Time and Light Switches

It’s been a marvellous time, this year that is coming to a close. It has been wonderful and terrible and full of joy and full of fear. This year was unlike anything we thought it would possibly be. It contained the entire human experience, which is to say it was bitter sweet.   There was countless proclamations, decorations, and prophecy’s about how this year was gonna be the year. So many of us come April snubbed our noses at 2020 because it wasn’t shaping up to look how we wanted.  There came a choice, you could sit back and let life run you down with a truck or you could grab it by the horns and refuse to let it leave you in the dust. I don’t blame you if you sat down and took a much needed rest. There’s no shame if you ran with the rest that made itself more available than ever before.  This year may not have been the year you got your life “on track.” It might not have been the year you “got it together.” It may not have been the year of keeping goals or achievi...

There was once a man named Atlas. He held up the sky. He kept it from crashing into the earth. Some say it was his punishment, his life sentence. Some say he choose it, this responsibility to hold up the sky. There was once a man who walked this earth and he was named Jesus of Nazareth. He took on the weight of the whole world and died for it. He was nailed to a cross and left to hang until He died. It wasn’t His punishment. He had done no wrong. Jesus on the cross was His sacrifice.  The stories of these two men sound like an echo of each other. And depending on who you ask one is myth and one was a living breathing man. Tho they do have distinct ending unlike the other.  Atlas is sometimes portrayed as the one chosen to hold up the sky and Jesus is sometime referred to as simply another prophet.  I’d like to think that they were both more than that. I think Atlas is an interesting and very human way of trying to explain the world. Even if I believe him to be no m...

It was snowing the day my life changed.   It fell like a tornado, swirling and chaotic.   My life was falling down all around me  and all I could see was the snow.  You see the snow it had no master, not truly.  And yet it continued to fall.  I had become fixated and fascinated with the falling of things.  First the leaves  and now the snow.  It just fell. That was all it designed to do in this life and in that one after.  The snow it just  was.  There was not higher purpose  to the snow  just that it may fall.  The day my life changed  was the day I found kinship  in the snow.  It was the day I saw myself  reflected  and in the simply beauty  of snow.

Thank you.   Thank you to anyone who has ever read this blog. Yes even you in the back who read one sentence and said “not for me.” I’d like to share the story of how we’ve found ourselves here this 40th week in a row.  This journey of embracing my creativity and making an effort to share it has been liberating. I never thought I would be sitting where I am today. It is crazy to think that just a few short years earlier I wanted nothing to do with sharing my art. Time really does make way for great change.  One day sitting in this same room I sit now, I decide I had had enough. I was fed up with feeling voiceless. I made a choice. I though to myself we’ll just try this new thing out and see what happens. I didn’t think it would become my stability, my sense of purpose. My drive.  That was March and this is December and I don’t think I’ll ever be the same. I am forever changed be this experiment of mine. Now this is staring to sound like a goodbye and it is f...

I used to believe I’d been cursed. Cursed to weep for the people I’ve never met and stories I know very little. I used to think that this could be nothing short of a curse. I have realized I couldn’t have been further from the truth.   This is compassion.  It’s weeping when you hear that people have only heard the sad gospel. They don’t know any better, they’re just broken people looking for their missing pieces. They don’t know, they’re just lost.  This is love.  The kind that looks kinda strange. It’s seeing the pain of others and screaming at the injustice. It’s having no choice other than to take it up with heaven. It’s not just crying its weeping because crying just doesn’t seem cut it. It feels unfair and completely irrational to cry for those you’ve never met and never will. It feels out of place to be so completely caught up that you can’t help but pray. It’s not hard to feel as though you have lost all sense of reason when you find yourself crying ...

There was a storm raging and so was my heart. It demanded to be heard and heeded. My heart was hurting. I couldn’t feel the wind but I could hear it. The wind and its incessant need to be acknowledged.   The change of the season has a funny way of bringing things to the surface. There was a great shaking in me this time. It shook loose the grief I had hidden away, the grief I though I wasn’t entitled to. There is no monopoly on grief, pain, or trauma. So I will sit with grief awhile and listen to all it has to tell.  It’s funny, in a way that’s not very funny, that we as humans think some pain is more valid than others. And that some love it greater than others. Some love is stronger but love is love. Sometimes love hurts, like missing people or missing yourself. But love is love. I’ve said it before but english falls so short when it comes to love.  This grief of mine is different than the last time. It’s not a grownup kind of grief, there’s no weeping in the shower...