my awakening [process]

is this a soul that stirs in me
is it breaking free
wanting to come alive?

because my comfort would prefer for me to be numb
and avoid the impending birth
of who I was born to become.

[brooke fraser]

"Dive in with your eyes closed for the life you were born to claim
& the water will be paralyzed by the courage you contain
and the flutter of your earnest heart -
it will fill the silent seas."

-sleeping at last-

--



a dream happened one night
after I had fallen on my knees at a concert and wept through this song.
it's a bit strange to explain, but I know it was a metaphor of something more
something bigger & greater that's happening inside.

I dreamed that I was giving birth
but the odd thing is, I never saw a baby.
I was just experiencing the process
and I knew deeply that something was coming out of me
something beautiful
and purposeful.
I had to just keep breathing
and let it come to life.

And I was surrounded by close friends from my community --
I remember their faces
they were there, in it with me, right beside me.


Ok, I don't base my life decisions on dreams that I have, but I do pay attention. I pay attention to the ones that stirred me, that caused me to wake up still feeling how I felt when I was there in that mystery world of my mind (and heart). The truth is, my soul is in a constant state of sensitivity, or vulnerability, whatever you'd like to call it. I've been finding books to read, songs to listen to, people to meet that are all seeming to conspire together against my comfort zone. I would not say that I am "comfortable" very often. Like I said, I'm very sensitive to the world, especially to the stark contrasts of what I believe and what I see, what I hope for and what actually happens. I see a person wandering the streets, being yelled at, dirty and confused, and grief grips my heart something terrible. I see a dead squirrel on the road, and I feel the aching separateness of humanity and the rest of creation. I process things differently than most people I know. I am affected by nearly everything. I'm a Reactor, so Kip categorizes me. And dear God, I've been given an overwhelmingly amount of empathy. So in wanting to live fully and intentionally, I'm choosing to believe that this dream is like a hint. It's like a nod. It's like a, Hey Candice Mae, there really IS more going on than what you see with your eyes -- keep paying attention to those heart and soul feelings, those shaky and take-your-breath-away experiences.
These feelings, indeed, seem like arrows pointing towards my purpose, towards the intention of my creation.

I just read a blog where the writer, a mama who has experienced many, many hard things, shared a really interesting thought. She questioned if possibly, before we were born into and onto this earth, our souls had a conversation with God. Maybe, she says, we were given the opportunity to express the lessons we'd like to learn while we were here living our physical lives. Maybe we chose our destinies, or at least chose the kind of hard things we'd experience so that those hard things would build in us the grand and holy character that we desired to have in the world to come.
Many people I know might immediately speak some verse or some belief that would threaten the validity of that, and that is ok with me. I believe it's ok to question the universe. I believe Jesus is my friend, and He loves to converse with me about my weird thoughts, or my reaction to other people's weird thoughts. Honestly, I believe in make-believe things like that mama thought of. I live in a very practical world in which I try to make wise and good decisions, but on the inside I am like imagination gone wild, a walking "WHAT IF?!" I believe anything can happen. I love stories of impossible things. I love crazy people and prophets who don't fit in. I sometimes feel like a crazy person made for another place or another time. And most of the time ... I keep this part of me hidden, for fear of what others will say. For fear that I really am as drastically different as I seem -- fear that I will have no idea what to do with my true self.

In realizing some of these deep truths about me, I found a book at a garage sale called Walking on Water by Madeleine L'Engle. It was a total random buy, but I had a slight feeling that her book was what I had silently and subconsciously been waiting for. She talks about art and artists, about stepping out into unknown things and finding yourself there. She adamantly urges us to use these gifted (often hidden) parts of ourselves - to give ourselves up to something greater - to create and to inspire on behalf of the world.


"We write, we make music, we draw pictures, because we are listening for meaning -- feeling for healing. And during the writing of a story, or the painting, or the composing, singing, or playing, we are returned to that open creativity which was ours when we were children. We cannot be mature artists if we have lost the ability to believe ... an artist at work is in a condition of complete and total faith."

