Thursday, 22 October 2009

The Gift

I have been told that I have a way with words and sometimes, like right now, that is a very difficult gift. Some people spend their whole lives walking around with their feelings stuffed down deep inside their chests and no idea what to call them. When I have something swimming around inside me I have a hundred words for that one emotion and it thrashes all around me and right in front of my face. I feel things, keenly, and then I take them out and put them down on paper for others to feel too.

You may not realize it, but you're the one that taught me how to do this. You're the one who taught me how to see myself. Do you remember that time we were in the grocery store and you pointed out something I was doing that you didn’t think was good? No one had ever done that before, and because you saw me and still loved me I knew that I could change.

Few people in life are given a gift like the one I have. And I don’t mean the words. I mean you. I didn’t think I could do it. But you showed me I already did.

Thank you, for showing me my heart, and for being so generous with your own. This is the gift that has shifted the course of my entire life. This is the gift that brought me back from death.

And I know I’m not the only person you’ve given this gift to, and I’m OK with that. In fact, I hope one day I can turn around and give it away myself. I use to think our hearts were something that had to be guarded at all cost. I use to think that I had to chain mine up and put in a box and bury it in the ground and kill anyone who got too close to it. But you showed me that its less like a treasure and more like fish and bread- the more you give it away, the bigger it gets.

So thank you. And I love you. And I’ll meet you on the beach.

Yours forever,

Saturday, 17 October 2009


I think more terrifying than being exposed to the world is being exposed to myself. To have to look at myself without all the smoke and mirrors is… disarming, to say the least. I break down and cry at least twice a week. Because the picture looks so bleak and the horizon is so narrow. Because, just like looking at myself naked in the mirror, the view from where I sit isn’t all that pretty. Because God doesn’t have skin and he can’t hold my hand through all of this. Because I’m just scared. What if the end doesn’t justify the means. And what if I raise my standards and then never meet them.

I’m discovering a really amazing life and a really fulfilling spirituality. Its something I’ve never seen written down on paper. Something we’ve always talked about but never had the words for. And I’m discovering things that are important to me. And I’m defining the things I want to accomplish in my life. I can’t say what its all leading up to but at least now the road leads somewhere. I’m off the couch… I don’t know where I am or where I’m going but I’m not on the couch and that has to count for something.

Tuesday, 13 October 2009

Something You Should Hear

My friend Natalie is an incredible musician. She and her guitar are one and the things they do together make me sing. Then she punches me in the arm and tells me to shut up. She's pretty great and she has a few tracks up for free download here. I really recommend you go get it and listen to it in the morning when you're having coffee and trying to convince yourself to face the day. It works for me. Number 7 is my favourite.

Just so you know she's not like obnoxious whiny-Jewel-I-just-learned-to-play-my-guitar music. She's pretty much Dave Matthews. But a chick.

Saturday, 10 October 2009

Couch 2.0, or The View From the Last Row @ IHOP-Atlanta, or What Are You on About Mr. Miller

Ok, Mr. Miller, if life doesn’t happen on a couch, where does it happen?

I’m back in a prayer room. I haven’t been in a place like this for about 2 years now and it feels just as awkward and uncomfortable as it did the first time. It looks like KC does on the live feed with the monochromatic furniture and carpet and the mood lighting on stage. Right now, with sparse musicians and even fewer worshipers, it feels like a canvas waiting to be painted on… and I’m good at that.

At this exact moment all I can think about is Gateway and Ryan and Alayna and I’m actually sitting here crying. Yesterday I sat in a dimly lit sanctuary and watched a short curly haired man tell his almost girlfriend to come introduce herself to me, as though I was in some youth group for the socially challenged. She took the long walk around the sanctuary and I met my best friend. And I got a new life.

I don’t know what I’m expecting. Maybe I just wanted something familiar, and I don’t feel wholly uncomfortable here. But it doesn’t feel like home either. I’ll have to bring a sweater tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. Because I will be back. Because life doesn’t happen on a couch.