a few things i've done

Edinburgh gave us a clear-skied-blue-sun-shiney day, which, what with the normal drizzle and all, was bizzare and beautiful. On that day my Australian friend Peter and I hiked to Arthur's Seat. Peter is a primary (elementary) school teacher who has worked in Australia, Italy, and most recently London teaching hudlums. Arthur's Seat is the summit of a massive rocky hill that thrusts up out of the east side of the city, with no regard for it's urban surroundings. A touch of wild stone amidst others that have been tamed and made into dwellings, roads, cathedrals, and castle. When I asked Peter what he wants to be when he grows up he thought only briefly and said, "The best primary school teacher I can possibly be," which I took to mean that he wants to be himself, only more truly and fully himself than he is even now. I think Peter's on to something.

At the hostel there are lots of "long-termers" who have lived there for months and don't really plan on leaving. Some of them have jobs. Some don't. Out of the some that don't some of them show up in the main lounge each day at 11am to do two hours of housekeeping work in exchange for one night's lodging. I don't have a job yet, and even when I get one I like the idea of (nearly) free lodging - so I changed like 317 beds the other day - strip off the old sheets, slap on the new ones. Megan (from South Carolina) and I tackled the host of beds on the second floor - then joined some aussies to finish the top floor - an army of six of us - efficiency at its finest.

St. Giles Cathedral, an arrow's shot away from the castle, has been holding a series of musical events this year each Sunday at 6pm. Sitting, leaned up against a girthful stone pillar, with eyes closed letting the music of the choir and the organ, the finely blended voice of worship, wash over me was threateningly beautiful. They're doing Christmas music in a few weeks. I love booting Haloween out of the way to make room for Christmas - though I do wish I could dress up with Colin tonight and be his right or left hand man as Hamish or the crazy Irish Stephen (Colin is going as William Wallace) and run the streets of Indianapolis screaming "Alba Gubra" - which probably isn't spelled right, but means "Scotland forever!" and is what Wallace shouts out after his speech at Stirling in Braveheart.
I went back to St. Giles for the night service and communion. How soothing it was to bury my face in the bowl of Christ's cup of the new covenant, to feel the liquid warm my heart, the mystery of the elements nourish my soul. And the minister, who slurred his words a tad, had a bit of a lisp, and spoke with a rich Scotch accent (rich like dark chocolate) offered a sermon on Generous Orthodoxy - referring to Brian McLaren's book, but referring more so to living a life of wide-armed embrace to any and all. I got a copy of the sermon from him, so when I get back we can sit in a coffee shop and read through it together if you like.

Finn McCool

It is whispered that there lived, long ago, an Ulster warrior and commander of the Irish king's armies, a giant named Finn McCool. He lived without a care on a draughty Antrim headland. One day he fell in love with a lady giant on the island of Staffa, so he built a wide commodius highway to bring her across to Ulster. That is the origin of the Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland. There are other stories too, but that's the one I like the most.

I got to see, enjoy, and share this miracle of creation.
With her...

spittle

when i was in enniskerry i sat on a bench next to john, he was eating his lunch - looked like a ham and onion sandwich and lost of mayonnaise, much of which squeezed out of the bagette with each bite he took and clung to the corners of his mouth. i intended to ask him about glencree and if he knew if there was public transport to get there or was i going to be walking, we ended up talking about faith, more so hope, and touched on politics, economics, and astrology (or 'solar philosophy' as he called it, which, apparently, Jesus was into). As we talked he splattered the ground in front of us with bits of his sandwich, and when that was gone he splattered his chin with his own spit from time to time. he asked me, when i told him i studied the bible in college, if i was a christian...er born again or something, and i told him that it depended a lot on what he meant by that; i told him i would certainly not deny my christian faith, and certainly aim my life at following Jesus, but that sometimes, i think, labels like 'christian...er bornagain' can be less than helpful if you really want to get to know what a person is all about. we talked about how sweet it is to be young, to explore and open up to the world, even to be idealistic. he said that ireland has lost much of its youthful idealism, and we pondered whether or not to lament that. i asked him, if there was a positive sort of idealism, what he though it would look like. he said it would look like openness, exploration, and hope for the future. then he wiped the spit off his chin, offered me half of his chocolate bar, he ate his half, i ate mine, he said something about not thinking that any one denomination, sect or even religion quite grasped - all by itself - the 'totality of the situtation', well said, i said, and we parted ways.

