A Breath into Stillness

Be still…

One drop, one moment, brings newness.
One drop, one moment, brings newness.

Two simple words carrying the ability to transform your world, to transform mine. This transformation takes place within, and yet also beyond. Mine starts with a stirring inside of me, a call to take a break from my movement and the movement around me, to let my body come to rest. The stillness whispers relax, let go, be. I shift my mind till my only movement is the breath within me. The breath that gives me life, that makes me full, that enables me to do all I do. The quietness of my body and mind stretches to my spirit–the part of the known and yet unknown, that which makes me wonder about things I cannot fully put into words, and it leads me to know there is more than what I see.

The words “Be still” are echoed throughout every culture and religion, and every gender and generation from craddle to grave.  It is a thread that binds people together. What is it about these words that they beckon to all of us? Why is there a call to be still?

I can only answer for myself. I am on a journey to learn the essence of being still. I have two challenges in being still: The first is creating a place for rest. I have wished, hoped, and dreamed of being still, but unless I intentionally carve out time on my calendar, it does not happen. But even when I carve out the space, I am challenged by my own expectations. I have to let go of my expectations and rules as to what being still is “supposed” to look like. Each of us are different, we are not clones of each other, not even twins have the exact same DNA. So why do we compare ourselves?

I know this, and yet I have times when I compare myself to others in being still. I have pushed and probed myself trying to fit into the stillness. Yet, the ironic thing is, every time I “try” to be still, I am not being still, my body is moving, and my mind is not at rest. Both are scheming to win this victory. It’s actually easier for me to find the stillness when I am tired. When I feel like I am near the end of me – with my physical body tired and mentally and emotionally drained, I release my grip. I release my control. I release my expectation.

The sound of the shofar soothes and quiets me into stillness.
The sound of the shofar soothes and quiets me into stillness.

The wave of peace washes over me. It blows like the wind. For we can not actually see the wind, but we see the affects of it’s presence. I feel the presence of peace.

Being still is full of beauty and mystery for the more I am still the more varied the expressions.

What does stillness look like in your life? I’d love to hear how you find your stillness.

 

 

 

 

Holy Tension

My housemate brought down a beautiful bouquet of flowers this morning, cut from her dad’s garden yesterday. Yesterday, when it was beautiful and 70 degrees. It’s snowing today. Snowing actual snowflakes from the sky. What?

10168016_247654695439059_7490110571245159540_nThe weather is working for me as a metaphor for Holy Week. I’ve had a taste of spring. It is glorious and beautiful, and I want to live there forever. But I can’t, because sometimes it snows in April. Last year it snowed over a foot in May. And I have to get through these turbulent times to find the harvest and bounty of spring and summer. In the same way, I’m ready to celebrate Jesus and his resurrection. He gave me life! Abundant and beautiful life is mine, but it’s mine because of the heart-wrenching, ugly history we remember at Holy Week.  It reminds me of the ugly still left in my heart towards God, myself and others. And I’m longing for Sunday, when it’s time to celebrate new life and victory over death and sin.

There is hope, so much hope, in the resurrection. I know Jesus will restore all things to himself one day. He’s in the process of doing it. Yet I still look around my neighborhood and see brokenness and pain and the restoration of all things hasn’t happened yet. This tension is hard to sit with, but it’s where I’m sitting this week. I’m soaking in it and asking God how I can show up to this life that is hard and wrecked and bring something beautiful because of him.

 

Space for the Slow Moments

The Whirlwind

Our family at ACL Live for Verge
Our family at ACL Live for Verge

Three weeks ago we arrived in Austin and moved in with our amazing friends Bre (our BeBeloved chica) and Brian. We didn’t have much time to get settled, because I was almost immediately off and running for Verge 2014 (which was wonderful). Afterward I sunburned the crap out of myself while BBQing for the homeless, and learned a valuable lesson about Texas. (Apparently the hottest part of the day is 3-5 here. You’re welcome.) 5 days in, and I was already a lobster. Then our friends Mike and Kristi came into town for a couple of days (our first guests in our new city!) And that was just the first week.

