Writers Block?

Have you ever faced writers block? You know, that moment when you feel like you have something to say, but the words get stuck in the back of your brain. It is one of the most frustrating things to experience. It is even worse when you write something, just for the sake of writing, and then realize that it is actually rubbish. The words that mean something are stuck behind that impenetrable wall, and all that is accessible is the goop of everyday verbiage.

In retaliation, one reaches for the most desperate of topics. The topic of writers block itself. Here we go then. Follow me through a brief history of writing.

There was a time, when the words came up from the depths of my soul easily. I’m not saying that they were all good. I’m not saying that they were all works of great genius. But at least they came easily. I chalk that up to being the time in my life where I was undergoing major change. This is the time period that I call, “the dredging of Lake Amanda.” Do you know what dredging is? No? You are raising your eyebrows… Let me describe.

Every once in a while a lagoon or lake becomes so full of sediment that it can no longer support the same life that it did before. Normally, this sediment would be washed away by natural forces, such as rain or the flux and flow of the tides. However, humanity, being primarily made up of silly humans, sometimes stops water from doing what it was meant to do. We dam our rivers and build freeways across lagoons, making it necessary to dredge them every couple of years. Dredging involves a chain of buoys, nets and hoses that are dragged slowly across the surface of a shallow body of water by a barge. The hoses suck up the sludge from the bottom of the lake or lagoon and it is carted away to be used as fertilizer. Anyways, this analogy is meant to demonstrate that there was a time in my life when I was writing tons and tons of sludge. This sludge represented the change that Lake Amanda was undergoing. I was going back to my natural state. I needed to get rid of the muck that had accumulated in my habitat. So, I wrote all the time. There were some gems found within the sledge, and some really cool fossil thingies, but much of my writing from that time was made up of thick, black globs of dirt and waste.

Then came the months of still water. During this time Lake Amanda reacclimatized to the new feeling of life. Some words came out, but these were squeezed out painfully and slowly (think constipation but don't picture it). Lots of the writing from this era was scholastic. It contained words like “interventions” and “clinically.” It was boring, but it did not require the soul searching and agonies of the former season.

I can only hope that the new season in Lake Amanda is one of creativity and life. I hope that now that the sludge is gone, and the words are coming that they will capture something worth sharing.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is my attempt to defeat writers block. I may not have actually won, but at least I hit it a couple of times with a baseball bat. And now I feel better. Much better.

Stay tuned for a post about the meaning of Christmas. :)

"Secrets don't make friends." And other things that children tell each other.

My dear daughter,

When I was a girl, we used to say, “Secrets don’t make friends.” But, everybody knew that was not true. If you were really friends with someone, you told them your secrets, and a good friend could keep those secrets.

But, what happens if the secret someone tells you makes you feel scared? What happens if those secrets make you feel like someone is really, really bad, or makes you feel like a person who you thought was good, actually can’t be trusted?
What do you do with the secrets then? Worse yet, what if the secret is your own? What if an older person told you that no one would believe you or that you were a liar?

Secrets like that go deep into your heart. When you agree to keep them they bury themselves deep inside the soil of who you are. Then, that soil becomes hard so that the secrets can never come back out. Then, the problem is that for the rest of your life nothing can grow there. The only way for things to grow in that hard-hearted place is for the secrets to be dug back out again. Have you ever tried to dig up something that was buried under rock hard soil? It takes a long time and a lot of tools. Some people might give up.

When I was a girl, I hid my secrets, and I hid the secrets that other people told me. I thought I was being a good friend. But, these secrets made a gigantic hard place in my heart, and when I tried to dig them up I found out that I couldn’t do it on my own. I needed people to help me, and when people weren’t enough I needed a patient gardener who knows all about me. This gardener is the living God, the life force of the world, and He once was a man named Jesus. I found out how gentle He could be, as He slowly watered the hard dirt of my heart and made it soft again. Then, he brought the secrets to the surface and pulled them out of me. It was scary. I had never wanted to think about those things ever again, and this time I had to see them and think about them. But now, my heart is soft again.

My daughter, if anything like this ever happens to you, I want you to know something, the sooner you talk about those kinds of secrets the better. Don’t let you heart become hard like mine. Don’t protect those secrets that make you feel afraid. Let them come out. The gardener will help you, and so will I. To be a good friend, you don’t have to keep those secrets; you need to help others get rid of them.

