Wednesday, May 27, 2015

My Strangest News Yet

I took a walk last week through my neighborhood, one big circle leading me from my front door, down the street, through the park and and back home.

I wanted to see what I could see, and soak in the best of Indiana weather.

There was life-thrumming, mariachi-hopping, soul-spinning hope and beauty everywhere.

Flowers wild and full-leafing trees, the muddy stream running smack through the grime of the city. The loveliest pictures of hope came from the last places you'd think to look.

Isn't that just like life?

Is this what it's like to live in NYC but traipse around in Central Park?
That's a question I keep asking lately. (It's a ridiculous comparison, but I sure do amuse myself.)

In related news, I've added Central Park to my bucket list. 

All I know is that I'm made of sun-tea and broken glass.
I'm light and air and busted-up city blocks.

If you'd paid me two million dollars, I couldn't have dreamed up this life, where the only way to make sense of anything is to throw my big ideas on the trash heap and strike a match.

I thought I wanted a quiet life, down a country lane. I thought I wanted solitude and security.

I thought I wanted peace. And I do.

But the road to peace isn't as soldier-straight as I used to think.

Here, I come nose-to-nose with surrender. I see redemption in my everyday, close enough to reach out and grab. I confront my ugliest corners and dare to ask more of myself than what comes most naturally.

Here, I fail.
Over and over.

I found my voice in a white farmhouse with a porch I never used.
I keep finding my story in the scream and surprise of the city.

You can read all about it in August 2016, when I publish the first of two books with Thomas Nelson.


(No, really, What????!)

In the meantime, send prayers, salsa, and a new pair of kicks.
I've got miles to go, and you guys are the best cheerleaders a girl could ask for.

Pinch me,