Like sea glass on the sand…..thank you notes

Heart thumping grateful for the light bouncing potent off of these shards of beauty
like hard-buffed sea glass on the sand:
As the storm storms on….

~  Thank you farmers and makers and artists and shakers
for collaborating with God to keep us nourished body and soul.

~ Thank you,  creation,   for being beautiful in complexity and paradox.
You can be gorgeous beyond belief and also mean and merciless
and still
the realer reality
of strong Compassion
sweeps over you a healing tide
and restoration can happen like the morning

~ Thank you for “I wonder where the storm will take us.”
For those who can sit with the unknown.
I appreciate more than ever you who will hold space for uncertainty.

~For the stars and moon so talkative some nights that it’s hard to sleep
and for brand new days for our tired old ways,

~ For heart-claps and joy that gives mad strength,
joy that isn’t pissed away by “what about this.”
Joy that trusts defiant,
that prays brave and surrenders it fierce,
whatever can’t be fixed or found.

~For the just right blend of beauty and bounty and broken and wisdom and whiskey and weird
for my cup of tea.

~ Thank you,  those who release life-giving prayers into the heavens,
how those prayers rise the way the wind kisses dunes with salty breath,
or like the birds who seem to be born out of mist
and fly into the burning sun.

~ Thank you,  pain and pressure and perplexities.
For how “we never know the wine we are becoming while being crushed like grapes.”
(thanks,  Henri Nouwen)

~ Thank you paypal and Vinmo and all of the things;
you do make the clockwork run a little smoother.

~Thank you flowers and Spring bloomers for how ya’ll keep talking up a hopeful storm,
making music like the birds who just keep singing.

~ Thank you,  steep and slippery technical learning curves,  for being just barely do-able.
Eventually.  Like climbing a greased pole.  Or a violently swinging rope.
You’ve brought my jagged edges to the surface for some needed polishing.
And brought me to Pepcid AC.  And an entire box of cherry blow pops.    Thank and #@*~ you.
But mostly thank you.  Really.

~ Thank you, fluff on TV,  for not satisfying.
For leaving me feeling “meh” and hungry for the pure raw presence of realer things.

~ Thank you,  Amazon,  for bringing the supplies,
for helping makers make the things we’re making.
I’m thinking you were born for such a time as this.

~Thank you,  biased journalism,  for playing so openly the political blame game;
you’ve goaded us to deep-dive for wisdom and discernment
because sanity can’t thrive in the confusion you’re selling;
thanks for overplaying your hand.

~ thank you also to the orchestrators of conspiracy theories
for making the media’s agenda look,  well,  less crazy than the one you’re hocking.
For oversimplifying the complex by trying to sell us a house made of tinker toys
when we need to build safe shelter.

(You both make me appreciate the beauty in the gray – the strength of both wings spread strong)

~ Thank you to the builders to the ones who know they see only in part.
Who know that their knowledge is incomplete.
Thanks to you,  humble ones,  who get that their perspective may be off,
who listen deep and long and well.
Cheers to the listeners – I celebrate you.
You are bright beings in dark places
and we need you big.

~ And thanks to all the servant-leaders doing awesome jobs
in homes and communities,  taking initiative in beautiful and creative ways
– for listening and leading in Love,
for being stability
in this thing we’re all doing for the first. time. ever.
( whoever and wherever you are…in whatever capacity,
your influence is light).
To you,  gracious ones,
Thanks for the space you’re holding for our differing levels of fear and uncertainty,
for not being terrified into verbal violence.
Like one of my favorite hearts wrote,
“Moral outrage is the opposite of God.”
(Gregory Boyle)

Thank you for not demonizing human beings.
You help keep our sails mended so that when the wind rises
we all rise and meet the waves together.
You are our ticket for safe passage.
Healing balm for broken hearts.
And you make it safe to step into the arena
where solution gets born.