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of getting settled. We’ve joined the local YMCA, signed Jack up for preschool in the fall, found a new chiropractor, and just today our rental application was approved for a great apartment in Austin (We won’t move in till June, though). We’ve spent hours having touring apartment complexes and preschools, doing new-patient exams, visiting churches, and finding our way around Austin.

It’s been easy to feel like we need to have everything figured out right-this-moment. Thankfully though, I feel a near constant nudge from God to tap the brakes. He’s created space for us so that we don’t have to rush our transition, and if we’re not careful we’ll throw that space away, filling it up with things that can wait.

I like to know the plan; being unplanned doesn’t come easily to me. But I’m leaning into it anyway–we can visit churches and hold off on choosing a church home. We don’t have to rush that–we can wait and pray and discern. We can look at couches for weeks if we want (shudder), because we don’t really need one till June. The list is long, but you get the point. Instead of figuring everything out, I’m trying to revel in the open spaces that we find ourselves in. I’m trying to just breathe Austin in, to take joy in each small moment of our new life, to listen to God and to our city and take note of what we’re hearing. And we’ve had some amazing pockets of the sacred already.

The Breathe Deeply Moments

Our first Sunday here, our family gathered for church on Mt. Bonnell. I sat with Ben and Jack at a picnic table overlooking the Austin skyline, and we broke homemade bread which Ben and I dipped in red wine from a plastic water bottle (#stayclassyaustin!). We read Luke 10 and prayed over our journey, our city, Forge Austin, and for Bre and Brian who have opened their home to us–our “people of peace” in this season. We each shared what God was saying to us through the passage. Jack mostly ate all the bread. And you know what? It was an  amazing “church service.” It was holy ground. Even though it was just the three of us, it was one of the most meaningful times of communion I’ve experienced.

Churching on Mt. Bonnell
Churching on Mt. Bonnell
The Austin Skyline from Mt. Bonnell
The Austin Skyline from Mt. Bonnell

In the past couple of weeks, we’ve had some stunning thunder storms. During one of them, I had planned to get some things done, but instead Bre and I stood outside to watch the storm. We sipped wine in bare feet under the awning while the rain beat down so hard that the mist in the air blurred the homes in her subdivision. Tree’s swayed so violently I was sure they’d snap. Before the storm, we had been talking about all the busy and anxious things in our lives, and as we stood there, we were reminded of how powerful our God is. “He’s got this,” we told each other. And as we did, the sky began to clear and a rainbow appeared, and as the clouds continued to move, it became a double rainbow. (the second one was hard to capture on camera–can you see it?)

Double Rainbow
Double Rainbow

And last night, Ben and I stayed up together to watch the Lunar Eclipse–the “blood moon.” I was tired at 10pm after starting my day with a–let’s call it “ambitious”–yoga class. But we wanted to experience it together, so we put Jack to bed and hung out, talking and catching up on our shows. Eventually I decided to rest my eyes, and Ben promised to wake me up when the moon turned red. He did, and it was worth the wait–beautiful and eerie. We stood outside under the bright stars, his arms around me, just pondering the sky. It’s pretty hard to do it justice with an iPhone camera, but I’ll share my attempt.

The Blood Moon
The Blood Moon

There’s something about the sky in Texas. Ben and I both think it seems bigger–not sure why. But God keeps using it to remind me of his greatness. In these and so many more slow moments, I breathe Him in and am refreshed, recalibrated. Grateful.

Sonia’s Story

SoniaFallI live my life fully, completely, at 110%. I work hard, I play harder, I pray the hardest.

I wasn’t always like this.

I started life a very shy kid, scared to death of being out in the world by myself.  I cried my entire first day of school. I remember coming home crying often those first few years of school.

And then, in fourth grade, we moved from Portugal to America.