Car Bombings and Potatoes- 3 weeks traveling the world

Yeah, I know. That title was a cheap trick to get you to read this post. Who could resist something so catchy? No, I never saw any car bombings. However, there were bombings in Kampala one week before our team arrival, and on my trip to Uganda and Kampala combined I think I ate enough potatoes to last me a lifetime.

If my heart was a placid lake of relative calm before this trip, it now looks more like the perpetually disturbed surface of the source of the Nile. Something is bubbling up from the bottom, coming to the surface, flowing out from here. How far will this current take me? I do not know. If I let it, it will shake me and change me. Now that I am back in normal, everyday life, it is my choice.

Here are some brief snapshots of moments in my travels that I will hang onto, of things I will treasure;

-That one day, walking through the slums with Junior, listening to his heart that was hungry for knowledge and love. Walking up to the witch doctors hut and finding a man there with an amputated leg. The amputee asked us for prayer because he was having phantom pains. It was an invitation to pray light in the territory of darkness. Junior relaxed his tight hold on my hand as we prayed the presence of God over that man.

-Jonah. The little boy who never smiled but always wanted to be held. He finally smiled at Sarah on the last day. It was so precious.

-Playing soccer along the dirt path with a group of rag tag schoolboys. The soccer balls were made of rocks and layers of plastic bags tied together with palm branches. It was a game of pure possession. Whoever keeps feet on the ball the longest, wins. Eventually we all would stop, panting, under the shade of some African tree to sweat it out. The heat of the Equatorial sun was intense on our heads, and the cooling breeze swept upward from Lake Victoria.

-Welcome Home. The wonderful ministry there, the workers, and the babies, all imprinted on our hearts. The joy of their worship and service was so beautiful. And the depth of their faith was staggering. I am convinced that Betty prayed out loud a few times just to teach me what prayers should sound like.

-If my faith were embodied in a person it would be a premature albino baby. I want it to look like a 6’4” black man named Timothy whose smile splits his face in half and whose hand is the size of my face.

-The boat sermon in N. Ireland. I don’t have to get out of the boat, but man do I want to! I want to be with Jesus even in the middle of the storm. I want to be able to risk it, big time. I want to say goodbye to comfort if that means that I get to know Him better.

-The quiet times that I had, just myself and God, to sing and think over the things that have changed in my heart. And the precious times that I had with those wonderful Northern Irish who love to encourage and laugh. I love the Mafia. <3

Is that all? Nope, those are only a few of the treasures that I have found since coming back here. What happens next only He can say. The promise is that there is always more to come. There is always more to come.

Download, Upload, Sync- Exchange of Information

Why is it that travelling always stirs up the words inside of me? They bubble to the surface, up from my core, to solidify the lava-like changes of my landscape. Praise be to God who is always working in me. Father, may these changes be from you. Mold me and shape me.

Aihya! I cannot believe all the thing that I have seen in these past two weeks. I feel like it is all seeping from my pores. Faces, names, places- they attack me in my sleep from their fortress in the massive tangled web that is my subconscious. My overwhelmed brain is trying to process all of this. To do so, I must download some of the information. I have to get it out of me so I can try to make sense of it. Maybe then, it will generate something new in me and help me to find strength for what comes next. So, I am sitting here in my dear friend Sydney's living room, watching the Irish sky spit rain sparks, and hashing it out. Here we go. The ravings of a mad woman, or the ramblings of the sane, I am not sure exactly. Here they are, slightly organized and a bit disjointed, a few of the lessons I want to take away from my trip to Uganda.

Lessons One
From my Ugandan friends, I have the valuable lesson of a lifestyle of humility.

I wish I could live as they do. I wish that I could have a heart that has lost so much, but still believes completely in a good and gracious God. They have known heartbreak that I can never fathom. All the people we met told us stories of loss and devastation that were mind blowing to me. It showed me how much I have. However, it also showed me how much I am lacking. Because regardless of what they have lost, they have gained a richer faith than anything I could imagine.

Over the past two weeks, I have come to realize that there are holes in my spirituality, whole passages of scripture that I have never understood, and a timidity to my prayers. My Ugandan friends do not have these problems. For them, faith is a matter of necessity, it is what holds them together and gives them hope and purpose. When my friend Betty prays for the sick, she does so with a confidence in God that I have never had. I have always had medicine to heal me, I have always had food, and I have always had love. But, in the things that I HAVE I now believe that I have missed out on the reality that God is the ultimate Healer, Provider, and the true Source of relational love. Last week, out of the desperation of my heart I prayed this to God;
"My heart is moved by the humility that their (the Ugandans) soul hunger has worked within them and the way that it opens the door for You to be great. If you must, Lord, humble my heart and body. Make your name great in my life. Not the name 'Amanda' but the name of Jesus. My faith does not stand as strongly as theirs does. My voice does not call upon your name and strength and majesty as urgently as theirs. Do what must be done in me so that I may learn this."

