The other day I had the privilege of talking to a group of twenty-somethings. We talked about purpose and calling and destiny and if there is a difference. We talked about our lives being poetry. Because, after all, isn’t that what we want–for our lives to speak?
Why I’ve waited to write out goals this year and how more is sometimes better than less.
tears of grief
i’m fascinated by the research of rose-lynn fisher on the topography of tears. have you seen this?
it’s a study of 100 photographed tears through a standard light microscope. going through a period of change and loss. rose-lynn wondered if tears of grief differed from tears of happiness. and, as you can see the images are nothing short of beautiful, some evoking the look of a map or landscape (thus the name of the project, topography of tears). Take a look at what our tears tell us.
The summer sky was clear and faintly decorated with a few pillow-like clouds. The kind you believe you could walk on, but settle for making figures out of them, instead. Ella and I were driving to the airport. The one that takes forever to get to. She was the radio DJ and I was the driver – scanning stations for Bieber, while I scanned my thoughts for doubts.
The airport always surfaces the same two emotions for me…excitement and nervousness. An excitement to go somewhere. To chase adventure and take in change. And a nervousness to get there.
This time I wasn’t traveling. This time, and for the first time, . . .
Before the house wakes I gingerly shimmy out of bed, tip-toe into the kitchen, trying to step around the creaks and toy cars, to make my cup of decaf. I sigh, every single day, in remembrance of caffeine and it’s magical ability to take the edge off of morning and myself. I let nostalgia pass as I pour my hazelnut coconut milk creamer and give thanks that the aroma is the same and that I have warm drink to nurse on the balmy back patio. I take a book, a Bible, a journal and a pen. I take my tired self and sit and wake and wait on the day. I take my cares and concerns and put them on paper and send them off in prayer. On the back patio with my decaf, I let things come and I let things go.
Just as I make the same coffee every morning, I find that . . .