The Human Movement

 

I’m not sure what it is.
If it’s in the air.
If it’s in the water.
But it’s HAPPENING.
Lately, I’ve noticed more and more sisters bravely stepping out of the shadows of their lives and bringing their truth into the light.
As a creative, at times I struggle to walk what seems to me to be a very thin and distinct line. Either you have a pretty feed or you have an honest and ugly one.
I think that’s wrong. I think that’s a steamy pile of beaver bullets.
We don’t have to choose one or the other. We can choose BOTH. Because WE are both. Flawless and scarred.
Yes, I want my living room to be a place that provides comfort and ambiance, but not at the expense of who I am. Yes, I am a maker. But I’m ALSO a human.
A messy human.
A broken human.
An an extremely sensitive human.
Every couple of days, a depressed human.
This is me. This is us. Stained and sanctified. Ruined and wanted. We are violently immaculate.
So please don’t stop.
Please continue breaking the barriers and ripping down the pristine walls hiding your most succulent treasure. Do these hard things; be vulnerable and brave and gentle and awake. Be ripe. Be succulent.
Please PLEASE keep sharing your truth. I love your art, I really do, but I NEED your truth. Your truth makes me brave. It helps me to remember that I am not alone. It reminds me I am a sacred and important and holy piece in God’s toolbox, just as you are. And because when you are you and I am me, we change all the stupid rules keeping us apart.
Sisters, this is SO MUCH BIGGER than the maker movement.
We are doing THE HUMAN MOVEMENT.
We are growing and falling and breaking and soaring, and we never have to worry about the landing part, because grace will be there to catch us. Every time. Grace is never absent or late. Grace is always right there, just below you, waiting to help you back up.
Love you.
Be succulent.

Love Relentlessly

I know of only one other love that out-loves relentless love, and that is unconditional love.
By my own definition, this was achieved but only ONCE, by a man named Love, when He took upon His Perfect Self the flaming guilt of this world and said that me and you, all of His children, would never again be kept from Love because of what we did, are doing, and will do.

Love said, “You are mine. You are forgiven. You are enough. I will never ever ever ever stop loving you. You’re free.”
. . . . . whoa.
So since I am unable to dispense that love to humankind, I am daily practicing the other love. Relentless love. Love that, best to its ability, puts itself aside in the name of another. Love that stays on its feet when all the defenses launch forward. Love that chooses kindness and mercy, even when the one on the other end of it doesn’t deserve it. Let’s not even get into what WE deserve.
Sometimes it will be easy: letting someone else take the parking spot for which you had been patiently waiting.
And sometimes it will feel like trying to digest a stick of dynamite.
The other day I was given the opportunity to relentlessly love someone who has been a constant thorn in my life. Sharp. Pokey. Irritating. Cruel. When it came to my attention that she needed relentless love, because her heart had been shattered into a million jagged pieces, I did not want to give it. I wanted to revel. Preen. Gloat. I wanted to sing “What comes around goes around.”
So I did.
For about 13 minutes.
Then I digested dynamite.
You guys, we are not here to do little things. We are here to do BIG GIANT HARD IMPORTANT THINGS. We are not here to love optionally or conveniently or occasionally.
We are here to LOVE RELENTLESSLY.
Which, I promise, my loves, is a thing of PRICELESS worth.
This print, on the other hand, and my effusive gratitude, you can have for a modest investment of $24.00.

Love Relentlessly

It’s My Heart Beating

You wouldn’t know by looking at me,

but I’m sick.

Not in THIS moment. Right this moment I am eating a delicious bowl of rice in preparation for a workout. 3 months ago, however, I was writhing on the floor, every molecule on fire. 18 months before that, I was fighting for my life. Specifically not to take it into my own hands and end it. Pain. Pain. Pain. Depression.

Anxiety.

Delirium.

More Pain.

This was my world. My tiny, little, needle-sharp world.

Most days I would lurk near the kitchen window, look out, wonder what all the healthy people were going to do with their day. I became very angry with and resentful of healthy people, convinced that none of them were grateful enough for their lives. Today they would complain and grumble, spend hours worrying about things that didn’t matter, miss a thousand moments hand-stitched just for them.

During these horrific months that were just like geodes – bleak and hopeless on the outside, impossibly beautiful on the inside – I determined that being healthy is its own kind of affliction; blindness and apathy and joy atrophy.

Still. I envied them. Healthy people. Sometimes I would imagine trading places, dream about how I would spend their 24 hour day sooo differently.

I told the Lord, in one of my many pleas, bargains and wrathful monologues, that if He were ever to make me well enough again to leave the house, I would never take a minute of my life for granted.

Honestly, I’ve not been a perfect steward of the life He gave back to me. But I AM changed. I’m better. I think maybe sometimes God has to make you sick so He can make you better.

And fuller. And braver. And softer.

This life is gorgeous and brutal and fleeting. It’s NOT to be wasted. Not a smile, sparrow, or a sunset of it.

It’s ALL for ME and YOU. There’s a buffet of magic right outside your door. I swear it. I’m looking at it. It’s looking at ME. Reminding me I have eyes and ears, legs and feet, a tongue to taste, and lips with which I can kiss the love of my life.

I have no greater gifts than these.

I own nothing more precious than Right Now.

It’s just a business card, says the photo. “No. No, it’s so much more than that . . . it’s my heart beating.”

Doing It All

Do you ever find yourself muttering or declaring with savagery that there is never enough time?

We rise in the a.m. with high hopes and ambitions, only to lay our heads back down in the p.m. feeling unaccomplished, bedraggled, and a little despondent. Like we will never catch up. Like life is a kite string we stumble toward and chase after, on good days managing to graze with our fingertips and the rest of the time spend trying not to lose our tenuous grip.

Slow down!

Come back!

Wait for me!

Life is an earless animal. It does not hear us when we shout at it. Nor is it a kind stranger sitting in a crowded bus; it will not scoot over and make room for us. It gives us what it gives us. The same amount, everyday, rain or shine. I have realized that I cannot do it all. Maybe you will be surprised to know this came as quite a shock to me. Or maybe not. Maybe it surprised you too at first. I laughed. I said, Oh, no. I’m sorry, but you must be mistaken. You see, I am a multitasker. I do several things at once. It’s like my second job. So really I can do it all. What’s that? I look a bit strung out to you? Dark circles under my eyes? No, no, no, no. I can see how you might think–but no. No. Those are productive circles. Very different. They mean I am fulfilled. Yes, exactly. Fulfilled. Now you understand. Would you like to join me? I’m just going to take a seat here where I can make lunches, check my e-mail, water the lawn, and shave my legs.

It’s so hard that a pickle jar lid ain’t got nothin’ on writing.

This morning almost sent me back to bed. It was hard enough that I said some really naughty words in my head and a few tears dribbled out of my eyes. But I decided giving up would hurt more than to keep trying. So I sat at my computer and pressed letters until something like a chapter happened. When I finished, I copied what I had written and pasted it into a blank document. Then I held my breath.

My goal for each day is 1,000 words. Today I wrote 1,188.

I raised both arms into the air, made two fists, and shouted “DONE, Beee-otch!”

Thank you for listening. God is Good. Cara out.