My richness had made me poor. True humility knows it's own weakness, and calls upon God to be great. This is my new hearts cry. And, I'm not going to lie, it's pretty terrifying.

Lesson Two
People are the most valuable and precious currency on this earth.

The most wonderful moments for me in Uganda were all about people. Weather it was with the children at the school, the babies at the orphanage, or laughing with our translators Teddy, Sheila and Betty, I was continually surrounded by affection and love. It was like a spout had opened up above me and love was pouring through me. I honestly feel that I would have been happy to stay in Africa and hug children for the rest of my life. And I put that down, not as a testament to myself, but the overwhelming love that God has for all people.

The people of the earth are so precious to our Father. He has made them in His image, to be holders of His presence, and to shine His joy on the earth. In Uganda, a joyful smile is a wonderful gift. The white flash of teeth and the slow spread of dimples gives grace to so many interactions. A touch of the hand is a communication of affection, trust and friendship. So, although I spent the last week and a half or so without warm showers, sleeping under mosquito netting, and with frequent power outages, I feel so rich. I am so blessed to have known these people, and to be known by them.

People are precious. They are the most valuable thing on the earth. Nothing we have will ever compare to the value of relationships and love.


That's all... That's the end and the beginning of some of my thoughts on this week. I'm sure more will follow. Thank you for allowing me to torrent my thoughts, to projectile vomit them out into the open.

I'm going to go enjoy some more of Sydney's hot water now. :)

Dreams- Submitted for editing

Have you ever stopped for a moment to think about what you want? I know this is a dangerous practice. Dreaming. Yes, in our time, in our world, dreamers are a dying breed. It seems like everything around us conspires to kill our dreams, to murder the things that give us life. What I am talking about is going out there and saying, “This is what I want,” with the full knowledge that we are in fact bringing our dreams and desires before God, and telling Him, “You know best and I know the least, so do with my dreams what YOU please.”

This contradicts the idea of the American dream, which tells us that WE have the power to fulfill our dreams and if WE do not make them happen, then we are slackers, stupid or lazy. So, let me be clear. I will go after my dreams with as much energy and purpose that I have in me, but I know that at any moment my life could be changed by the hands that hold me. Ultimately, I hope that my dreams for myself more closely match the dreams of my Father. If I let Him have my heart completely than He will shape, guide and make my way clear. That is my hope as I enter this time of dreaming.

My dreams. It is terrifying to write them out. But, lately I have been trying to do things that scare me. So, here are four of my dreams.

-I dream about being a wounded healer. Someone who has faced the pain within myself in order to more clearly understand the pain of others. Within the pain, I keep my eyes fixed on eyes that are filled with compassion and understanding. To enter the darkness, the living Hell that surrounds so many people, I have had to search hard and deeply. I cannot walk through Hell unless I hold Heaven in my heart.

-I dream about being a mother of children that are not my own, of holding them and teaching them what it means to be loved. Through teaching, writing, and relationship, I want to give them a safe place to be themselves, a place where they can tell their secrets and receive love and compassion. I remember so much about what it was like to be a child with dark secrets, and I do not want that for them.

-I dream about having a home of my own, of sharing my life and my heart with another. I want to be open to possibilities, and share myself freely. I want to go on adventures with a partner who knows who I am. I want the space we inhabit to be a place of freedom. I want to be with someone who has fought for his soul and will get my back as I fight for mine. A battle partner, friend and beloved.

-Finally, I dream about waking dreams in others. Through my life, I want to encourage and enable others to follow their greater purposes, regardless of the risk or comfort level. I want to see those that I love awakened to a deeper Joy, and watch them but their Hope and Trust in the one true and great God. The only one who offers Healing and Deliverance; the walking, living, knowing God. For more on this idea, I recommend reading David Platt’s book Radical, and letting your heart be open to the idea that you may be missing out if you are holding on too tightly to your comfort zone.

On another note, that is in fact related, I am going to Africa this summer. And I have always dreamed about going there. Sometimes, our dreams really do come true.
So, write out your dreams, and then submit them to the author of your life-story for editing. You know what I mean. See what happens. I know it’s going to be awesome.