"Stories are able to help us become more whole, to become Named. And naming is one of the impulses behind all art; to give a name to the cosmos we see despite all the chaos."

"But when the words mean even more than the writer knew they meant, then the writer has been listening. And sometimes when we listen, we are led into places we do not expect, into adventures we do not always understand... as long as we know what it's about, then we can have the courage to go wherever we are asked to go, even if we fear that the road may take us through danger and pain."

"There is no denying that the artist is someone who is full of questions, who cries them out in great angst, who discovers rainbow answers in the darkness, and then rushes to canvas or paper. An artist is someone who cannot rest, who can never rest as long as there is one suffering creature in the world. Along with Plato's divine madness there is also divine discontent, a longing to find the melody in the discord of chaos, a rhyme in the cacophony, the surprised smile in time of stress or strain... it is that what is has been disarranged and is crying to be put in place. Perhaps the artist longs to sleep well every night, to eat without indigestion, to feel no moral qualms, to turn off the news and make a sandwich after seeing the devastation and death caused by famine and drought and earthquake and flood. But the artist cannot imagine this normalcy. Vision keeps breaking through, and must find means of expression. "

"The artist is a servant who is willing to be a birth-giver... I believe that each work of art, whether it is a work of great genius or something very small, comes to the artist and says, 'Here I am. Enflesh me. Give birth to me.' And the artist either willingly becomes the bearer of the work, or refuses ... "


Yeah. Conspiracy, right?
And this book was only the beginning. Not surprisingly, at this same time Hillsong United came out with a new album which includes a song called Oceans. If you've heard it, you know what I mean.

spirit lead me where my trust is without borders

let me walk upon the waters, wherever you would call me.

take me deeper than my feet could ever wander

that my faith would be made stronger... 

It feels really strange and too personal to be writing about this, actually. But I think it's what I need to be doing. Because honestly ... writing is not happening in any other way. And writing seems to be the preferable way in which I process and analyze my life. So naturally, I might explode at any moment because it's just swirling and storming inside of me -- all of these things I'm thinking and feeling and wondering about. It's in there, and I'm working on getting it out. I'm working towards fearlessness.
However, my mostly introverted self doesn't want all of this outside of me yet. If friends want to talk about this, I don't know what to say. And people, I almost always know what to say, because I've thought about it for days before I talk to you. But this... thing? ... me? ... I don't know what to even call "it," is causing me to stumble and struggle with words in a way I haven't really struggled before. It's all heart. And maybe a lot of spirit, too. And well ... the spirit is like wind. I'm not following so well. Or maybe I am?

And yes, all of this is making me mildly insane. And very tired. But I don't just want to be tired. I want to dream. I want to discover. I want to be that person who enjoys life & still struggles, but is also doing something that actually brings her more life and allows her to share her life with the world.
So here enters : Viv, a new friend who will hopefully add to this internal & eternal conversation and help me make sense of some it. Just some. We'll be meeting in a couple weeks, so let's hope I'll have a lot to say by then.



Life is a story, folks. Your story. My story. A journey. A drama. And I want mine to be rich in love, adventure, and wonder. Heck, I'll even take this uncomfortable stuff and the controversy if it makes my story more interesting. I'm opening myself up to a beter story, not just for me, but for those around me and those who will come after me. And for Jesus. I want his story to continue to heal and change the world like it keeps healing and changing my own heart. Freeing me to be, perhaps, who I once chose to be -- this character, this artist, this restorer of things and earth.


seeking & believing,

C




Try hard to concentrate
hold out your hand, can you feel the weight of it?
the whole world at your fingertips
don't be, don't be afraid
I promise I'll keep you safe.

You'll be an architect
so pull up your sleeves


as you build up your collection
of pearls that you've pulled from the deep
a landscape more beautiful than anything I've ever seen


darkness will be rewritten into a work of fiction
you'll see
as you pull every ribbon
you'll find the secret it keeps

dismiss the invisible by giving it shape

You are an artist
and your heart is your masterpiece

& I'll keep it safe.



-sleeping at last-

here in the meantime

[ side note: I started this blog in December ... I loved reading & thinking these thoughts again, and adding some here & now things as well.]