~ Thank you,  dear Comforter,  for drawing near to anyone who asks,
that your response to tragedy and loss is always to share the pain,
to offer deep friendship.
Tearful thanks for your sweet presence;
that we are held.

“What good is a half-lit life?
You can burn me to ashes as long as I know
we lived a life alight.”
– Tyler Knott Gregson

Thanks for reading my thank you notes – it’s been a soothing way to process the
weight of the weeks.  And to draw out the bits I want to save forever
up against the warm thump of my heart.
Another giveaway again this week!
One of the art journals from my etsy shop on sidebar.
Whoever wins the drawing can choose:)
Next Thursday,  May22.  Leave a comment and you’re in the hat!

Of loving and leaving to the light…..

Just this.
Because I need a little break this week from working out the words.
I made this for you to sip on,  instead.

Love to you,  exactly where you are,
and to all that you carry inside.

“My whole life I have been complaining that my work was constantly interrupted,
until I discovered that the interruptions
were my work.”
– Henry Nouwen

 

 

 

 

 

Of music and musts and medicine…

The music flowed like medicine,   gently relaxing fingers
where my soul had become a fist closed tight.
Over my senses it came,  like springtime drifting through a window,
this invitation to the whole and small of me.
“Father,  I want you to hold me,”
the slow healing sound offered me words
to wrap around the lonesome inside.
“I want to rest in your arms today,”
sang someone who sounded tired like me.
Tired of hard trying and hiding
and making like I was fine.
Just fine.
There came a hush to my noise as the song ached low
and with it came permission here to be not quite fine at all.

“Hold me,”  I sang to this presence who enfolded me in a way that felt protective.
Here I sensed protection from judgement,  from evaluation,
from every driving, pushing, accusing thing i’d ever run from.
  Here was a love to run to,
and my voice dropped whisper-low as I sang the words,
“I bring all my cares and I lay them at your feet.”

This moved across my tender places so hard that I drew my breath in sharp
and let it go slow,
slow as a lifetime.
Here,  with this benevolent being,  this gently-there presence,
were no musts about another something else to do.
There was nothing here to earn.  No performance allowed.
And I heaved a tearful relief,  exhausted from effort,
from failure,
and from being angry over the notion that I had to try.

And so I began to show up to the music,
to meet with God there,
and so great was the peace of this place that I wondered whether I could ever
be moved to fear again.
Because this Love wasn’t impressed with me.
Nor un-impressed.
This freedom from evaluation felt delicious to me.

“I’m impressed” were words I’d learned to pocket
like tokens of my worth.
This had come with a hefty side of insecurity
because being impressive is such a random spark-of-brilliance kind of thing.
You never know when it will fire
or just leave you standing in the dark.
And I was tired of feeling exposed and having to hustle to cover myself.

Yet here I was,
all splayed out and weepy and unraveled and felt somehow safer still.
This began to heal the all of me
from every little bit of un-love I would ever know.
The relief swelled up inside and ran down my cheeks.
Here was a door only open,
a Love always there.

In those awkward places of pain,
those anxious parts that didn’t seem anywhere to belong,
in every tender, posing,  hard, off-putting,
game-playing,  humiliated place,
God was in the music and rocked me safe
in arms of Love.

“I feel your arms holding me,  I’m not alone.”
– Brian Doerksen

“The real ‘work’ of prayer is to become silent and listen to the voice
that says good things about me,
to gently push aside and silence the many voices that question goodness
and trust that I will hear the voice of blessing.”
– Henry Nouwen

Of sinners, saints and seagulls…..

(Gosh,  I almost put out a cold tray of leftovers for you here again today
because I’m scared silly to wrangle free the words stuck inside.
But here goes.
Because a bad beginning is better than no beginning at all)

My life is a small one,
as lives here are generally measured.
My jobs have been many and unsubstantial and not even the measuring kind.
No fancy credentials.  No letters after my name.
My time here on earth unimpressive,
a barely glance-worthy resume,
if I had a resume.  Which I don’t.
If I were to muster one up,  it would be underwhelming.

