Dear White Brothers and Sisters

Dear white brothers and sisters,

Today is Monday -  I don't know how your day began, but mine started with feeding a sick baby. Making breakfast.  Changing diapers.  Running errands.  With sunshine and blue skies, and warm weather, and an ease about it that seemed to forget the events of last Wednesday.  Facebook affirms me in my short-term memory, with a few exceptions from white friends that I could tell you ahead of time would continue to respond because I know their hearts for justice and reconciliation, and a larger number of black friends, spanning the gamete of grief, anger, pleas for engagement, and broader historical perspective in their continued response.

And I have to confess, this is my luxury - twitter-length attention span.  I am able to have a very short attention span regarding any issue pertaining to race - because unless it's in my face, or tragically in the headlines, I am able to avoid it most days, simply by the color of my skin.

But for me - maybe it was the fact that it was in a church, maybe it was just the sheer volume of times that I have seen violence and inequality perpetuated against black men and black women simply because of their skin color - or maybe I caught a glimpse of myself, my own sin, and my own excuses in a more raw and depraved way - or maybe the fact that he was barely a man, but already hated so deeply and I'm trying to raise two of my own little men - but this time has taken a chunk out of my apathy and made me want to commit to speaking and acting in a different way.  Hold me accountable on this: I want things to be different this time.  I want to actually be an ally, a real friend, and an advocate - rather than just wanting to be one, or patting myself on the back for not being worse than I am.  I am committed to continuing to engage, continuing to repent, and continuing to seek change in myself and in my spheres of influence.   And you, lucky you, get to come along with me.

I intentionally did not write yesterday or Saturday, because I was convicted by a friend who urged us not to speak before we had taken the time to lament, to mourn, to grieve.  To not be too fast to move into the distance of words, theories, and discussion, without allowing ourselves to feel the intimacy of loss.  Another friend's 4-year old daughter asked, "what were their names, mommy?" and reading her question, I realized that I too did not know them.  And so I stopped talking.  And I read their stories.  Clementa.  Sharonda.  Tywanza. Myra.  Ethel. Cynthia. Daniel. DePayne.  Susie.  And I gave space for tears.  For their humanity. The tremendous strength, loss, and character of their families in proffering forgiveness to the man who had robbed them of their loved ones.  Jesus, have mercy.  This is your church.  These saints are modeling for us what it means to be your followers.  In their last acts, welcoming in the stranger.  Blessing him, even as he sought their blood.  And then their families, again, and again, and again.  Forgiving.  Entreating.  Forgiving.  This is Imago Dei.

But Monday, as grief continues, I am convinced of this: my white brothers and sisters, we must - we must - be intentional about ways that we can stay engaged.  That we can #prayforcharleston, yes.  But that we can also #actforcharleston too.  If not, apathy will take over once again, and the banner of oppression and racism will both figuratively (and literally, in SC) continue to fly.

May I humbly give you four tangible suggestions of how I am attempting to do this this week? I don't know how to do this - but I'm trying to live out-loud, so I'm sharing with you the in-process:

1.  Be aware of your own heart and actions - confess out-loud to yourself the thoughts, the fears, and the delineations that you often keep hidden in your heart or pretend aren't there.  Name them.  The ways that you look at people differently.  The assumptions you make about what makes a neighborhood "bad" or "good."  The things I say about my neighbors' party.  When you want to lock your doors, clutch a pocketbook closer, or cross to the other side of the street.  Which parents you talk to on the playground.  Why or why not.  Jesus, have mercy.  Even our desire to disengage or the things that distract us - name them.  It's painful, but convicting.  We have to begin here - to confront our own racism, first and foremost.

2.  Read or have a conversation.  Learn more so that we can be better informed to act - I feel woefully under-educated on what, how, and where I should act or speak - deeply unaware of what is actually helpful versus not in the slightest.  Take the time to learn more in relational, historical, and tangible ways.  Ask someone - a friend, preferably - what can I do?  If you have kids, consider how you talk to them about race and ethnicity - my oldest is two, but we are trying to talk about it and are intentional to read books that help him understand the beauty of all cultures. If you need resources, I am on a hunt for them as well, so maybe we can learn together.  If you have them, I'd love to learn and receive from you.