that was a few days ago. since then i have experienced some of the delights that can be found in county wicklow on the coast; specifically i enjoyed the delights of greystones, and delighted in the company found therein.
now i'm in edinburgh (arrived yesterday) - we're getting acquainted, the city and i. i sat on a bench today facing toward the castle, eating bread and cheese, reading 'lady of the lake' by sir walter scott (out loud, in the best accent i could muster). then i turned around and realized the large beautiful structure behind me was the sir walter scott monument.

what next?
Who knows.

yesterday, today, tomorrow

yesterday i was with my sweetheart - and it was beautiful and so was she - and we celebrated life, we celebrated her life (her birthday) - we did this to the tune of a bus ride from dublin airport to a hostel in belfast, with stops at the crumbling, but still regal, dunluce castle and the majestic cliff sides, ocean's hue, and divinely-crafted rocks that make up the giant's causeway. i also met her friends - those she is studying alongside of here in ireland. i tasted of their quirky and most welcoming community.
today i am in dublin. i rode a bus here and throughout much of the day i walked the streets - not so much trying to discover anything in particular about dublin, but trying to let dublin discover me. i'm staying at a hostel called the avalon house - with two australians above me in the loft and a brazilian bloke on the bunk below.
tomorrow i hope to walk amongst the wicklow mountains. and that's all i really know.

Bold

"Existence has greater depths of beauty, mystery, and benediction than the wildest visionary has ever dared to dream"

That's a line from The Magnificent Defeat by Frederick Buechner. And I think it is true. I think it is also encouraging, because it hints at the fact that there is a visionary, a dreamer who is wilder than the wildest we know. There is a vision, a dream that is wilder than the wildest we can conjure up. There is a depth of beauty that cuts through all the grime and slime of life. There is a depth of mystery that explains away the unexplainable situation of sin and death. There is a good word that is better than all the enticing words of falsehood that are incessantly whispered to us by our world, our enemy, our selves.

That beauty, mystery, and benediction have something to do with the claim that, "He is risen." It is a bold claim, a bold reality, a bold faith. May we who believe not be unchanged.

lessons from a stray

These past days I have been living along side of family and friends in Indianapolis. I've been a substitute teacher a few times at my old middle school. I've camped out with Colin (step-brother) in the back yard. I've done some porch sitting with such gentlemen as Jimi Moore (friend) and Ben Blevins (friend). I've played touch-football with David (brother thru marriage) and the neighborhood boys. I've shared some walks with Laurence (father) and Kisa (dog).
Recently when Dad and I go for walks with Kisa around the block, Fuzz joins us. Fuzz is this wiry, stray black cat who begs for food door to door and has so captured our hearts that he's gained for himself a steady diet and a blanket to curl up on on the porch. And Fuzz likes us too. He sees us heading down the sidewalk and runs along behind, finding tall grass and urban gardens to act like a jungle cat in. He and Kisa will pause every so often to annoy and threaten and play with eachother. It's adorable and, honestly, I've been inspired by this feisty, freeloading, feline. What's inspiring is that he is so very much himself - lounging on the porch, running through the grass, meowing at the door, cuddled at your side - he's him, and he seems to love it, to really enjoy it, for the most part. And what with my tendency to overcare about what other people think about me, and to compare myself to people I think are cool - this cat that has pretty well got it all together is very encouraging.

I'm glad there's space on God's dance floor for white boys like me.

a piece of a letter i sent to a friend

I've been reading 'Travelling Mercies' by Anne Lamott - she says something very true:
"I'm pretty sure that it is only by experiencing that ocean of sadness in a naked and immediate way that we come to be healed - which is to say, that we come to experience life with a real sense of presence and spaciousness and peace."

That ocean of sadness being some sort of grief or brokenness, some sort of cloudiness that glooms life all up.

Reading from a novel by John Steinbeck, I stubbed my toe on this line, then picked it up and pocketed it to glance at it again later:
"A longing caressed him...and he was full of a nameless sorrow."

Then listening to the Gladiator soundtrack, there is a song called "Sorrow" and it got me thinking...

