There’s a trend going around social media where you pick a random group of people you know, hide your caller ID information, and call them to say “good night.” The results of these phone calls are sometimes hilarious, sometimes enraging, and often confusing. It kind of strikes me as odd, though, that this kind of ritual connection which has always been presented as a soothing part of bedtime would be weaponized. And yet… it isn’t strange at all when taken in the context of the larger picture of how disconnected so many are from themselves and their shared humanity. So at the end of this day, I’m choosing to shift this trend to move toward the world in which I would like to live. I’m not hiding who I am, I’m not limiting who I reach out to, and I’m going with this: As this day comes to a close, take a moment to pause. Feel the weight of the day’s events settle, not as a burden, but as a reminder of your humanity and survival. Breathe deeply, and consider the quiet power of a simple conn...
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When the world trembles under the weight of its own unpredictability, and a message brings news sharp enough to cut through the fiercest independence, you learn who your people are. Not just the ones bound by blood and birthright, but those who choose to stay, time and again, with love that defies convenience, expectation, or circumstance. Even on a holiday weekend, when calendars are painted with plans and bodies yearn for rest. When the whole world tilted there is no hesitation. Stepping in as if it were the most natural thing to take on the weight of our world so we could share the weight of another’s. Not just watching children, but guarding innocence, crafting safety from chaos, offering laughter where anxiety blooms. Chosen family isn’t a title; it’s a testimony. It’s the arms that stretch wide when yours are too tired to lift, the eyes that see you when you feel invisible, the hearts that give courage when fear inhibits a step into the unknown. For the friends who tur...
It seems like a lot longer ago than it has been since I was sitting in a quiet boat floating down the canals in Amsterdam. The return to real life certainly did not come gently. And yet, my mind keeps going back to the gentle sharing of facts and history that the skipper of that boat kept up throughout the tour. I learned things I hadn't known before about the city built on a swamp that shouldn't be able to exist, and how it has maintained a seemingly precarious balance beautifully for 750 years. I saw beauty in the quirks and slightly off-kilter places, and the reality that people are free to be themselves there was palpable. It is a place whose welcome and encouragement connected and still connects the world. I felt more at peace there than I have in very many places I've ever been. I felt like me there. Returning to the country of my birth was a more foreign experience than I knew it could be, but I have gotten reaclimated and life has marched on. Finding common ground...
I laughed. I cried. I learned. I rolled my eyes. This one article has all the makings of a decent made for tv movie… but it’s real life and oh, so timely. At a time in history when what is reported by those grasping at control like it’s the only straw left in the dispenser is so boldly different than what’s real, these kinds of discrepancies seem to stand out more than ever. What the church of the Nazarene and its “leaders” say in this article… just isn’t true. The writer even calls it out, at one point. And it feels like a breath of fresh air. Here’s the thing, folks, you can point and blame all you want… but the curtain is falling. The ivory tower is crumbling. The glass house has more empty frames than in tact panes. I’m so deeply saddened for all of you who thought you did something by reaching the pinnacle… All it really seems to have done is put you at the head of the church of the Nazarene at a point in history when it is very much on the wrong side. And the silence from the ...
A long time ago in a life that seems very far from now, I heard a story about raising a special needs child. It told of planning a trip and learning a language, and getting all prepared to go to Italy… and then arriving and finding yourself in Holland. The writer wrote beautifully about how it was sad to not have made it where you were aiming to be… but also about the beauty of the place where you are. I learned that story as we were finding out diagnoses and realizing the realities of the life we would live as far as we could tell them to be at that time. And ever since then I have dreamed of going to Holland. Tulips have long been my favorite flower, and I have very much grown into a vibrant and colorful life as I have done the work to love myself and the world around me in healthier ways. On Wednesday night, I left home to make a last minute effort to get to my younger brother’s wedding. I kept wanting to just buy a ticket and go but I wasn’t sure until the very last min...