Sometimes people want to know. If they were to come to my yard, would they find me out there still? Sitting on the red sled, sipping my tea?
I don’t want to disappoint anyone. I want to be the writer on the red sled. Braving the mosquitoes, dodging the rain. But I’ve moved on.
After the sled came an art pilgrimage. In the midst of the pilgrimage came a book of poetry. Beyond the poetry was a crazy idea to publish other poets. Like the seasons of that outdoor year, my life keeps turning. It is different, yet it is the same.
The thread that remains is a conviction that we need to be open to what comes.The journey really is ours, even as it tangles and twines with the lives of others and the church. To me, one of the saddest things is when Christians try to copy the lives of others—others they deem more spiritual. There are myriad books and programs that try to point the way. I had hoped mine would not be just another one of those in a long line of prescriptions.
To my great delight, I think it may have worked out. As I watched this blogging project, and how each writer uniquely played with the ideas, I felt a sense of relief.They feel free. Free to participate and not to get-it-right or perfect.
I have deeply enjoyed this journey with each participant. It makes me feel free.