3.   Commit to not being thin-skinned - to be willing to hear critiques of yourself or your own cultures' sins, without becoming defensive.  Give a friend permission to teach you.  To speak honestly, without fear of you removing yourself from the conversation.  Commit again and again - it's hard.  Friends, I write this with trepidation, but that means that I want to hear from you.  I want to know how I can grow.  I need your help, because I don't know how to start this journey.  I am good at writing with authority - but on this one I need instruction and your wisdom instead.

4. Christians - write a letter to your pastors.  Ask to have a longer conversation.  Did your church engage with this?  Did they engage for just one Sunday? Not at all?  Take the onus upon yourself to begin the conversation, don't wait for someone else to do it.  Then follow up.  Need ideas?  Below is the letter I sent my pastors late last week - that now I need to follow up on.

Will you join me?  Will you remind me?  Will you help me?  We will be messy.  We will not get it right all the time - or sometimes at all.  We will have to constantly - daily - be men and women of repentance.  But two steps forward, one step back, we will go forward together.

KD

--

Dear Pastors,

((personal introduction of my contexts within the church))

I wanted to write to you today - a little out of my comfort zone, honestly - but with a sincere heart and a request to you.  I'd love for this to be the beginning of a conversation - not something comprehensive in and of itself.  Lord knows, I have no idea how to have this conversation.  Please forgive me if it's long - brevity in emails has never been my strong suit.

I, as I am sure you are, have been deeply troubled by the news about the Charleston church shooting - as I have been each of the times that race issues have been in the news this year alone (and they are many).  I am grieving the racism that is still so prevalent in our nation.  I am not naive enough to think that this is a new issue, nor one that is easily solved or addressed, but I am confident that it points back to a deep racial wound, long history of division, and ultimately a heart-level issue of separating ourselves from, distrusting, and thinking ourselves better than others who are different than us.   And while I am confident that it will be discussed in nearly every Black church in America this Sunday, in even just the few days since it happened, I have found majority White churches/Christians to be strangely silent, and unwilling to denounce this as the racist act that it was - horrible, sinful, racially motivated, and broken.  Unwilling, or apathetic, or too busy, to validate the grief of our brothers and sisters.  Unwilling to acknowledge that racism, while legally addressed in many ways, is still very much alive in our midst, and in our hearts.  And uninterested in acting in tangible ways.  I recognize that our church is not a "White church" per se but strives to be a church of the nations - and is in many ways. But in that sense, I think it is even more important that we not be silent.

I think our silence is powerful - and not in a good way.  Rather, it says to the Black church, "you are right. The White/majority culture church does not see racism, and your pain as its problem."  And that is not a reflection of the Body of Christ that I love, where  "If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it." (1 Cor. 12:26)

Here's what I'd love to see happen - and my request to you:

At very least, can we acknowledge the pain of our brothers and sisters, without trying to explain it?  Maybe that even is just a moment of silence, or a moment of prayer.

This is a spoken word piece that was particularly moving to me on grieving with the black church or the One Church Liturgy call to worship.

Can we acknowledge that racism is not a "those racists over there" thing - but that all of us have to examine our hearts and souls, and ask God to change us from the inside out.  That racism is not an identifying characteristic like "blue eyes" or "blond hair" but a heart attitude of superiority, indifference, or judgment.  Lead us, in a prayer of repentance.

If you haven't seen Jon Stewart's monologue, I'd highly recommend it.

And can we ask, what do we do? How do we partner in meaningful ways with our black brothers and sisters, to bring meaningful, repentant, change.  Not as a white fixer or savior, but in humble partnership. Not one time, just this Sunday, but in a long-term, committed partnership.  Are there actions that we can take together, in partnership, to see this tide shift.  Offer a tangible suggestion of actions we can take.

Here're a friend's tangible suggestions that I found helpful places to start, individually.

Or another writer's thoughts on what one can say.

Or a friend's thoughts on the need of the white church to be silent no longer.

I have high confidence in our church, in longing to be a church that loves every nation, every people, and lives out the Gospel in our day-to-day lives - and is willing to step into places that are uncomfortable . That is why I am writing to you today.  Please, please, do not be silent on this.  Please do not minimize it as the act of one insane white supremacist who acted on isolated feelings.  Please be willing to step into the gap and say to the church, to us, brothers and sisters, this has happened too many times for us not to consider what we can do.  To examine ourselves and our hearts, first and foremost, and to repent of our own biases, ignorance, and apathy.  And then to consider as a church, and individuals, how can we move forward.  To partner together with black churches to grieve, to heal, and to bless the city.  I have no idea what that looks like - but I do know that I want to be a part of it.  And maybe that's part of the further conversations...

