When Melodie asked me to document her wedding day, I couldn’t have been happier. She’s one of those humans who oozes joy… she is literally dancing her way through life. And knowing that she’s prayed and waited patiently, and prayed some more for this day to come, made it even more special. I’ve been to a ton of weddings- this one was so so so special.

For one thing, I knew most everyone there- and I don’t mean I know of them- I mean, they are my people. It was actually a bit tricky to work because I wanted to hug every single person in the audience. I had to keep it together, keep focused, because even with my eye in a camera, I was crying through the entire ceremony. These sweet folks had my heart and witnessing their marriage union was one the best days, weather and all.

Speaking of weather, the clouds hung heavy with rain, but Melodie makes her own sunshine everywhere she goes. They stood on the edge of the Oklahoma cliff, umbrellas popping open, singing praises and making vows, surrounded by love and encouragement.

I couldn’t have made it through the day without my amazing team- Jessie Dewey, my main gal and second shooter and my husband, working the drone and the sound equipment.  They make my job so easy.

 

This workshop, four years ago, changed my art, my work, and my life, and left me one of the best humans as a best friend.

All these years she’s pushed me and encouraged me, inspired me. We’ve wept together, desperate to know everything would be ok and we’ve laughed until the same tears came, washing us with joy.

I’ve decided, and it’s official, I’m Joy’s biggest fan. Over and over her powerful images evoke emotion, and I gasp and she laughs each time. I watch her chase the sunshine and the elusive rainbow, seeking out the perfect spot, and then the big magic comes and glory.  Heaven comes down to meet her.

But more than her portraits, it’s her heart behind the camera.  She doesn’t look away from the ugly, the dirty, the wounded, the forgotten.  She looks for the meaning of pain and heartache and darkness.  She searches and studies and then gathers women together to be honest and vulnerable.  And after witnessing five workshops over four years, I’ve sees each woman arrive unsure and feeling a bit overwhelmed, and leave days later with a full heart and courage to become whole.  Joy doesn’t have all the answers, but she’s brave enough to ask hard questions and keep asking until she digs out truth. She loves like the world needs to be loved, open and unafraid.

I’m proud of my friend. I see her living in two worlds- being a mama to her family while creating a life built on her art. I know it’s not easy, because awesome things never are; it requires the whole heart and can sometimes break the mind and body in the making. Meaning-full art comes at a cost.

Joy’s workshop days are coming to a close, maybe for this season, maybe forever. I wish every one of my friends could sit in her home, eat at her table, know her like I do.  She has a way of seeing the soul with compassion and tenderness, of nurturing the smallest dreams, of reminding you who you were meant to be.

If you think you should go, then go.  Do what it takes to make it happen.

 

This time of year has me reflecting on repentance and forgiveness, of atonement and sacrifice, of relationships and unresolved feelings.  The work never seems to end.

Sometimes this reflection leads to a stir of old wounds, a picking at the healing scabs, and I can feel my heart close up, my shoulders rise up with anxious thoughts.

What if this happens again?

Can I ever trust them again?

Will they hurt me again?

And the “again” questions pile up.  There’s no room left for joy in my broken apart heart.  There’s only room for ugly wounds, unforgotten hurt, and fear, and fear is ugly and chokes out goodness.  But how can I possibly enjoy today when I don’t know what horror will besiege me tomorrow?

I’ve spent time talking this over with my therapist.  God bless her.  I get stuck.  My thoughts get stuck.  My heart gets stuck so deep in the muck I need a tow truck to pull me out.  Her quiet, thoughtful questions force me to assess my situation, counting the cost of my emotional withdrawal from the ones I love.  How much am I willing to sacrifice in order to keep on my deceptively comfortable cloak of fear?

My favorite poet, Mary Oliver, once wrote, “If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give into it.  There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world.  It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. That’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.”

I like this idea and I want to play with it, try it.  Can I fight the fear of what’s to come and sit present, not questioning or anticipating, but trusting I will be ok?

Yesterday I found this….Breanne Rodgers wrote:

September 1st • I’m not ready. Autumn used to be my favorite season. That was before mental illness overtook me in the Winter of 2016. I’ve walked with a limp and one eye over my shoulder ever since. Healed but not whole. Hopeful but still hurting. • I want to fully immerse in the splendor of Fall, but Winter waits like a sharp-shouldered vulture, circling, circling. Her cold will swoop in and silence life eventually. That truth is hard to bear. • And yet, perhaps when God placed in Psalm 23:5 the words: “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;” He was also thinking of that time of year when the trees don their bravest, boldest colors to face the Temporal Death. • Even though Winter looks on from afar, the golden tablecloth will still ripple across the wood grain. That familiar, rich cinnamon-ny taste will warm my senses. All the flaky, butter-colored textures will be placed before me to take and enjoy. “That table of food gave Minny the strength she needed.” (The Help). “Come, sit and rest.” I hear Him say. The Grand Harvest Feast is being prepared and I’ve been invited. May I partake and be made brave in my Jesus for the days ahead.