I was a shy, insecure girl, uprooted from everything I knew into a whole new culture. I never quite managed to find my place. I was bullied mercilessly in eighth grade, and I was awkward and unpopular and very much an outsider all through high school. I carried that pain with me into adulthood.  I found a bit of solace in college, feeling a little bit freer to be myself, finding a bit of happiness.  Still very insecure underneath, I became an expert at faking it.

My 20’s are a blur of friends, boyfriends, dance clubs and high paying jobs in the big city. I bought my own condo at 28 and took a job closer to home which slowed down my social life significantly, but really helped establish my independence and comfortable lifestyle. Life was good then. From the outside, looking in, I had it all.

Then six years ago I lost my job due to budget cuts. Single, 33 years old with a mortgage, I found myself at a crossroads.

I had hated my job. I had been a paralegal for 11 years, and it was the most stressful, least rewarding job ever. I worked long hours, never stopped thinking about work, had recurring stress nightmares, spent most of my days alone at my desk, could NEVER get to the bottom of my to do pile, and had no real life outside of work.

Around this time I was invited by my uncle to join a weekly prayer group. I’d been saying no for a long time, but this time, I said yes.

AND EVERYTHING CHANGED.

I have always believed in God. I remember my grandmother teaching me to pray as a young girl, I attended a youth retreat straight out of high school that changed my life, God has always been in my life in one way or another.  But I had created a distance between myself and my faith.  To be honest, I had created a distance between myself and everything else as well.

But God knew. He knew exactly how burnt out I was, and more importantly, He knew it was time for me to come home.

I found a much lower stress job at a credit union and working bankers hours suddenly allowed me to see how empty my life had become.  Now I had all this extra time to do whatever I wanted, only…I had limited interests, very few friends, and no idea how to spend my time.

At this time, I also became incredibly self-conscious about my appearance. I had gained a ton of weight, my hair was unhealthy, my eating habits were abysmal, and I didn’t even own a pair of sneakers, so I was certainly not exercising. I hadn’t dated in years. I felt unloved and unlovable.

That first year at my new job I joined a gym and changed my eating habits.  I lost 35 lbs. I reconnected with old friends and made new ones, mostly members of the group involved with the youth retreat I had attended out of high school (we still conduct yearly retreats all these years later). And I began to pray A LOT. I began to dig DEEP into my heart and my soul, have uncomfortable conversations with God about where I had gotten lost along the way.

Through one of these new friends, I discovered a love of running. Later, also because of her, I joined a new gym, the gym I have been at for nearly 4 years now. At 35 I began to lift weights, run races, and sculpt my body in ways I could never have imagined. “I Can do All Things…” Philippians 4:13 became a living motto for me.

I started a journey to eat cleaner (a journey of a million paces I have only just begun to walk). And I started to live my life. REALLY live my life. I started dating again as well, although that hasn’t quite been as fruitful an endeavor.

I have spent countless hours in conversation with God. Last year, for the first time in my life, I began to hear Him speak to me.  Not in an audible voice, but in such clear, definitive ways that I couldn’t deny the truth. I’m tuned in. I GET IT now. “Be Still and Know that I Am God” – another living motto.

I still have a lot of work to do, physically, emotionally, spiritually. I’m not expecting to ever be done, until I am done with life on this plane. But I’ve learned to accept the joy (and the pain) of the journey.

My life now is far from perfect, my journey is just beginning. I call myself a work in progress. A misfit. But I’ve also learned to call myself beloved.  And happy.

Today I’m all about taking life by the hands and twirling around on the dance floor with it, screaming the lyrics to my favorite songs at the top of my lungs, laughing until I’m crying, exhausted, and spent.

110 Percent.

Hidden Rewards

The Academy 2Have you ever noticed that those things in our lives that seem most difficult, usually end up being our biggest source of reward?