In the meantime, I’m going to go live out my dreams and see what happens. I’m not going to let the apathy and concrete of Southern California choke out who I was made to be.

An Ocean called Forgiveness

There is an ocean that is so big that all the attempts to describe it have failed. I heard stories from people who tried. They told me how they sent boats to sail across it and look for land. The sailors came back and told me how they had sailed for miles and miles and miles, and still had not found the other side. The waters and waves seemed to stretch on and on from one side of the sky to another. Another brave explorer told me how he tried to dive to the bottom of this ocean. But, even with the strongest submarine, he still could not go deep enough to find the bottom. This ocean is too deep and too wide to measure. It has mysterious caves, all kinds of sea creatures, and the loveliest colored waters you have ever seen. It is an ocean called forgiveness.

One day, I decided to swim in that ocean, to explore its murky mysteries and discover just how big it was. Armed with flippers, a mask, and snorkel, I swam away from the beach and away from the land. The water was like heavy silence in my ears, and its warmth surrounded me.

In the shallows I encountered my first living creature, a buggy eyed fish.
I stopped and looked at her. She was blue. I tried to speak with her, to say, “Hello fish!” But, she did not respond. She didn’t even blink. She just swam away. I was sad. I thought to myself, “Maybe this journey is something I have to do on my own.”

It was then that I felt my first feeling of fear. It felt like the arms of a giant octopus sticking to me and pulling me downwards. Still, I knew I must continue swimming. It was like something was drawing me forward. So I swam out of the shallows and into the seaweed forest.

The water grew darker because the seaweed blocked out the sun. But, there were many wonderful things swimming around me. Silver fishes darted through the water, moving separately but together in giant packs. I saw the flash of a seal as it chased the fish quickly through the water. Starfish sat on the rocky bottom in the little patches of sunlight. The seaweed was slimy and smooth and it moved out of my way as I swam through it, almost as if it could feel that I was coming.

When I came to the end of the forest and looked out, my fear became stronger. I was on the edge of a continental shelf. A continental shelf is where the shallows close to land suddenly drop off into deep, deep waters. The ocean changed colors into a dark purple and I couldn’t see the bottom anymore. My heart began to beat wildly, and I floated there, completely stopped in the water. I knew that sharks lived in the depths of the seas. I knew that they could be anywhere in the ocean around me. And this thought made my blood boom in my ears. Suddenly, every bubbling noise or movement of the water around me felt dark and sinister.

At that moment, something large and shining caught my eye. It was a giant sea anemone unfurling it’s dozens of fingerlike tentacles. It was sitting on the very edge of the continental shelf facing outward. It was a dark red color, and when it opened all the way I saw a flash of light go through it. It was glowing. Curiosity overcame my fear and I swam closer to get a better look.

“Hello human girl.” Said the sea anemone.

I gasped, swam backwards and almost choked on my snorkel.
“Anemone! You can talk!”

“Yes.” It said, “In fact, I have been waiting here for you. I have something very important to tell you.”

I thought for a moment… I couldn’t remember ever reading anything in books about anemones talking. What could this anemone have to say to me?

“Anemone, I don’t know why you are talking to me. But, I think I can listen to whatever you have to say.”

The red fingerlike tentacles quivered in response. I realized that the anemone was laughing, “Oh!” It said, “I have never heard a response quite like that before. Thank you! Thank you for listening. I think what I have to say will help you.”
“Human girl,” said the sea anemone with a stronger voice, “Today you have to go talk with a shark.”

My flippers stopped flipping. My legs and arms felt paralyzed.

“Um, excuse me Mr. or Mrs. Anemone, whatever you are… I cannot go talk with a shark. Sharks are bad. Sharks eat people. In fact, I know people who have been bitten by sharks. In fact, I lost my big toe to a shark bite years and years ago. I don’t even know you, and you are telling me to go talk to a shark. I don’t think so.”

The anemone started to glow again. “Yes,” it said, “I had a feeling you would say that. But, would you listen if I tell you a little bit more about sharks?”

I considered this carefully, “Well anemone, as long as I am here I guess I have to listen. What can you tell me that I don’t already know?”

“Well,” began the anemone, glowing brighter, “Sharks have a long and interesting history. They are not all bad you know. Only some of them bite people. And even those sharks that bite people start out as tiny creatures that need to be cared for. They grow in little egg sacks and can easily be eaten by other predators.”

“Predators!” I said, “Yes, that is the word. One of my friends lost a leg to a shark once. She has not been the same since then. When I visited her in the hospital she said that a part of her was gone forever. I know that sharks are like predators.”

