The darkest place.

Oh, to find the grace that lives at the bottom of the darkest place.

Oh, soul, to find the grace that lives at the bottom of the darkest place is to find the grace that can survive the most unbearable conditions.  It is to find the rarest of all graces, it is to find the grace that very few humans ever touch and see.  It is to find a grace that burns with the brightest light, that is able to glow with no outside influence, that needs no external encouragement or nourishment to survive, but fuels itself without end.

Dreams and casting cares and classes

It’s been a few sleepless weeks (cause work), but it’s wrapped up with a few sleep-filled days (cause exhausted).

Last night was filled with chaotic dreams, images and words so haunting and real that I woke up disoriented, not sure what was fiction and what was fact.

I launched myself into my first week of ‘teaching’ again this morning, by leading a remote version of the class I’ll be teaching on Sunday nights (starting tonight! join!): grief. loss. disappointment.

Some thoughts for Harvey helpers

Twelve years ago, I stood in the Astrodome for the first time and began a long weekend of attempting to care.

I wrote and published my first article after that weekend.  I’m a little embarrassed by the words I wrote then, but I still remember what I felt when I typed those words.  I remember how it felt to walk in, adrenalin pumping, ready and eager to help, so desperate to do something and so sure I could.

I learned a few things that weekend, but I learned a lot more in the years after.

Houston, my heart.

I don’t know where I’m from. 

It’s a Third Culture Kid thing.  When someone asks you “where you’re from?” your brain doesn’t know how to compute, how to answer that question.

My friends tease me – I change my answer based on moods. Am I English? American? Texan?  Who do I cheer for at the Olympics?  I’m the classic turn coat.  And it’s a real thing.  The conflict inside. The not knowing where you’re from.

But today, it is clear to me by the tears I can’t stop crying that at least a large chunk of who I am is from Houston.

Words from the wilderness: Giving Up

I wrote these words on a dark day.  I wasn’t thinking of you when I wrote it.  I was just writing.  I didn’t need to share. I wasn’t trying to be saved and I wasn’t looking for comfort. I was just trying to find words to wrap around reality. 

I know there are those of you who church ‘won’t work’ tomorrow. Cause they’ll talk about a Gospel and a God who offers to save you from the dark and you will wonder why that doesn’t work in real life.  Why dark still comes so swiftly and silently with all its suffocating strength if He is who He says He is.