I once thought I was a writer. I had grand writer-y aspirations and worked towards making them a reality. When my dad got sick, I lost my words. It’s pretty disorienting to lose your words when you think you’re a writer and writing’s been the way you processed ideas, situations, theology and emotions. All those things still rattle around in your head without a way to get out. One thing I discovered that helped was making big messes with paint. You’ll see evidence of that here. It became my way of writing without using words.

It’s been six years since my dad died, and I feel my words returning. Maybe that means there will be more of them here.

Sometimes you have to take the first step, jump into something without knowing the outcome. Friendship, marriage, spirituality, LIFE, these all offer unpredictable moments of great beauty, struggle, and deep joy. I’m coming out of a difficult stretch, maybe you’re entering one. Even in the midst of it I knew there are still many things to be thankful for. I try to keep my eyes scanning for those, especially when it seems too dark and the night seems too long. There’s a lot to be said for lighthearted laughter and appreciating little things every day and those can happen in the midst of struggle. Those things can co-exist; most of the time they have to.

Another thing that helps is to not to take ourselves so seriously. Not that we don’t all have an important role to play in the world, but it’s not solely up to one person to make everything right. Also, none of us is perfect, so we ought to quit trying to pretend we are. It’s way too much work to keep up that façade, and usually the only person we’re fooling is ourselves.

Relax, friend. You’re safe here. This is a place where we’ll tackle serious subjects one minute and laugh about the absurdity the next. This is what life is.

Stick around, be encouraged and let’s do this thing together.