A composite sketch for your viewing:
We talked, last night, about the Psalms. It is quickly becoming a favorite book of mine, though I am quick to add that I am very much aware of that statement's cliche value. I am learning to care less about cliche and care more about gathering life from every possible source. David was adamantly black and white, he said. But isn't that cool? I said. He was transparent and honest about the things the rest of us pretend aren't issues.
I'm glad too. Because recently there have seemed to be a plethora of issues in my life that need to be addressed. David does a fine job of helping me prioritize.
Our makeshift family continues to thrive and for that I'm thankful. Piece by peace, we take New Testament living to the degree our faith can handle. Sharing food and going from house to house, all things in common, and the things we don't have in common are laid bare on the table and disected. He sets the lonely in families and I'm so thankful for a season of the former if this sort of latter is the blessing that follows.
I am coming home in August. I know. Those of you who are most excited to hear about that probably already know and I didn't get the response I wanted to, but still, aren't you still a little bit excited? The dates aren't completely settled and there's still a little bit of discussion on how long and who, and where to and how.
I have compiled a semi-not-exhaustive list of things to see/be/do when I am home:
Play in the garden.
Sit on the most perfect side porch ever created.
With the most perfect kind of people ever created.
See a best-friend's enlarged torso and love the child inside.
Go to church every chance I get.
Go to Birchbark, if not for books, at least for nostalgia.
Sit in Ives Park, maybe with Morgan's Ice Cream and a friend or two.
Hug Louissa. A lot.
Love every second of home with every fiber of me.
Say good-bye, because even though my heart will always be there, I will be vague for an indefinite period after August.
Things done, seen, been, gone, and otherwise tasted in the past three weeks of my voluntary silence:
Over the Rhine concert in Asheville, North Carolina--made sweeter by the seeing of Jacqui for the first time in a year.
Twelfth Night-- the Red Clay Theatre. Shakespeare at his best.
Blue Hole [2x] --the infamous Ocoee River never looked so good as it does in these hot humid days.
Fireworks over the Tennessee River in Chattanooga--spectacular, and yes, I know I'm biased by my love for any sort of fire in the sky, but really, my heart hurt they were so good.
The Prairie Home Companion Movie--for all those Garrison Keillor buffs who won't admit it but always wanted to sit in the Fitzgerald Theatre and watch the man work magic with words--this is the next best thing.
Inumerable nights on the front porch--sorting out life, spirituality, fears, hopes, games, guitars, more fears, and the respective arts of melted candle wax and cooking.
I have tasted life in many forms and have yet to find my favorite. I'm coming in to it, though; I can feel it in my soul.