I'm sorry for the length of this email - pastor, I think I might have given you a run for your money in loquaciousness!  But I am a recovering apathy-ist and I don't want this to be just another thing that I think "oh, that's terrible" and then move on from.  I would love to talk more about this, even as I am not sure what I would say. I don't know what to say, aside from knowing that it's time for me to say something.

Thanks for being willing to engage.  Grateful for you, your ministry and fellowship of our church.

As part of the Body,
Kristen
--

Jesus, Have Mercy

"Jesus, have mercy."

These are the words that I initially wrote on Facebook, as I linked and reflected on the Charleston shooting, first thing this morning.

But, as I have reflected, and lamented, today, I am utterly and completely convinced that it is a good thing to ask Jesus to have mercy.  He does, and he longs to.  It is an even better thing to actually pray, lament, and affirm, with and for our brothers and sisters. 

It's not a bad thing to post articles or to learn more through reading or posting or dialoguing.  I am not trying to disparage that.

We have to start somewhere - and it is good thing to start with the truth: this was wrong.  A hate-filled, racially-motivated, mass-murder - with victims, whose only crime was being black, leaving behind real families, in real grief.  Jesus, have mercy.  I know this grieves your heart as well.

But, brothers and sisters, especially my white brothers and sisters, let us not be disingenuous in our prayers for mercy.  If we are willing to acknowledge "it's not okay" and "something is not right" - if we are going to ask Jesus for mercy, we cannot then sit idly back, contented that we have done our part, and wonder why He did not show the mercy we requested.

Please hear me, I am not preaching this as one who does it (well) (or at all), but as one who is seeking to repent.  To grow.  To change.  I do not know the words to say - and I fear, even as I write this, that I will speak something that is merely noise, or worse.  But I have seen these stories too many times, and am convicted by my lack of action.  Lack of mercy.  Lack of willingness to risk the backlash from (white) friends and family, in order to stand fully with my black friends, brothers, and sisters, saying, "how long oh Lord." (Ps. 13)

If we are His people, we are also his agents of mercy.  In thought, word, and deed.  And our inaction speak every bit as loudly as our actions.  Our absence and our presence - what we say, and what we don't say - matters.  

It has happened too many times for us to ignore or feign ignorance.

And that requires that we acknowledge that we are not merely bystanders but intrinsically interwoven into the larger narrative.  And if we long to see this age-old pattern of racism, "other-ing" and violence broken, we must start with the roots.

We begin with ourselves.  

Jesus, have mercy.  Give clemency, leniency, quarter, to me.  I am guilty of racism.  In thought, word, and deed.  Action, and inaction.  I am not part of the solution, I am part of the problem.  I do not intend harm, but I often benefit from the maintenance of its systems. I am "those people."  There is no other.  Examine my heart, and cleanse me.  Forgive me, Lord, for my apathy, indifference, judgement, distancing, and 140 character-long attention-span to things that grieve your heart.

Jesus, have mercy.

Today is my anniversary - four years short to my handsome and wonderful husband.  Our vows were short in length, but deep in meaning.  They were promises that we made to be faithful.  To honor.  To put the interests of another above our own.  For better or for worse.  They're simple words, but they have profound depth.

Today, brothers and sisters, after we begin (because it's not one time thing) addressing ourselves, I believe we need to make a similarly simple, but profound vow of active mercy to one another.  These are not entirely my words, but adapted from a sister whose words echoed in my heart when I read them, yes, this is true.  Read her words.  Take them to heart.  And then let us (if we are able) vow today together:

I am sorry.  I will not excuse, justify, or complicate this with more words.  You are grieving, you are angry, you are a bearing heavy burden, and whether I understand fully or not, I will grieve with you.  I will carry it with you and today, not make it about me or my burdens.  And if I cannot, I will keep my mouth shut, and not add to your load.  I am sorry.  I will stand with you.

I am listening.  I will stop explaining, justifying, or acting like the expert.  I acknowledge that I have a role in reconciliation, but that I do not always know what is needed.  It is not an passive, apathetic listening, but one that is deeply rooted in a desire to understand, to know, and to act.  I will do my best to hear you.  To hear your grief, your story, your process, without interjecting my own noise.  I will check my defensiveness at the door.  I am listening to you.  