We transferred our two daughters to a new school the week after Thanksgiving. It’s called the Academy of Classical Christian Studies. This decision came with much discussion and prayer. There are a lot of little details that played into our choice, but the bottom line is we felt it was what God wanted us to do. So we did.

The Academy is a private Christian school that utilizes something called the blended model. What that means is the girls go to school two days a week, Tuesday and Thursday, then the rest of the week they have to do the school work that their teachers send home with them. It works out pretty brilliantly. The girls get a high-quality, Christian-based, classical education for a much lower cost. I had never heard of the “classical” model until coming to this school. If you’ve have never heard of it either, you can learn about it here. Or, for a much more in-depth reading, Dorothy Sayers’s essay The Lost Tools of Learning (a required read for all parents with children entering The Academy) is a great resource. I will warn you though, you might just find yourself wishing you had the chance to go back and get this education for yourself. I know I did. 

You’re probably picking up on this–we LOVE the Academy. But our transition has not been without it’s bumps and stumbles. There was a huge learning curve, not only academically, but especially in the area of personal discipline.  My girls and I had to develop a completely new rhythm. We had to learn together how to persevere through the challenges.

For the first couple of months, my oldest child was convinced she had made a mistake agreeing to go to this school. She complained a LOT;  “It’s So Hard!” she’d say, along with lots of other negative self-debasing comments whenever she felt especially challenged. To say that she tested my patience would be an understatement. Some days it took all I had not to break down into tears or let our disagreements escalate into a shouting match. It wasn’t always pretty. To be truthful, there were many moments that I could and should have handled better. But we learned and grew through the process.

Like so many valuable things in life, this change has been hard. But it has been worth it. Despite the pain and difficulties, there are many rewards. Some are obvious–we love having our girls home more and watching them learn scripture. But some have been hidden rewards that I never expected. One of the biggest for me is the satisfaction and fulfillment I experience as I get to witness my daughters learn. They amaze me with their quick minds and creative abilities. And I have learned right along with them, too! Not only in academic ways, but also about the temperaments and personalities of my girls.

It has given me a new appreciation for these wonderful creatures that God has entrusted me with. I’m learning to love them better. Being their teacher has allowed God to teach me in a new way. That’s what I call a win-win!

How about you? You may not be adventuring in blended school, but I’m sure you’ve got some challenges. What hidden rewards has God been showing you lately?

What’s Your Measuring Stick?

Lately, it’s felt very hard to get a coherent thought to process in my brain.

The end of winter tends to produce a spiral of discontent, fear, and shame in me. The dreary days of March always surprise me, because it’s March! That should mean warmer weather, sunshine and plants budding and sprouting everywhere! So when I get snow and gray gloom instead, everything seems worse in my eyes, including myself. The feeling of “not enough” sinks deep in my heart where it proves difficult to uproot without tearing the rest of me apart.

Every winter, I entertain the notion that I’ll somehow change most of who I am, physically, emotionally and mentally, to be better by spring. I hope I’ll suddenly have a different body type, the kind that looks good in any kind of clothes I want to wear. I’m sure I’ll begin to have 30 hour days where all the tasks get completed and we sit around and play games in the evenings. My children will rise up and call me blessed, and my husband will praise me. It never happens, and no rational mind should be surprised by that, but the disappointment gets me every time.

I love the hope brought by a new season. However, my hope for perfection gets dashed by the human element I bring to the equation. Always. My measurements haven’t been in the positive, such as, “Where do I see God’s grace abound? How do I see growth in myself and others?” Rather, I’m always measuring the part that doesn’t stack up. The weight I didn’t lose, instead of the work I did to get healthy. The items left on the to-do list, instead of the accomplishments we’ve made.

The thought that this legacy of measurement is what I’ll pass on to my kids and spiritual disciples, to those around me who let my life rub off on theirs… Well, it sucks. It brings tears to my eyes, and it brings the start of a shame spiral, the “not enough” cancer that I can’t seem to shake, and those claws dig in even further.