“No, no, no…” Said the anemone gently, “That’s not what I mean to say at all. I want to remind you that sharks start out small. They are not all bad and scary. Even the bad and scary ones that bite have something inside of them that is special.”

I thought for a moment, “Teeth. They have lots of teeth. I could see how other predators would think that is special.”

“No, human girl.” Said the anemone, colors flashing again, “Sharks have a special sense of the things that are around them, just like you. They can feel the electricity of the things that are swimming in the water around them. They can smell the tiniest drop of blood in the water from miles away. In a way, they are similar to you, only they are stronger and, yes, they can be dangerous sometimes. But, if you went to talk with one of them, I know you could understand more about what it means to be a shark. AND I think there is something that only YOU can give a shark.”

“Anemone, do you have eyes?” I peered closer at the body of the anemone, “I want to look into your eyes. I need to know if I can trust you because you are telling me to do something that is very scary.”

The anemone quivered its tentacles again, and bubbles came out of its mouth, “No, human girl. I do not have eyes. I sense your movements through my tentacles and I can feel the electric currents that your movements make in the water. Sometimes, I light myself up to attract things near me. But, human girl, you can trust me. I have lived in this ocean for a long time, longer than you can remember. I know a lot about sharks and I know a lot about you. I would never ask you to do something that would hurt you.”

Again, I looked carefully at the anemone, “Hmmmm, well maybe I could do it. I could do it if you gave me a shark cage to go in, or some of that shark armor that scientists wear when they swim with the sharks. I have seen pictures of it before. It looks really safe. Sharks cannot bite you through that armor.”

“Human girl, I do not have any shark armor or shark cages. But, I do have one thing that will help protect you. Come let me hug you with my tentacles. If I hug you then you will be covered with slimy mucus that will sting anything that touches you, it will also glow and help you to find your way in the darkness of the deep water.”

I inspected the anemone carefully. It seemed trustworthy, but it was SO big. It was as wide as I was tall. What if it was tricking me? What if it was trying to trap me and feed me to the sharks? Well, there was only one way to know. I swam down closer and put my hand into the tentacles. They were sticky, and they turned inwards towards the mouth of the anemone.

“It’s ok, human girl. You don’t have to hug me.” Said the anemone, “I just want to help you feel safe.”

I sighed, and then I made a decision. I swam close and laid myself down in the center of the anemone and let it hug me. It tickled and felt sticky, but I could feel the coating of mucus all over me. And when the anemone let me go, I could see a faint glow coming from my skin.

“Anemone,” I said, “I do not know what I will say, but I WILL go talk with a shark today.”

“Swim safely.” Said the anemone and waved its tentacles goodbye.

I turned from the anemone and looked out into the great dark purple and green waters. Suddenly tired, I began to slowly swim out into unknown. This time the water around me felt like mud. I could not believe that I was actually going to talk with a shark, “to find something valuable,” or to give it something “only I could give.” Impossible! That anemone must have been crazy. I was absorbed in my thoughts as I swam along, and then suddenly I realized that I was completely alone. There were no little fish or cute sea stars here. I could see the light filtering down from the surface, but it looked paler from here than it had in the shallows. And suddenly I saw a dark shadow approaching. Something was coming, and that something was big.

The shadow swayed from side to side as it swam towards me. It looked like, yes, yes it was, A SHARK. In the middle of the depths of the ocean I came face to face with a shark. Its head was shaped like a flat hammer. Its thick skin was covered with scars as if it had fought many battles. It was large and very strong. I felt the place where my toe used to be starting to throb and I prepared myself to be eaten. The shark swam around me slowly. It looked at me out of one black eye and then turned its head to look at me through the other.

“Hello human girl. I see you have visited the anemone.” Said the shark. It’s mouth was full of SO many teeth. I couldn’t even begin to count them.

“Um, yes.” I said, and held up my glowing hands so that he would know not to touch me. “Yes, the anemone told me to come here and talk with you, but I don’t know what to say. Shark, why are you swimming in circles around me? You are making me really nervous!”

“Well,” said the shark, “I am sorry but I cannot stop swimming. If I stop swimming then I will not be able to breath and I will die. But, I can swim over here, if that would help you.” The shark swam a few yards away from me and looked at me out of one eye.

I pushed my arms against the water that was swirling around me, and braced myself for something big. “Shark,” I said, “Is there something that only I can give you?”