I commit to you.  I am in it for the long-haul.  I understand that racism is centuries old, and ingrained in the fabric of our nation.  I am not jumping on a bandwagon, hoping that it will be newsworthy, headline grabbing, and exciting.  I know it will be hard, and not in a sexy way.  I will care about you, brothers and sisters, in tangible ways, whether or not you are in the news.  I will shoulder with you, this cry of "How long Oh Lord" and longing for justice, healing and reconciliation.  I will listen to you, and your leaders of wisdom, how I can do that best.  And when the times are right, I will act on your behalf, as I would act on my own.

May it be so.

the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth

I've got a secret to tell you - and I think it'll be short, because I'm not sure I want to elaborate too long, as I think I'll just muddy the water, and I think that's maybe not the point.  I love words, but sometimes use too many of them.

My secret is - when I think I'm failing, or might fail, or even might not succeed to the level that I want to, I shut down.  Quit.  Go MIA.  That can be as small as a brief social interaction and the point when I move on, or as big as a relational fight, parenting, or a career aspiration.  There is a reason I haven't taken the GRE yet even though I want to do grad school and have been talking about it for 4 years now.  Just being honest.  I am totally {but not as badly as I used to be!?} terrified of failure {especially admitting it}.  I strive for accomplishment, success, value, and see myself as capable, able, and successful - and if I'm not all those things, I will do my best to paint my failures in a positive light, look for the lesson, or try to portray it in a way that makes it look less like a failure and more like a "growth moment." {I'm typically really good at job interviews for those curious.}

So why am I telling you this right now? Because I'm currently avoiding a task (work-related, and relatively minor, if you're wondering) at hand that I feel like I have let slip for fall too long - have failed to complete in a satisfactory or timely manner, up to my standards, and so instead of facing it like a woman and just getting it done, or just acknowledging that I'm behind schedule and shouldn't be, I'm pretending it's not there and making up excuses.  And blogging about it? Well, that was absolutely pressing and urgent.  Much more important than just doing the task itself.

Enneagram 3's, raise your hands?  {holds both hands up high}

I should say, I am a healthier person than I used to be - more comfortable with failure than I once was.  Actually, I don't know that that's true - I want it to be, and some days it is, but I think the truth is, I still am not comfortable with it.  Rather, it does not undo me entirely anymore {it used to}.  And I actually do things for fun that I'm not good at now - and am cognizant of the ways that adventuring and risk taking brings life to my soul, and requires that I push through my fears of failure.  But I still don't like failure {who does?} and actively avoid it often - and still find myself shutting down, running away, or trying to make it look better than it is, in the face of impending failure.   I hate appearing incompetent, or like a failure.  And being found out is what I seek to avoid at all costs.  But at very least, I now recognize the ways that that's an unhealthy pattern, and strive to break it when I recognize it.

I'm confident that I'm not alone in this.

So I'm combating that instead by outing myself.  {little tip: for threes, the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth actually is what sets you free}. It's not pessimism, nor is it being down on myself {I'm not}.  It's actually the opposite - seeing myself as I am, apart from my relative successes, failures, and accomplishments.  So here's the truth:

• I am currently failing at this particular project- and that truth is actually freeing to say out loud. 
• Failing at a task does not make me a failure as a person.  And so I can acknowledge my own failure to the people that I have let down, without it determining or affecting my worth.  I am not the sum of my accomplishments - my worth and value is in who I am, not what I do.  And owning my failures allows me to take responsibility for them, and move forward.
• There are actions that I need to take to complete my current project and I need to take them. 
• I need to ask for some help and make a concrete plan to take those steps.  And then do it.

When was the last time you failed at something? How do you deal with failure? Is there truth that you need to acknowledge to yourself or someone else?  Are there concrete steps that you need to take?

You are loved for who you are, friend.  And you are so much more than the sum of your accomplishments, failures or successes.

- KD

a prayer for the toddler inside of me

... because sometimes my toddler's antics mirror my own a little too closely

Lord, help me not to be whiny today.
Forgive me for my jealousy, ungratefulness, and possessiveness.
Give me eyes to see the things that I already have, for which I can be grateful. 

Teach me to play well with others -
Help me not to hit, bite or kick others, verbally, passive aggressively, or emotionally.
Even if they hit me first.
Teach me to lead by example with gentle wisdom and sometimes loud joyful invitations. 

Help me to play with a wild and reckless abandon, with unabashed delight.
Even if it's not mature or grown-up - and even if others laugh at me.
Let my laughter ring out loudly, often, and with invitation.
Help me not to take myself too seriously, and to laugh freely at the silly things.