So what if I change my measuring stick? What if instead of fighting the “not enough,” I embrace it, because it’s true? I’m not enough if perfection is the goal. But what if hope and grace for tomorrow is the goal? If the place I want to be is where I am, not some far-off dream? Then I can just show up to this life, and be enough. I can loose the chains on myself and those around me to perform to a crazy standard that in the end simply brings discontent because I’ll never make it. I saw this picture on the A Mighty Girl Facebook page, and it really resonated:

1939673_657793637590286_535902385_n

Wow. What a thought. Then I got the new Rend Collective album, The Art of Celebration. I love their summation that “Seriousness is not a fruit of the Spirit, but joy is… There is an irrepressible laughter in the heart of God.” And if our measuring stick becomes the joy set before us, well, I think that changes a lot in me.

Thank you, God, for opening my eyes. Thank you that you always bring the spring. Thank you that you are there with us in the darkness, and you bring hope for light to come.

I’m hopeful for the spring. For new life. For warmth and light and joy and celebration. This is my anthem for the season:

Finally Free

 

Love is…

Love-Art-Facebook-CoverLove is patient and kind.
Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude.
It does not demand its own way.
It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged.
It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out.
Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.
–1 Corinthians 13:4-7

These words are often given a “hat tip” during different seasons of life, especially upon a wedding. “Hat tips” and seasonal references are speckles of the conversation of love. I celebrate these moments, and yet, I also yearn to infuse these words into my everyday life. That these words will be come more than words, their expression manifest in my daily life.

I am not alone. I have  watched, listened, and shared conversation with many. I am thankful for these interactions; each are a sweet gift. I find that irregardless of culture, race, gender, and even religion, people are drawn to these words.

Love draws people together.love is what connects us - two hearts

It’s the unconditional act. To reach out to serve another without conditions. To step out. To be vulnerable. To risk being hurt, misunderstood, or  the joke of another. It requires one to look within oneself and surroundings. It celebrates free choice. My choice to choose how I will see and how I will act and respond.

Love also makes way for another to live freely whether I agree or disagree. Agreement is not needed. For it’s foundation is benevolent love. Benevolent love is a charitable gift to another. It seeks out the unspoken needs of another. The charitable gift is given to help close the gap moving towards wholeness and restoration.

This passage is teaching me. It’s shaping how I approach the moments of my life.

  • I choose to be patient and kind in trying circumstances.
  • I choose to be thankful for my life and celebrate the joys and pleasures of another. I choose to be humble and kind.
  • I choose to engage in open discussion where there are different points of view. I choose to listen to differing views and respectfully seek to share mine. I choose to find common ground in our sharing and discussion.
  • I choose to be cheerful. I choose to see the good in people. I choose discernment for myself and let others make their own choices. I choose to surrender judgement to God. I choose to forgive another when I and/or another have been “wronged.”
  • I choose to stand against injustice and to trumpet and celebrate the truth.
  • I choose to never give up for I only see in part. (I only see today. I do not know what tomorrow brings. And, my understanding continues to grow more each day.) I choose to embrace faith and hope building up endurance in me to carry me through every circumstance.

I can not control, nor choose all of life’s circumstances. Sometimes life happens with ease, other times with challenge and/or heartache. Yet, I still have a choice… Love is my choice to actively move to meet another person’s need in a tangible way. Love is the thread connecting each person together.

Join me in choosing to love. We are each called to our own story, to the people who intersect within our lives. Love does not compare. Love is abundant & timely. It’s flavored in the special, unique gift of you to another.

Where are you called to love today? How can you look at this passage through fresh eyes?

Like Summer Grass

My wonderful friend Stacy has written a beautiful book of poems about motherhood, Like Summer Grass. She is mom to four grown or nearly-grown kids, and her chapbook explores the “second birth” of sending adult children into the world. As mom to one very dynamic 3-year-old whose little life is already speeding by, her poems call me to be present, to savor each moment with my little guy.

