a lot of change.

And it might be a stretch to think that this is what I will do for the rest of my life.

But this makes sense. On a level that things haven't made sense on in a very long time.

Because I just want to help people.

Sing for those who have no voice.

-

In twenty years, we will see if I was right. If this is what I was meant to do with my life. There's no way of knowing today.

(And you can remind me of this full feeling when thing get really rough over the next few years.)

-

I got in my car and remembered Ms. Stiles saying that we would meet in room 305 next week.

And I laughed.

Room 305 in the Oswald Building was where I had my first college class ever.

History 109 with Mr. Hinkle.

-

Things will end where they began.

Winter

I always find myself sitting down to write before the first day of school.

It's a method of marking time.

How I feel today, compared to the end of finals week.

What I know and forget.

-

This is beginning of my fourth year of college.

I should be almost done.

But I am nowhere close. Nowhere near.

But this is my last first week of school at the community college.

I've been saying that for a year now.

But this time, its real.

This time, I really will never go back.

-

And I find myself feeling apprehensive.

This is the beginning of the end of my security.

So much of what I know will soon change.

My world... is about to undergo a makeover.

And I am nervous.

-

I am in a funk.

A winter season.

All the beauty seems to be in hibernation.

All my boldness, all my courage, frozen over.

-

It is time for a change.

For soil to be turned over.

Progress to be made.

-

But everything is going to require great leaps of faith on my part.

-

I'm not saying anything new here.

You sit there, reading, thinking "She's been talking about changing for 21 years now!"

And I have.

I'm a connoisseur of good intentions, of grand ideas, of bold moves.

-

I collect them.

And look at them.

And they gather dust.

And take up space.

-

That is bad.

-

I am being called out.

-

I was given a book by one of my best friends the other day.

A book that was given to my mother by my grandmother.

The year I was born.

A book that may very well be my saving grace.

A book that has traveled through women's hands for twenty one years, to land in my lap.

The Father's way of saying, "I know what I'm doing with you. Just pay attention."

-

I pulled out Don Miller the other day.

That's the kind of mood I'm in.

Blue.

Like Jazz.

A true, free form of self expression is what I am looking for.

-

Friends,

I want to play the cello.

No kidding. What would it be like to learn to play music?

I want to dance.

And to continue to run and sweat and work towards a goal.

And I am so sick and tired of sitting here telling you exactly what I want to do and then retelling you and telling you again in a different way.

I'm good at making old ideas sound new.

-

And I'm done.

-

Tonight, my heart needs a safe place.

I went to church this morning and cried a few tears.

People are amazing.

That's the greatest lesson I have ever learned.

People were created to be the best creation.

And there are people out there who are the best.

I love seeing that manifested.

-

But I am in a winter season.

Walking through a dry desert.

I am pleading for spring to return.

For a sweet drink of water.

-

Maybe I can see the ice beginning to melt,

or an oasis in the distance.

And that is the reason for my state of mind.

I am confused.

And I am lonely.

And I am uncomfortable.

-

Which means... in my experience...

that when my world finally gets its makeover,

when my life is finally turned upside down,

it will change everything.

-

So I am headed now, to a safe place.

A place where I tend to hide.

A place where He is calling me to spread my wings, to get my hands dirty.

A place that may hold all the future.

Or just tomorrow.

-

Oh that I may survive this winter.

I wait for the season of singing...

a letter...

I am waiting for you.

But somewhere along the way, waiting turned into looking.

Everywhere I go, I expect to see you.

I am anxious to meet you.

I am eager.

I have contemplated every scenario.

Every possibility seems to have entered my imagination.

What you will be like. The way you will smile. What it is that will let me know, I've finally found you.

-

But if I keep thinking about it...

if I keep expecting and looking and anticipating...

there will be no surprise.

Like watching a pot of water boil.

Or waiting for a flower to unfold.

The mystery is lost... because I am so intently looking.

-

My heart is lonely for you.

Who I believe you are.

For the life I believe we will lead.

-

I will continue to wait.

Until you round the corner, or touch my hand for the first time.

I will wait for that day when you first make me laugh.

-

But I cannot keep looking.

Because I am missing the forest for the trees.

Because when you finally do come, I want it to be a surprise.

Magic.

Like watching the sun melt into the ocean...

Subtle, maybe.

But not expected.

-

You are out there.

I believe this with all my heart.

-

And until our paths converge,

I will be the best woman I can be.

I will live my life the best way I know how.

My prayer is that you would do the same.

So when the Father sees fit to let my river meet yours,

when our rivers become one,

we will live the rest of our lives doing the best we can.

Loving as best we can.

Together.

Stronger than we would be on our own.

-

I need you.

And I am going to continue to pray for you. And want you. And be lonely for you.

-

But I will not look anymore.

-

Come, find me.

Say hello.

I will see you then.

Just as my heart has seen you for years...

Who We Are

It is a new year.

Before us lies a blank slate.

The drawing board has been untouched.

The paintbrush is in our hands, the chalk held between our fingers.

-

Such stark whiteness causes great walls in my mind. Obstruction, found in the purity of nothingness.

I expect to find potential in the starkness. Find hope in the emptiness.

But I am overwhelmed.

With the acknowledgment of my failures. Of my shortcomings.

-

Because who I am is not who I want to be.

-

I want to be a woman with a gentle and quiet spirit.

And I want to be brave.

I want to be colorful and my words to be seasoned with salt.

I want to be intriguing.

And captivating.

-

With the beginning of the year comes potential.

And my greatest fear of inadequacy.

Of being presented with opportunities and chances to change.

To become new.

And not seizing them. Remaining static, remaining the same.

-

Oh, the Father finds me here.

Reminds me.

For anyone who is in Christ is a new creation.

The old has gone.

The new has come.

-

I know this truth.

I bear a permanent reminder.

-

Fear sets like the sun, casting shadows.

I have such a great desire to be so much more than I am.

But I don't even know where to begin.

-

Where do I begin?

What sets transformation in motion?

The magic word that causes it all to spin?

-

I have concrete goals for 2009.

-

But my greatest aspirations are abstract.

-

So much harder to accomplish.

But everlasting.

So rewarding.

-

May we find ourselves with new wings this year.

Entering this season with an easy yoke.

With simple answers and hearts full of grace.

Ready and willing to change.

To give up.

To fall.

To rise up again.

-

Who we are is not who we may be.

For we may all be made new.

A New Year

I am waking up to the third day of the new year.

It is 2009. And I have no idea where the time has gone. How have the days and months flown by so quickly? I am amazed.

I rang in the new year with twenty or more of my best friends, my family. Eating, drinking, dancing, laughing. The ball dropped, pausing an extra second at the end, and most of us experienced the best New Years of our lives.

Then we all went home.

And got together again the next morning. Over coffee and breakfast and silly board games, hanging out in our pajamas. There were a few moments when I looked around and my heart swelled. We will remember days like these for the rest of our lives.

If this is any indication of what the new year will bring, my heart is glad.

Now I am home. And the expected restlessness is setting in. 363 days now ahead of me. And I want to make them count. I want to make progress. To remember them. To grow.

So my new year's resolutions? Things I want to begin, or finish, or create, or accomplish before 2010?

I keep trying to make a list. Why is this not working? This list making thing?

I want to...

1. Cultivate and stumble upon as many full and lively moments as possible.
2. Learn to say hi.
3. Smile. a lot.
4. Have to buy smaller clothes.
5. Meet you.
6. Leave Kentucky.
7. Take the perfect picture.
8. Get a new tattoo.
9. Be more patient.
10. Learn something very interesting.
11. Make As in my classes this semester.
12. Learn not to compare myself to you.
13. Spend time with my sisters.
14. Plant a garden.
15. Run, hard and fast.
16. Get involved.
17. Renew my passport. Even if I don't get to use it.
18. Have a sleepover.
19. Get my own little downtown apartment.
20. Quit my job.
21. Get a new job.
22. Start at a university. The beginning of the end.
23. Research studying abroad.
24. Learn how to knit.
25. Be part of something big.
26. Encourage more.
27. Fix something.
28. Break something.
29. Make something.
30. Do well.

These are just a few things I can think of right now. Goals. Attainable ones.

Last year, we sat at Common Grounds with my Dad on New Years Eve.

He was the only one with a resolution.

It came true this year. And changed all of our lives.

There's power in foresight, in planning.

In letting go of all our plans to let this real thing called life take its own course.

Here's to the beauty of the unknown and all that lies ahead of us.

Happy New Year.