Teach me to share what I have, even my favorite toys and prized possessions -
Freely and joyfully, without condition. 

Remind me that not everything is about me today -
Help me to see that I am not the center of the universe.  Again.

Teach me to stop and smell the flowers (every one) - to see the snails, clouds, and rocks.

Renew my childlike wonder. 

Thank you for the rest that you give me - mandate for me - every day.
Help me to take it with welcome delight, rather than kicking and screaming against you. 

Lord, let me take a few minutes in quiet today, even if they are precious few.
Renew my perspective, refresh my energy, and awake me anew.

Forgive me for the ways that I have lost my childlike wonder, delight and joy and instead reclaimed my childlike immaturity, selfishness, and smallness.  Please restore in me the former, while shaping, molding, and disciplining me into maturity in the latter - even as I seek to do the same with my children.

Amen.

KD

Dream Chasers: let me not die while I am still alive

A few days ago, I was reading Sheryl Sandberg's Sheloshim post about her husband, partnership and her grief, and life and option B, transparency, letting people in, and asking for help, love and gratitude.  And I was struck, in a heart-level way, by the prayer line from her rabbi friend,

“Let me not die while I am still alive.”

Really, her whole post is powerful.  She talks about so much in such a succinct and raw, yet beautifully incandescent way.  If you have time to read just one thing today, read her thoughts not mine.  Please.  And take just one thing away from it, that will affect your today and tomorrow, whatever that might be for you.

But if you have time for two things today, here's one of my today and tomorrow takeaways:

Dreams matter.  And finding and doing the things that bring life to your soul, mind, body, and fellow man - not dying while you are still alive - is of utmost, and infinite, importance and value.

When I was 18-19-20, at the cusp of adulthood, in college, my dream was to become a nuclear physicist, working on nuclear policy, and through diplomacy, to make the world a safer, better, more peaceful place.  I also wanted equality for women, a level playing field, and fame and success for myself.  And honestly, making heaps of money would have been on the list as well.

By the time I finished college, at the ripe old age of 22, my dreams and goals had shifted from nuclear weapons to the nucleus of the person, the soul, the spirit, and the heart - and wanting more than anything to see people at peace within themselves, to know that they were loved more radically than they possibly could imagine, and to know that they were safe and free - freed to live radical and bold lives that made a real difference in the world around them.  I had just started learning that lesson myself, and I wanted others to find that freedom as well.

As I have grown older, and transitioned careers again - and then transitioned out of a career into life as a stay-at-home mom, my goals and dreams have shifted more internally and relationally - to be a woman who is herself so at peace in who she is, that those in her presence find themselves more comfortable in their own skin.  That they feel safe, known, and loved completely, freed to be fully and unabashedly themselves.  For my children, my husband, and others who grace my life daily.

And that is a good and holy dream - a eulogy worthy goal, not a resume builder - that will fill my days and challenge me from henceforth, I am certain.

And yet.

And yet, I long for more.

I love mentoring, counseling, and coaching.  I'd love to go back to school and get a degree that would enable me to pursue that more fully.  I find joy in walking alongside others through real life.  And making a tangible difference in their lives.

I find life in creating new things.  I dream of inventing something new.  Shark Tank? Terrifies me, but man, I'd love to have an idea that I could present there!

I love to write, and dream of writing something that actually matters.

I want to be the kind of woman who models for her children what it looks like to never give up on dreams - who inspires her husband with her love of life and fullness of joy.  Whose kids rise up and say, "Man, mom loved us well, was always present for us, I always knew I could count on her" etc. But also, "Man, I saw my mom chase her dreams and live a fulfilled life, a love-filled life and I want that..."

See I think as we get older, our dreams and goals do shift.  They mature.  They grow.  Or they shrink, as fluff is cut away to reveal the heart, the core that is what we actually want.

And sometimes, they get set aside (for a time) for the sake of someone else pursuing their dreams, or for the sake of caring for someone else.  Love does that.  True love is always sacrificial.

But so often, in the process of the shifting, and the growing, and the maturing, and the sacrificing, rather than honing in, and holding onto, we simply lose sight of our dreams altogether.  We settle down, we settle in, and we abandon the heart and soul of who God created us to be in the process.

And I want to speak specifically to parents here - I think it applies broadly, but moms, you are my demographic, the place that I know most well, as I preach to myself here as well.