Motherhood, along with any worthy endeavor, overlaps with and influences who we are; There is no way to navigate motherhood without wrestling with questions of identity. In fact, Stacy guest posted about this last week.

There are so many great lines to excerpt, but I’ll just share a couple that resonated with me. If you love them, you’ll find a link to pre-order below :)

LikeSummerGrassFrontCoverHer poem “Facets” captures how our story, which overlaps so much with our kids while they are young, becomes a different gem entirely when they begin to embrace their own paths:

[content_box_light_blue width="75%"]

…Where once we moved as one

I now embrace that which
separates: the tiny angles
chiseled cuts, felt deeply,
that refract the light of love.

[/content_box_light_blue]

And “This Tribal Dance” captures this move from a singular journey to more parallel journeys as well:

[content_box_light_blue width="75%"]…My dance moves slowly as I,
whirling, spent, return
to my singular rhythm.
My womb closes
with the changing seasons;
I watch my women begin
their own dance.[/content_box_light_blue]

Do these snippits resonate with you? If so, click over to Finishing Line Press to pre-order. Presales have been extended until April 13, and they determine the size of her print run! So make sure you place your order today!

Second Birth

My friend Stacy is guest-posting today about how identity and motherhood interesect. Her words have given me wisdom and hope over the years, and we’re thrilled to feature her here at BeBeloved. Her new poetry book, Like Summer Grass, is coming soon, and pre-sales are open now! If you love her as much as I do, please order a copy today :) –Kimberly

[divider_line]Insert Your Text Here[/divider_line]

StacySecond Birth

I carried them
buried in the depths
of my body, grew them
from the fibers of my flesh,
pulled them pulsing to my chest
and fed them suckling
from my breast. And now

they leave anew, stretch
from where they sprang
screaming out again. Again
their exit drives a fierce
full rend of flesh, a tearing
clear of spirit, a second birth.

When I think of identity, of who I am, of the boundaries that contain only me, I cannot escape my experience as a mother. I birthed four children all of whom are nearly grown. The experience of birth is a miracle itself; I chose a midwife and homebirth because I didn’t want to miss a moment. I chose breastfeeding and family bed because I believed in the bond between mother and child and father and family. I even homeschooled a couple of years because I was committed to listening to my children and responding to their needs.

I suspect that if you have not stopped reading already, you have decided that I am a ridiculous romantic, an unrealistic doe-eyed ninny. And I was…am…at times. I have found myself tangled in the web of family, caught too deeply inside my own children’s lives, injured them with my great love. I have wounded myself as well, believing, to the point of depression, that I was a failure as a mother, as a woman, as an artist, as a wife. Sometimes I was, but looking back now with a 25-year glance, I realize that more often I was not.

Identity, boundaries, separation. These are confusing concepts. It took me many years to discover that separation and joining are two sides of the same coin. You cannot separate what has not been joined and you cannot join that which has not been separated. As I mention in the poem, motherhood begins inextricably joined. We carry this life inside us; for a time, it is us. We cannot see with our eye or feel with our hand where we stop and they begin; they are our belly and we are joined. The birth rips them from us. The first separation. Glorious, dark, bloody and beautiful.

From there it is a journey of joining and separation, a wrestle for identity for both you and the child you bore; this is also true in the miracle of adoption.  No mother is safe, all of us caught in an unexpected “push-me-pull-you” dance full of bruised knees and hurt feelings…of giggles, shared books, campfires…anger, slammed doors and silence.

Time passes and love waits, time passes and love grows and suddenly, somehow, we find our way into letting go, into celebrating the separation that makes room for the nuances of each, remarkable child.  Makes room for us. And when that separation allows them to fly, miraculously the joining begins again.

The real shock, at least for me, came when they began to leave. Or at least when the last ones did and things got tidy and quiet and there was a hole where their 2-year-old selves, their 10-year-old selves, their 15-year-old selves used to be. This leaving, this launch into adulthood is the second birth, and as in the first, it is part miracle, part death.