"but here

in the meantime

may the unknown harvest life."

-sleeping at last-

sometimes I really enjoy thinking of my life as a movie.
like right now....
staring at a photo of two brazilian beauties, arms wrapped around mine, one kissing my cheek, me grinning like a girl who knew exactly where she was meant to be in that moment - remembering all the wonderful gifts and miracles that came together to allow me to excitedly board that plane with 8 other friends... this would be a movie-moment:

you know when there is that moment of slow, soft, instrumental music, the camera panning in on the character in deep thought. Often these moments are towards the end of the film. Sometimes it's immediately following an adventure, and sometimes it's a few years after. The movie shows you a bit of the character's life - where they are now, what's different or very much the same about them. There seems to be these key moments of reflection that give you a glimpse of their inner longings -  for a person or for the adventure they were once caught up in.

Right now,
staring out my window at the beautiful downtown scene, snow falling and the to-do list growing, I wonder how this movie moment would play out for me. I'm reflecting on this past adventure of loving Brazilian children and working to reclaim their innocence and their heart; longing for those mile-long walks to and from the place where they lived - walks to and from the murky Amazon water that welcomed us on a stifling hot day.

Maybe I'm sitting here, thinking how wonderful my life was then and how much I'd love to return.
And maybe I'm simply remembering and appreciating.

Remembering the glory of trips and passports and not having to worry about returning phone calls, answering urgent emails, text messages, or facebook comments.

Maybe I'm simply remembering a different life
and a different me,
appreciating who I am now in view of the journey I have been on, knowing that people change - I have changed - and I am moving forward, always.

In movies, sometimes the character goes back for their past adventure or their past lover, and sometimes they don't.
Sometimes, the best ending to their story is the simple fact that you were able to be a part of it - you saw them grow, you saw them make hard decisions and mistakes. And you saw them move on. You watched them as they kept going.

And here, in moments that could change life's direction, (as each moment could), sometimes it impresses your heart more when the character chooses to enter into these changes and this new life; a life that seems less than, but is actually just different than.
Sometimes I appreciate the character's development and current commitment more than I would enjoy seeing them go back to what they used to know.

Enter: Candice's current (slash ongoing) journey.

"She is a dreamer,

a doer,

a thinker.

She sees possibility everywhere."

This here journal sits on my desk at work as a reminder of who I once was and who I continually want to be - someone who never wants to feel stuck where she is: who has the deep soul conviction that each moment of life is wondrous and purposeful, full of potential and possibility. Someone who wants to dream as well as do here and now, and most importantly, someone who wants to be -- be present, be aware, be here now. 

Someone who never forgets that it's all about the journey and who I am becoming. 

And there is so much beauty in the becoming. 

Erase the shoulds.

Ignore the better-thans and constant pull towards judgement and comparison.

And live your life. 

"Live on. And be yourself," as Macklemore says. 

The tension is here. The struggle between my heartbeat-passion and the everyday grind of living and giving and loving will always be here, too. I'm eternally grateful for the affirmation and encouragement I discover in the words of others. Like Sleeping at Last who sings :

"let's stay the course and let the tension make us new

I don't know if it's virtue

I don't know if it's just dumb luck

would it matter if it was?

What if we welcomed change in or openend up just enough

to let it begin? 

'the doors will open wide for you'

it was said just like it was the truth

if we walk right through..."

Life is happening, people.

& I want to be all in -- all thankful, all intentional, all at peace.

As I often repeat : all is grace.

Let's live on.

breathing & becoming

from Ann Voskamp...

"Our every breath is a surrender to His sovereignty.

YWHW.

It's always fear that brings tension--
the tension that brings the pain. And then it's the pain that makes us think we can't go on ...

So when the world contracts tight
breathe deep and let it all come
with no fear, no fear.

'Remember? You're a bag of sand, and there's a hole in your toe, and the sand just keeps trickling out.
Just let everything that comes on, trickle on through.
Don't hold on.
Just breathe and let go.'

All the torn places in a life show us how to let go... We breathe slow together, letting what He gives in this moment fill us, run through us,
move on out into the world."