Moms, for some of us, when the fluff is cut away, and the core revealed, the place of our dreams, the place where we come most alive - that is simply and purely in being a mom.  Some of us, that is our heart and soul, even though it has not yet become reality.  And that is a good and holy place.  Never let anyone call you "just a mom."  Or accuse you of not pursuing your dreams.  If this is your dream, I bless you to chase it with reckless abandon.  Please love your kids (and love their friends, my kids) in the ways that only someone living a fulfilled life can do.  I applaud you.

For others of us - many of us - we love our kids, love being moms, and are really good moms, but we're even better moms when we invest in and value and spend time in areas other than just our children.  Our dreams are not better ways of living fulfilled lives or less sacrificially loving than those of the mom whose soul comes alive in mothering - they are simply different.  And at times, we (wrongly) believe or are told that they stand in competition or contradiction with our ability to be good moms, or our culture's (or subculture's) views of what makes a good mom.  And yet, by pursuing those dreams in a healthy balance, we actually love our kids with more joy, teach our kids to take risks, inspire our husbands, and model what living a fulfilled and content life looks like.  And I applaud you also.

I fall in the latter category.

And I struggle daily to find time, energy, resources, and frankly even desire, to invest in the things that bring life to my soul.  But I know, after a few days/weeks/months of their absence, my soul starts to atrophy.  I become snappier, less engaged, and less joyful in the times I spend with my children and husband.  And far quicker to point out "just how much I am sacrificing for them" and "why can't they be more grateful."

Moms, it matters that we have and pursue our dreams too.  Hear me, as I say to us together, it matters that you do things that are life-giving to you.  And it's okay if that is things other than parenting. That you know what makes your heart sing, your soul feel free, and your energy levels reset - other than naps and coffee.  We all need naps, and I don't know how anyone does it without coffee.

Even if it's just 5 minutes a day (or a week, let's be honest) of self-investment and dream chasing.  Or sometimes, even if it's just having dreams, and clinging desperately to them in hopes that one day... one day after the weeks of potty training and cleaning up yet another "oopsie" off the carpet are past... one day, this is what you long to pursue.

Two caveats: First, I'm not talking about having a career - but living fully - having dreams, investing and valuing and spending time with what is life-giving and soul-filling.  They can be the same thing, but they don't have to be.  It's knowing what makes you feel alive, and making space for it.  And second, I know that talk about chasing and pursuing our dreams is often language of privilege, and between working two or three jobs, caring for our families and trying to take care of basic life tasks like getting groceries before the stores close, the thought of finding time for ourselves feels laughable; I do not mean to be insensitive to that.  But I think dreams still matter - and in the midst of just getting by, having the ability to look for more, to long for more, makes the difference between getting stuck and merely feeling stuck for a season.

Because can I be honest? I have never met a more consistently sacrificial group of people than parents.  Day in and day out, the bulk majority of parents put someone else's needs before their own.  In a good and holy way.   And it is beautiful.

But in the same way that children need, test, and even want boundaries - parents, we need to have boundaries as well.  Very few of us - I would wager none of us, but I'll leave room for error - very few of us have the capacity to give constantly without refilling.  And if you do not also care for yourself, have dreams for yourself, you will - we will - find ourselves as atrophied versions of ourselves with very little left to give - and in its place, a whole lot of bitterness.

We will become people who die while we are still alive.

So for you and me:

What do you love?  What makes you most animated when it comes up in conversation?
What do you wish that you had space or time to pursue?
What makes you feel alive? Contented? Challenged?  Full?

When was the last time that you did that?

What time do you have available for that?  What do you need to cut in order to make (any) space?  For starters, you can stop reading my blog, I won't be offended.  AND that will free up at least 10 minutes a week. Skimmers, maybe 2, but hey, you won't have made it to this line anyhow.  ;)

What conversation do you need to have with those in your life to make that happen?  Spouses - partners - loved ones - how can you help create space for your loved ones to be more alive?  Ask them.  And help them identify the places where you see them come most alive.  That's always a fun conversation.  Ask today: where do you see me come most alive?

For me, writing here is one tiny step.  Finding space for people, for creativity, for innovation, those are other baby steps.  And trusting others to watch my kids occasionally so I can do that (not run errands) and believing that that is worth doing, is another.

Dreams matter.  Let's be dream chasers, friends.  Pursuers of real life and meaning. 

And let's start today...

** This is post #100.  (yay!) As promised, I both remembered, and am observing it by doing absolutely nothing out of the ordinary - just writing a normal ol' blogpost.