The Wake Left Behind

     What if we all slowed down and took a deep breath and noticed the world’s beauty once again? What if we tuned back into the natural rhythms of creation and allowed our bones to move in succinct choreography with the breeze? What if our minds slowed down and we began to hear the voice of wisdom in the wind? What if we let our imagination free once again, discovering ships sailing in the clouds? What if we were still, and discovered how to simply just be…?      What if we rediscovered how to truly listen, not just hear, listen to the heart cries of those we love, and those we cross paths with along the way? What if we began to notice, to deeply notice the small things along our path? What if we heard the sound of the earth dancing with the wind? What if we breathed in the subtle scents of flowers, trees, and the sea, letting it send us to memories of youthful days? What if we were still, and discovered how to simply just be…?   ...

        Do you remember that book we read as a kid called  Caps for sale by Esphyr Slobodkina  ?  It was about a hat salesman who carried all his hats on his head, and some monkeys kept stealing his hats? For some reason, I loved that book as a kid, and what seems to be ironic to me at the moment is that this week I have felt like that man-minus the salesman part, oh and the monkey part! Okay, maybe I just feel like I am wearing a lot of hats on my head! I have not thought about this book since I was maybe 10 years old, but while thinking through my urgent to-do list, I suddenly pictured the man walking down the road with all his fine looking hats on top of his head! Where on earth did that memory come from?        I have never quite understood why we refer to our different roles as hats, but the longer I have been in leadership at my job, the more hats or roles I seem to acquire.  Now, I fully admit that I have a ...

     10 years ago I spent a summer in Rome, Italy on a summer project. It is amazing to me that, although in reality, there were a lot of hard things about that summer, I remember it fondly. Currently, my room is decorated with photographs and paintings that I acquired that summer, and if you are around me long enough you will hear me refer to once or twice how much I adore Italy! The city was beautiful, the people were lovely, the culture enchanted me, and the food was delightful-seriouly the definition of delight!           What strikes me as odd though is that at the time, most of that experience in Rome was one of struggle and disappointment. We were there to do some ministry, and found it very hard to meet students. As a team, we did not really get along too well, and the summer did not turn out quite like I had expected. So it is funny to me that over time, my memories have turned from recalling disappointment to that of pure rom...

While visiting the National Mall in Washington DC as a teenager, one of the war memorials stood out to me. Written along a wall were the words, "Freedom is not Free." These words have stayed with me all these years, and as I have matured and reflected on them over and over again, and as my life has taken shape around them, they have become a part of my journey. My dad gave me the middle name, Freedom, 30 years ago, when I was born on the exact minute the Iranian hostages stepped off the plane. I wonder if he knew then how that word would mark my story. As we have learned many, many times throughout our nation's history, I too have learned that the road to freedom is not free. As a child of God, my freedom was first bought with the most costly price, God himself. It cost him everything to give me life, and the freedom to be in relationship with Him. Freedom to fully live, guilt free,-no longer condemned by my sin and rebellion and passivity. But the knowledge of free...