I am 49. This is my Hebrew Year of Jubilee and I choose to see the harvest of this full life I have lead. I am finding myself in bits in pieces again, much like my twenty-year-olds. I have even gone back to the clothing style of youth. Over the past three decades, I have gotten lost in the world of my family of six, but for the most part I clung to my identity; I retained my artistry, I performed, I directed, I wrote. I leaned into my love life with my husband. I should be thrilled with the idea of silence, peace, fewer shoes and socks, a romantic nest. But in truth, I was not prepared for this. Not prepared for this second birth, for this mass exodus from my five-bedroom home. And so I breathe, take a walk around the block, drink lots of water and lean into the contractions. I let the separation come.

[divider_line]Insert Your Text Here[/divider_line]

LikeSummerGrassFrontCoverIf you enjoyed Stacy’s writing, please order a copy of her mamma poetry chapbook, Like Summer Grass. Any order before APRIL 13 increases the size of her press run. Here’s the link: https://finishinglinepress.com/product_info.php?products_id=1983

In addition to Like Summer Grass, Stacy Barton is also the author of Surviving Nashville: Short Stories (www.WordFarm.net)  and Lily Harp (novella coming 2015). Her stories and poems have appeared in various literary journals. She is a free-lance scriptwriter for several entertainment companies including Disney. Visit her at stacybarton.com or on FaceBook at Stacy Barton’s Stories or tweet her @stacybarton.

Spread Your Wings

There is a song that sings to every soul where the melody and words break through every barrier. People build walls and chains around themselves and others. Some divide and bound us by culture, religion, or gender, others’ divide by different personal expectations and experiences. Yet, this song plays on. It seeks to connect with one’s soul. It connects with the knowing within us that there is more – more to this world. More than what we’ve see. More than what we’ve experienced. More than what we know…and yes, that we were made for more.

spread-your-wingsYou know it. It’s what makes you pause at it’s mention. It’s what makes you wonder. It’s what pushes you to stand up against injustice, be charitable, serve another, and admire those who do the same.  It makes you feel alive!

Humanity is a beautiful tapestry, expressing different colors, cultures, and experiences. So, this search may look different from one to the next. The search, your search, my search, may be diverse, but all are connected in the pursuit that there is more.

Joel McKerrow’s piece called “Search” expresses this in poetic form. He is an international touring performance poet, writer, speaker, educator, and community arts worker based in Melbourne, Australia. In this poetic piece it starts with a girl sitting on a couch looking rather drawn and down. McKerrow’s rhythmic words burst forth. The girl moves in sync with his words. It symbolizes the words coming alive within her. It is the words lived out. It’s a dramatic and vivid piece.

It stirred me. In fact I watched it several times. Here is a set of strings that resonate with me from this piece: [content_box_light_blue width="75%"]“To see the beauty of what would be, she must innerface away from what was…turn away from the ropes that wrap around & the chains that bound…don’t look back with longing for your longing should always face the direction your feet are pointing…Run! Run like your world is just about to begin!”[/content_box_light_blue] This challenges me. The call to go forward is a call to search out the “more” in life.  I am thankful for what I have seen and experienced. And yet, I yearn for more. I know that there is more to life. But, in order to see more, I must be willing to see… [content_box_light_blue width="75%"]“For it is impossible for a man to learn what he thinks he already knows.” Epictetus[/content_box_light_blue]

So, jump in if it’s your first time, tip your toe if it helps, either way, first time or journeyman, sink into the song, bath yourself in the melody that beckons you to search for more. Spread your wings. McKerrow’s piece echos the cry within my soul yearning for that which is Greater than me. I hope this blesses you and continues to move you in your search. I am interested in hearing your story and how this piece resonates with you. Please leave your comments below.

Enjoy! Click here for the video.

Pursuing Healthy Identity

%d bloggers like this: