Circle Round

Last weekend I had a group of 20-some friends from far and wide join me in a brewery tour around Asheville. It was bright and 75 degrees and, since 5 breweries are within walking distance, it was a casual adventure in matching green shirts.
This photo, taken by the incomparable Jane, reminds me that I am surrounded by love.
Such a joy, these people!

The Face of the Journey It Took

Don Miller is one of my favorite authors*.

I like him because he is honest and he somehow makes this honesty beautiful; makes shards look like more than just broken bits of 2 cent pottery. He writes with a lot of grace.

On his blog he is giving away a podcast of a lecture he did on the power of story and I’ve been listening to it in bits and pieces while I work. Today I heard him talk about conflict in story; how conflict can create the beauty and worth of the prize because of the journey it takes to get there.

Don told a story of hiking Machu Picchu. His guide pointed toward one trail and said, “If we took this trail we could get to the lost city Machu Picchu in 5, maybe 6 hours. This afternoon we could arrive. But we are not taking that trail.” And the guide pointed at the trail leading up a 21,000 ft mountain. He said, “For the next two days, we are going to climb 13,000 ft, we are going to have to get our bodies out of the altitude very quickly. We will camp at a low altitude and then climb another 12,000 feet before we do 9 miles of stairs to the lost city. We are going to do this over the next four days. It will be excruciating.”

The reason the Incas make people take the long journey through the mountains is because they want them to value and appreciate the city when they get there; if they didn’t go through pain, through conflict, they wouldn’t respect the city. Machu Picchu is special because it took real work to see it through.

How beautiful and true. I identify with this and I know that at the end of my conflicts the resolution is that much sweeter, in the face of the journey it took to get there. I often want things easily and quickly but value isn’t found in those drive-thru words.

*In the interest of full disclosure, I should admit that I have a huge crush on Don Miller and do still hold out the hope that one day we will meet and he will fall madly in love with me. Hey, a girl can hope.

Perpetual Spring

For my friend Leslie’s 32nd birthday a few weeks ago she had a few of us join her in a desperate housewives takeover of a local tattoo parlor. She was getting her nose pierced, others were actually getting tattoos.
I don’t have any tattoos; I went to get one back in 2001 and thankfully the shop was closed or I may have gotten something I later regretted. However this recent trip planted the idea in my head of getting some ink. My reasoning goes back to my previous post: “Sweetness Follows”: I know that this season in my life is so beautiful and delicious but also extremely fleeting and wholly temporary. It will end, and end sooner than I’d hope. I see these little seasons passing and some I handle better than others.
Some end because of distance. Some end because the changes that happen are too great to overcome. Some end because expectations diverge. Some end because hearts can’t agree. Some end because of death.
Whatever the reason, the feeling is the same. There is a sense of loss right now but I am reminded of two plants in this instance: the American chestnut and the resurrection fern.
When the chestnut succumbs to the blight, the stem/trunk is killed off, but the roots remain. Those roots will continue to send up new stalks of growth with the constant hope that a few will survive. Often you’ll observe a large, dead stump, sometimes 75 years gone, with dozens of tiny chestnut shoots surrounding it. The roots don’t know when to give up and as long as they stay firmly planted, those new growths will continue.
The resurrection fern shrivels up and appears dead when resources wane and droughts appear, but at the first sign of rain it unfurls in a fit of lush green optimism. It is as if it lives in this perpetual spring of new beginnings. It is proof that life, promises and blessings are new every morning if we choose to let them be.

Laughing

I woke up with this Regina Spektor song in my head. It is one of those songs that is convicting without browbeating. I've been thinking a lot lately about my personal relationship with God--exactly what that looks like, how it manifests itself in my interpersonal relationships--how it changes and what I really do want from it.
I don't know.

Sweetness Follows

It is good to have a theme for a year.

My friends who live in the big blue barn have dubbed it "2010: The Year of Men" which is quite catchy; another friend is calling it "2010: Balls to the Wall". She decided this was going to be the year she said and did what she meant, social norms be damned. I respect her for that.

My theme for the year is Sweetness. I believe that 2010 is the year that brings sweetness; that after the soaring highs and storms and heartbreaks of 2009, 2010 will be the spring breeze. I hold to the confidant expectation that sweetness will follow this.

Sweet is one of the four basic tastes, the others being bitterness, salt and sour. I love the imagery of using those senses to describe our seasons; how every experience has a taste, as if life is on our tongues.

I don’t necessarily have any specific reasons to believe this sweetness will come, I just hope so. Maybe I’m just getting better at owning my hopes and expectations. It isn't here yet, but I know it is on its way.

I have I’ve found my attitude about things changing; I find I’m looking forward more than before. I’ve had to change some habits (people and actions) which is never easy, but those changes have slowly distilled, have begun to take out the salt, the bitter, the sour. And so I go toward the taste of this season.

“Life goes on; I forget just why.” --E.St.V.M.