I've been doing this a lot lately ... breathing.
Just breathing.
I so love this analogy of being like a bag of sand with a hole in my toe and letting it all keep trickling out, slowly but definitely.
In the good things and the harder, good things, I must remind myself of this image. It all flows out of me -- whether it's bitterness or sweetness, love or hate, anger or joy. It all comes out. And the ways that it comes out can show me if I'm really letting go or not.

But it's not just about the letting go, is it?
It's about the letting it come, too.

"let it all come, with no fear."

How does one do this? Gaze out from this place in life with open hands and an open heart? What do you do when you accept what's already happened to you -- accept the reality of your pain and your past and your process -- and how do you still welcome it, welcome all?

In the fuzz and fog of these questions-- and honestly, this fear-- I see him here.
A man of strength and sacrifice and immense love. I see him standing and gazing, just like that, and he's unafraid. Because he did it. And he does it. Every single day. He's not bound in this time-capsule of an earth, but he's still here and he moves and he shows up when we can't. I'm not sure how, but the childlike dreamer in me can imagine and hope and trust in what I don't understand. Madeleine L'Engle says it well,

"Only the most mature of us are able to be childlike. And to be able to be childlike involves memory; we must never forget any part of ourselves... 

For growing up never ends; we never get there. I am still in the process of growing up, but I will make no progress if I lose any of myself on the way."

It's a beautiful thing to love yourself as you are and as you once were; "to never forget any part of ourselves." I find this in the breathing and the becoming. I breathe it in, breathe it out, and become something from it-- whatever it is. I can take everything as some form of grace, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.
Because in the hurt I have become what I could not have been before that painful experience. As Brooke Waggoner sings... I have to break inside, before I die to me. 

Whatever the breaking looks like -- we'll breathe slow together & we'll make it through.

Whatever the joy looks like-- we'll let it fill us here & now, let the tears and the pee-your-pants laughter flow out, and we'll want for nothing more than this moment.

Whenever the fear seems louder than the hope, we'll fix our gaze on him who is fearless, and we'll choose to have no fear.


And when the torn places seem to be outnumbering the healed & whole places...

"We trust the one we call Abba as a child does, knowing that what seems unreasonable now will be seen to have reason later."

&

"We have to be braver than we think we can be, because God is constantly calling us to be more than we are..."

come in.

why don't you think of God as the one who is coming,

who has been approaching from all eternity ... ?

-rainer-

"when a heart breaks ... does your heart break?"

the words bounce from the hardwood floor I'm crumpled upon to my ears and down deep into my soul.

 "can you hear your people, Lord? does Your heart ... break?"

I mouth these lyrics through my sobs, and stare at my open hands sitting heavy on my lap - my eyes catching on the band wrapped around my finger. How did I get here? I know the question will not be answered as it rises from my broken heart. In one moment of gut-wrenching emotion, I am able to feel completely lost and completely grateful. Don't ask me how. But I know he's here. I've made it this far.

In my weeping, my body tenses every single tiny muscle, like my spirit is moving, yearning to escape and break free from whatever this is - this beast that is far greater than just emotions and anger and exhaustion.
and right here, I am begging him to come in. Come into this hole that was burned into my sweet child self. Come into this frustration. Come into the offenses. Come into my broken heart.

Oh, won't you come in?

I am searching for him in the abstractness of Christmas. This year has been different than previous years. I am more distracted, less attuned to the little whimsical things about the season. More heaviness that I'm brining to the manger scene. More hurt that I'm lifting alongside my carols and praise. More darkness and cold surrounding me. More unfamiliar things I am experiencing.

It's here in all this more and hard and struggle that I am met by a precious, innocent child.
And I am told that he, this baby, is God.
God has come in to my world, and he's vulnerable. He, with his mind and hands and cries of a newborn - he has come to make me new, to show me truth, to heal me. This child.

It's a beauty and miracle that my mind rejects, but my soul's rejoicing is too loud to linger on any specific doubt. It brings tears so unlike the ones I know ... tears of love and joy and thankfulness. Tears that emerge from a heart that is satisfied with not knowing everything - just the love of such a God who would plan something as complicated as this and yet as simple as this. To become like us. In order to overcome that which overwhelms us. To experience and remind us that he also felt. And feels. And he still knows.