And yet mine is hardly a wasted life.
In fact I like my weird little journey,
even when I trip over messages that I’m such an underachiever
that my time here barely registers on the value-meter.
But I’ll wrap back around to that later in this series.
I think I’m stalling:)

What I really want to start tugging my words loose about
is my Christianity.

There.  I said it.
Did your skin crawl just a little?
I understand the shudder.
Because we generally freak people out.
Christians even unhinge each other
unless we’re cut from the exact same strip of cloth
and sewed up tight and exactly like the next.
Which nobody is.
So it can be prickly business,
which is tragic since I think God is the least prickly being ever.

A few months back I brushed my words light across the story of my heart’s dance with God
and it was life to me to pour it onto paper.
Those were the easy pages.  The sweet beginnings and where I’ve landed.
I want to go exploring through the come-to-Jesus years,
the messy in between
because I’ve grown more curious about this thing called “Christian,”
how it’s tossed around and flashed and fought over like scraps flung to seagulls.

“How can you call yourself a Christian and……..”
Many of my people don’t even use the word anymore.
Somehow it’s come to name a hurtful thing.
I want to go exploring.  To tell my truth.  And maybe discover healing along the way.
Because healing is only ever what I’ve always wanted to offer
and I’m one of them,
odd though my flavor may be:)

So come along or wait this one out.
I’ll be back for the next however-many weeks digging up old stories,
looking for buried treasure and sharing it with you here.
With all the love I’ve got.

“As long as we continue to live as if we are what we do,  what we have,
and what other people think about us,
we will remain filled with judgments,  opinions,  evaluations,
and condemnations.
We will remain addicted to putting people and things
in their ‘right’ place.”
– Henry Nouwen

Cry baby cry…..

insta simple

I’ve had my heart broken,
the air knocked out of my voice
so it’s been quiet here for a little while,
giving myself instead to the work of breathing in and back out
and then repeating all over again.
And I’ve given myself over to the tears which
seem to flow unchecked and without warning.

I’m wildly grateful for the sunglasses I get to work behind,
the way my work lets me wander and wobble without fanfare,
and for the spilling-over-healing wonder of the tears themselves,
as if the sea finds me exactly where I am
and strokes my cheek with salty fingers
in the spacious,  windy way that I love.

I’ve given myself permission to let the sad be,
to let the tears rain down comfort,
let the petals be crushed
and the kleenex disappear extravagently.

5 insta

And as I’ve cried it out,  not pulling away from the pain
but letting it say it’s part in this story still unfolding,
I’ve been reminded to stretch wide my other wing,  too,
the one that lets beauty sing her grateful joy
until they’re both unfurled,  these powerful wings,
both joy and pain in harmony,
making music that pulls me deeper into life.

Life.  My God,  how I love it.
Raw and unscripted and teeming with things that scare and scald
and heal and delight and stretch and surprise and shave our rough edges smooth.
Life lived bare with the soundtrack unplugged
and the feeling turned up strong.

Tears unhindered,
smiles unforced,
heart unguarded
and freckles wet and nourished with saltwater peace.
Life not false.

Unblocked.
Unsunk.
But unbroken?
Hardly.

And my hope and I are okay with that:)

insta playful heart


I want to share a tool I’ve been using,
something offered by  Mandy Bird,  the gifted and compassionate grief counselor
I’ve been working with.  You can recieve her wise, intuitive care,
along with her collaborator, Chris Saade,
in their DVD series The Model of Heart-Centered Grief .
It’s a tall glass of hope and help for the hurting.
I so recommend.  Worth every
shiny penny.

“Our efforts to disconnect ourselves from our own suffering
end up disconnecting our suffering from God’s suffering for us.
The way out of our loss and hurt is in and through.” -Henry Nouwen

I’ll be drawing a name from comments to send a care package from my heart to yours. For the love:)