“Yes,” said the shark simply, “I would like to ask you to forgive me. I am sorry that your toe got bitten, and I am sorry about your friend’s leg. Do you think that you could be ok with swimming in the same ocean as me? We were both made to swim here, you know?”

I considered this carefully for a moment. Maybe the anemone was right. Suddenly a thought occurred to me. I wondered if, because I hated sharks, I had actually been staying away from the deepest most wonderful parts of the ocean. I had stayed in the shallows and close to the shore, because I had been afraid of going deeper. But, this time it was different. This time I was glowing with the slime of the anemone and I didn’t have to protect myself. Still, this shark had an awful lot of teeth. Now, he was looking at me through his other eye. It seemed like he was trying to swim as slowly and gently as possible.

I made my decision, “Shark, I believe that you are sorry. I forgive you. Yes, I think we can swim in the same ocean. I would rather swim in the ocean with you than not swim in the ocean at all. I forgive you, Shark. I forgive you.” The words tumbled out of me in a rush. It was like I could not control them.

The shark slowly nodded his head from side to side. “Thank you, human girl. I will leave you now. Swim in peace.” Then he swam around me in a circle and swam away, disappearing slowly into the sea. I watched the sunlight spears reflect off of his back until there was nothing left. I felt so much lighter.

Then, I saw another dark shape swimming towards me. It was much larger than the shark and swam up and down. It was a humpback whale, and it was singing. Its song vibrated through me and invited me to swim with it. So, I did. I grabbed onto its fin and let it pull me deeper into the water.

That was the best day of swimming I have ever had. I floated over coral reefs that amazed me with their beauty and saw all kinds of sea animals that I had never seen before. And, no, I did not ever find out how big it was, but I was free for the first time to explore the ocean called Forgiveness.

The End- for now…

Image from: http://www.colombotoday.com/english/getImage?imageID=1242203105840.jpg

The size of our souls- Reflections from the NICU

How do you measure the size of our souls? How do you define what makes that person THAT person? THOSE people have something that is so unique and special, and it radiates from them. It beams from the pores of their skin like light.

Last week I had an overnight shift in the neonatal intensive care unit at the local children’s hospital. This is where they bring the smallest and most fragile human beings I have ever seen. “Neonates” come straight to the intensive care unit after they are born. Usually, this is because they were born too early, or because they were born with a life threatening condition that makes intervention necessary for them to live. They represent the most fragile parts of life. I saw babies the size length of my hands, weighing 400 grams, their chests fluttering up and down like birds. Then the waiting and praying process begins. Will this baby ever go home? Will it leave the hospital free of tubes? Will it come back a few months later because of complications in its condition?

I was assigned to the feeder/grower room, the room where the babies that are doing better are sent to gain weight so that they can be cleared to go home. The baby that I was in charge of was a tiny little 3 pounder who didn’t like to eat. She was born prematurely at 30 weeks. She had the most beautiful face, and eyes that seemed to show the greatness inside of her. It was like I could feel who she was, even from across the room.

Babies make you think about a lot of things. Or at least they do for me. So, I my mind started spinning its wheels as I cared for these little people throughout the night. I wondered why is it that people’s souls so often feel like they are different sizes. There are a number of ancient theories and thoughts about souls, what they are, and if they are immortal or only last as long as the body is living. Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, and many influential thinkers since then, have debated such subjects verbally and in writing. But, what I am talking about here is another question entirely. Do our souls have a size? Are there people who are more whole-souled than others?

I am sure you have seen this happen before, you know, those times when it is just impossible to ignore someone. Their presence just captivates you. They don’t have to be physically beautiful, or hilariously funny, it is just that something, that thing inside of them that is unmistakably them. LARGE souls. You have also probably experienced the reverse. I like to make a habit of people watching, which means that whenever I get a chance, I sit in a crowded place and watch people going about their business. In doing this, I saw some people who just didn’t want to be seen. They frequently occupied corners of coffee shops, without talking with anyone, hiding behind computers or textbooks, never talking on the phone. Because they wanted to be invisible, they were. Small souls. This difference makes me wonder, what happened? What happened to our souls that made us hide who we really are?

I want to be like my little premie girl. Even though I might be small in size, even though life is uncertain, I want to be myself in such a way that you can see ME from across the room. I want my big soul back. Regardless of what has happened to me, or the fragility of life, I want to really be myself for as long as I have. Those are my reflections from the wee hours of the night in the hospital.

I encourage you- Go and BE large. BE yourself. BE blessed.

Image from http://sarafryd.files.wordpress.com/2009/07/soul.jpg