"... but he goes down to come up again and bring the ruined world up with him. One has the picture of a strong man stooping lower and lower to get himself underneath some great, complicated burden. He must stoop in order to lift; he must almost disappear under the load before he incredibly straightens his back and marches off with the whole mass swaying on his shoulders."
[C.S. Lewis]


On Thursday night, I watched a man perform O Come, O Come Emmanuel. As he slowly and perfectly sang the first verse, my hand gripped Kip's a little harder. I was swept into the great cry of humanity - into the great promise of deliverance and restoration.
Ransom.
Tattooed on my back and into my heart, this word encompasses Jesus for me.

He came.
He comes.
And he will come for us.


caught up in our everything of life, let's ask him to come in.
let your soul finally feel its worth.
hold this baby & let him give you comfort and joy.
embrace the mystery of the one who has been approaching from all eternity.


he comes to set you free.

In Which I Re-post an Entire Entry by Sarah Bessey

Ok, another blog that I am totally and completely in-love with, thanks to a forwarding by my very soon to be mama-in-law. Sarah Bessey, everyone. She's amazing. I hope you enjoy the following words from her heart - I cry every single time (in a good way).

Here, come and stand in front of me.

Stand on your own two feet, let’s look each other right in the eye. It’s a beautiful day outside, warmer than it should be in October, and the trees are slowly staining scarlet, the gold is shaking down, and the early autumn sky is already far away from us. I picked a nice spot for us, the wind can take your breath, and your eyes are not satisfied with seeing, I know.

Stand now, head up, you are loved, remember? You are loved, and you are free. No shame here.

Let me stretch my arms out wide, like an Old Testament prophet, my hands are worn and lined, I have mama-hands, and let’s do this properly.

I commission you.

In the mighty and powerful name of Jesus, I commission you, for the work of the Gospel, as a minister of Jesus Christ, to live in your world as an ambassador of the Kingdom.

I commission you in the work of healing, and serving, and loving, and reconciliation. You are an emissary of justice, and your work from now on is to put things right, to call those things that are not as they will be.

I pray that the God of hope would fill you with peace that passes all understanding. I pray that you will be drawn into community, so rich, so deep, so diverse, that you will disagree and fight and remain in fellowship together anyway. I pray that you will bring casseroles, and prayer, and laughter, and tears, to one another. I pray that you would have your toes stepped on, your feelings hurt, and that you would forgive. I pray that you would be given the gift of realising you were wrong about some things. I pray that you would be quick to seek forgiveness when you are the transgressor. I pray for messy living rooms, for late nights, for dirty dishes littering your counters, and I pray for a faithful handful of friends and family to call when the darkness presses in close to you. I pray that you would be quick to show up at the right time for another person.

Come a little closer, I’m about to get all charismatic on you. Oh, yes, I want to lay my hands right on your head, let’s do this.

I call you to joy, friend.  I set you apart in your regular, walking-around life for the daily work of liberation and love, proclaim the Gospel with your hands and your feet and your voice to every soul in your care and influence. May your soul long for prayer and for the Scriptures, may you keep secrets, may you give away your money, may you share your meals, may you sit alone in silence outside under the sky and be satisfied, may you change the bedding in the middle of the night after yet another childish accident without anger, may you hold babies, and comfort the dying, and be the voice of knowledge tempered with grace and wisdom, and may you never forget how to sing and be silly. May you make room in your life to be inconvenienced and put-out, may you be Jesus with skin on for a few people. May you be fearless, and may you eat good food.

I pray that no matter your tool or method: mothering, preaching, cooking, writing, organising, washing, teaching, building, money-making, all of your whole life encompassing it all, that you will walk in knowledge of the sacredness and purpose of your calling. I pray for dreams and visions, for the active leading of the Holy Spirit, and I pray that you would never ever ever forget that Abba is very, very fond of you.