Clearly she’s fighting the same battle. I’m not alone in this.

The Father’s Fall Feasts are just around the corner and I will walk bravely into the weeks to come for He goes before me, preparing my place at the table, and, if I will allow Him, he’ll prepare my heart too.  No longer the fear-full, broken apart heart, but the broken open heart to be filled with His good gifts. For He is good and merciful, generous and full of love.

Matthew 6:35   Don’t worry about tomorrow — tomorrow will worry about itself!

“Joy is not made to be a crumb.”

Last week I picked up Rabbi Rami’s GUIDE TO Forgiveness. I didn’t have any particular reason except it was short and to the point. I mean, who couldn’t use a little more forgiveness in their lives?

About half way through this little book, I hit the chapter, FORGIVENESS AND THE MAKING OF MEANING. As a certified meaning seeker I knew this chapter was written for me.

Life doesn’t come to us prepackaged. It is wild and chaotic and filled with joy and horror and surprise. Life doesn’t come to us predetermined. Things happen and we respond to what happens and our response creates a new reality to which a new response is due. Life isn’t given to us. It happens through us.
If this is as far as our analysis goes, however, life lacks purpose and meaning. It is what it is, and we are what we are, and there is nothing more to say about it. But there is something more to say, there is the story we tell.

A few years ago while attending the Promoting Passion Conference in Colorado, I heard one of my favorite people give a talk on how the “stories we tell ourselves shape who we are.”  I hadn’t really considered this before, but it instantly resonated with me as the speaker went on to give personal examples.  By the way, if you ever have the chance to meet Joel McKerrow, hug him and thank him for being an incredible human bravely walking out his giftedness.

Boil it down, the messages we absorb and repeat, from our singular viewpoint, shape who we are regardless if the messages are true or not.  I may tell myself that someone doesn’t love me based on how I feel, but that doesn’t make it true.  If asked, this person might be astounded that I had ever considered they didn’t care deeply for me.

Rabbi Rami goes on to say:

We are the stories we tell about ourselves.  There may not be a thinker behind my thoughts, but the thoughts seem to weave themselves into a story that makes me the protagonist.  I may not be the author of my thoughts, but I am the editor that turns them into a story.  The challenge isn’t to control my thoughts and feelings, but to weave them into story that gives me a sense of purpose and meaning.

Life doesn’t come pre-storied. We have to make the story, and as we do so we create meaning for ourselves.  The question is this: are you going to tell a story that casts you as the hapless victim or the courageous hero?  If  you play the victim you imagine that while you may have no control over life, others do.  If you play the hero you know that while no one controls life, you always have the capacity to act with humility and compassion in the face of whatever happens.  And acting with humility and compassion creates meaning.

And here’s where it starts getting good:

Life doesn’t have a preset meaning.  Meaning is not something you inherit but something you invent.  And you can’t invent it if your life is mired in grudges.

As long as you are trying to figure out why a loved one harmed you, you haven’t got the energy to figure out what to do next.  And it is in the “what to do next” that meaning is made and life is well lived.

I want to live a life in all it’s rawness and not avoid it by blanketing it in some soft quilt of past-life karma or divine providence.  When life is painful, I want to feel the pain. When it is joyous, I want to feel the joy. I want to live, as Ecclesiastes suggests, in tune with the moment. And when the moment changes, as it always does, I want to change along with it. But I can’t do that if I am tied to the past and weighed down with past hurts and ever-present grudges.

This is why forgiveness is crucial to right living: it frees you from the past that you might engage the present, both good and bad.

I spend a lot of time dwelling on my story, never questioning if it’s true.  I often feel dissatisfied with my story.

My story may need some editing.

My story may need more forgiveness.

 

Ecclesiastes 3

My boy works hard for his money.  And once in a while he splurges on a toy.  A few years ago he saved up enough money to buy a drone.  A drone which ran into a Range Rover driving down our block and then promptly got stuck in a tree.  His disappointment just about broke my heart.

A few years later he decided to buy himself a go cart, which has ended up in the repair shop more than once.  He recently decided to disassemble it and give it a complete overhaul.  

I think we all hope it ends up looking like a hot rod, something we can use as an uber-cool prop in family films and neighborhood parades.