I pray for perseverance and for discipline, I pray for speech seasoned with salt and goodness. I pray that when you are bored, and you are tired, and you are discouraged, when you feel futile and small and ridiculous, I pray that you will never, never, never give up.

Your ministry, your work, begins now, and it began long ago, in your world. Turn around, and face your life. Look it in the eye. This is it.

If you are surrounded by jelly-faced toddlers or thousands of longing hungry souls, or if you lift your head to find yourself in a hospital or a back alley or a church or an orphanage or your own suburban kitchen, if you are given a voice for dozens or only one other soul, you are a minister, feel it, say the words, roll them against your teeth: you have been commissioned for the work of the Gospel, in Christ Jesus, you have.

I send you out.

I send you out to the spot where you are, right now. You are right where you belong, you have everything you need to begin, and we will walk it out together, you and me.

Blessed be His Kingdom, now and forevermore. Peace be with you, my friend, peace.

Keep your eyes open for the signs of God’s presence, he’s already at work in your world, revealing his ways to us all. You get to be a part of it, and me, too. We’re in this together, let’s do it together, we’re calling people outside to the bonfire.

-Sarah Bessey-

tell me a story

This God made us all in our diversity from one original person, allowing each culture to have its own time to develop, giving each its own place to live and thrive in its distinct ways.
His purpose in all this was that people of every culture and religion would search for this ultimate God - grope for him in the darkness, as it were - hoping to find Him.
Yet in truth, God is not far from any of us.
For you know the saying, "We live in God, we move in God; we exist in God."

... when they heard ... some shook their heads and scoffed, but others were even more curious ... 

Acts 17:26-28


I love these stories - these organic, dramatic, weird stories of old from this Great Storybook. These stories are not for children. Or maybe they are. Maybe its anti-exclusivity is what makes it the most beautiful. We like to change the story so it makes sense. We assume things. Or we ignore the mystery. It's always been hard for me to ignore. For whatever reason, I have not been a scoffer at hearing such things as divine creation, unfailing love, and redemption. Maybe it's the poet in me that appreciates such language - a poet's heart that somehow believes such nonsense in the face of our real life tragedies.

This theme of "story" has been present in my life for a while. I have at least one thought every day of how can I be intentional about what's happening in and around and to me; how can I both embrace and create a great story, for there is one already happening, and there is also one yet to be told. Yet to be birthed and lived in and given a chance.
Both of those stories are me. Both of those stories are you, too.

I happened upon a most curious sight last weekend, strolling in the chilly wind with Micha and Kip. A few people were huddled under a bridge with this large canvas sort of thing. Curiosity (and the love of this city and its interesting people) got the best of us, and we ventured closer. We became part of a wonderful phenomenon called public art, where a brave and inspired artist provides a piece for you to create and bring their vision to life. Maddie is both brilliant and brave. We weaved our strips of burlappy fabric in and out to form, in the end, a lovely quilt. And we did our required part of participation:
we told her a story, while she listened and recorded them.

For me, the specifics of the stories were not as grand as the whole piece as we experienced it this past Friday. Sitting in a room (with exposed brick, I might add) while story after story after story was being told over the sound system was nothing short of awesome. The parts I did catch, between meeting and talking to our new friends, were simply amazing. Seeing this creation that hung over us in that room, a thing that had been manufactured by not just hands but by people with deep emotion and deep hearts, stilled me. And I couldn't stop smiling. Couldn't stop celebrating the greatness of it all. So much came together that night, that week. So much is still being formed and connected and woven. Creation. Hope. Purpose.

Another fabulous fact about Maddie's quilt is that it's compostable, so those of us who participated can have some of the rich soil that will eventually come from this project. Recycling. Restoring. I have so many thoughts around this, as you can tell. The theme of story also has another part for me and that is "full circle"ness. Many of my desires to be connected to Minneapolis via its broken and beautiful people seem to finally be landing and resting here. Here being a specific place with specific people - people who long to be who they are, be creative, be friends with the different, and take part in healing, in genuine family, inhaling and exhaling, moving and having their being in Jesus.
Like this art, there are times and seasons when all of these components of us, of our stories, seem to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, and we cry or laugh or both, knowing that in a strikingly holy way our lives are much grander than we thought, and our God seems much smaller and closer and into the details than we've previously experienced - the intricate weaving of hands and hearts and stories. And he's also into the great and glorious big picture of everything - us working together towards wholeness and life and re-creation. His full-circle story.

Today I feel as though I'm adding significantly to my story, and more fully accepting the truth that every moment is a choice to sail or stagnate.
Today I feel like I have chosen in little, intentional ways to not just pass by but to stop and let curiosity woo me into mystery and thus deeper into my life. As Fred says...



"two stories then - our own story and Jesus' story, and in the end perhaps they are the same story. To cleave the truth of our own lives, to lift and look beneath our own stories, is to see glimmers at least of his life, of his life struggling to come alive in our lives, his story whispering like a song through the babble and drone of ours... our stories are the best parody of his story, and if as Paul says we are the fragrance of Christ, then it is like the fragrance of the sea from ten miles inland when the wind is in the right direction, or like the fragrance of a rose from the other side of the street, with all the world in between.
yet they meet as well as diverge, our stories and his.
that's what we have to tell finally.
we have it in us to work miracles of love and healing as well as have them worked upon us... to bless with him and forgive with him, and once in a while maybe even to grieve with some measure of his grief at another's pain and to rejoice with some measure of his rejoicing at another's joy, almost as if it were our own...
it is our business to bear witness to, and live out of and live toward and live by the true word of his holy story as it seeks to stammer itself forth through the holy stories of us all."

-Frederick Buechner, A Room Called Remember


let us live our stories
and live them well.
amen&amen.

Click here for something artistically brilliant.
I love celebrating creativity! Hope this brings life to your heart as it has to mine.


Spoken words: from G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy


"The thing I mean can be seen, for instance, in children, when they find some game that they specially enjoy. A child kicks his legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life. Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, "Do it again!" and the grown up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony.

But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony.

It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again!" to the sun,
and every evening, "Do it again!" to the moon.

It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike.
It may be that God makes every daisy separately but has never got tired of making them.

It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy;

for we have sinned and grown old,

and our Father is younger than we."

donuts

I have developed this pre-work morning routine.
It usually includes getting off the bus and heading straight to my new favorite coffee shop- People's Organic- then taking the skyway over to my building.

Remember skyway Jesus from a couple months ago?
I haven't seen him since that post. I honestly started to believe he was an angel that showed up in Macy's just for me.

And then today, I heard him singing with that familiar gospel sound, and my heart lightened from its load. I will now refer to him as Arthur, since that is his actual name. Arthur gave me a huge hug, recognizing me immediately. I told him I had missed him. He had not been feeling well, he told me, but he was good now. He was so anxious to come back to the city and do the Lord's work - spreading his joy, making people smile.
I told Arthur I was on my way to get coffee, and I asked if he liked coffee. He said no, he's hyper enough as it is. So we agreed upon OJ and a donut, if I could find them where I was going. I was thrilled to find another soul who seemed to care for sugary breakfast items as much as myself. And even more thrilled that I could serve him as he served everyone walking through Macy's, beginning their work day.

So away I went, and back I came, supplies in hand. I told him he was doing such good work here.
As I walked away, he yelled my name and told me he loved me.

There in that hallway, stretching over and above the road, a path to get from where I am to where I'm going, I was filled.
I looked at others differently. I smiled at strangers with new enthusiasm. I felt loved in a new way - loved by a brother, loved by our Father. I felt unified with people on a deeper level. I felt courage that no matter what, no matter who, I could connect and feel it in my bones - feel this connection and unity with all. Feel the greater purpose found in all - the truth that He's everywhere, and we're a grand story.

A friend like Arthur is not merely a compilation of words in my story - he is a sweet, sweet song; the break in the middle of a storm or a conflict or a commotion of feelings.
He is the bridge that reminds me to breathe, to see, to know... that all is well and all will be well.

Just smile,
tell people you love them,
and don't let anyone or anything steal your joy today.

"Yes the Lord... the Lord... he's been good to us..."