That ocean of sadness, that nameless sorrow for me has not been a specific grief-causing event. It has been for me a realization that life is not rated G or even PG. A realization that life is not about easily resolved conflict. A realization that life is not happy. That realization for me created an ocean of sadness - because I didn't understand why life should not be primarily about happiness. That realization planted in my a nameless sorrow. The beautiful thing is (and I mean beautiful not easy to look at or polished) that in coming to this realization, this naked and immediate experience of sadness I have begun to experience life, I have begun to embrace life to the full. Only, not life to the full in the Care Bear/Disney World sort of way, but life to the full in the streets of Toronto/Requiem for a Dream/grittiness, greys, and colors of life/good news of the gospel of peace/reconciliation/redemption/hope/healing sort of way.

And it is all very heavy, very wonderful.

like daisies

I've done at least three cool things this week...

I read a book by Rob Bell called "Velvet Elvis: Repainting the Christian Faith." It's a book about how things like Christianity and the Bible tend to get all situated and comfortable in the world and then lose the very essence of what they are, what they're supposed to be - things that transform and spark a new style of living. It's about that more or less, though I suppose if you were to read it (and I suppose you should) you might put it differently. It's a book with insights that are, if not fresh, at least refreshing. After reading it though I don't feel like sitting around and being refreshed - I feel like actually doing something that will make me thirsty again.

I painted a yellow house (yellow like daisies) for an old woman named Helen. She just turned 85 and she still mows her own lawn. It's been wonderful doing something that makes some of my muscles ache and helps me get my hands dirty. I was feeling the need to immerse myself in some sort of manual labor - itching to do something active and creative (previously I had been doing a lot of somethings that were contemplative and speculative - I think we probably all need a fair assortment of these various somethings in order to be truly human). Five days of scraping, washing, priming, painting helped scratch that itch.

I experienced laughter. My sister and David and I went to see comedian Brian Regan perform live. And perform he did and alive he was. His energy and creative wit had my right side aching with laughter. It was such a delight to share laughter, something so foundational to what God is all about, with two of my favorite people. The one I liked best was when Regan talked about his neighbors annoying wind chimes. I'll tell you about it sometime.

extension

been spending these past days in indianapolis sharing moments and memories with my family (cherished!), reading a lot, writing a fair bit, listening to music (love songs, country songs, and ghetto rap), eating at einstien's, playing frisbee golf, camping, painting, and having my heart further romanced and healed by the touch of Jesus.
i continue to prepare for the edinburgh endeavor - both practically, outwardly, in a gotta-take-care-of-physical-things sort of way -- and heartfully, inwardly, spiritually, in a this-is-already-stretching/challenging/enriching-my-faith sort of way.

john steinbeck's words remain true for me, as they were for young jody in The Red Pony:

"it was a strange time and a mysterious journey...an extension of a dream."

style of a carpenter

Today I spent the day with Grampy Perry. We were making somehing in his workshop, something I had an idea for and knew he could help change it from an idea in my head to something polished and smooth in my hands because, like Jesus, he's a carpenter.
Grampy took me to Wendy's for lunch and we both ordered cheeseburgers and french fries and I had some chili too, and we got the senior discount. We sat at a booth and he told me stories about when he was my age, except he was my age during a war and was fixing broken fighter planes in Canada, and in Holland and England and France. And I'm not sure things were actually all that different, except he was probably a great deal more responsible than I and probably has a greater appreciation for life and family and God, but then, I've experienced some of the brutalities and lonlinesses of war too - a different sort of war though.
What I mean when I say things weren't all that different is that he had friends and adventures and hopes and dreams, his heart beat quickened at the thoughts of romance, and he got caught off guard every once in a while with tears in his eyes when he realized the hurt in this world and the healing grace of God.
My favorite part of today was watching Grampy work in his workshop. He does it so effortlessly, with such an appealing style. such a desirable pace. Grampy lives hastelessly, which is to say he doesn't rush through one moment in order to get to the next. He's one of the only people in the world who actually drives the speed limit, which is evidence, I think, that he is not hurried or anxious, his heart is at rest - at rest in Christ according the prayer he prayed over our burgers.
Watching his leathery hands take some scraps of wood and shape them into something beautiful, valuable, special made me want to live more like him - with the same style, the same pace, the same rest.

nova...

...which means 'new' or even 'fresh, unspoiled.' and that is certainly the way things have looked to me, smelled to me, felt to me today. i am at my nova scotian home and somehow today the colors and scents and emotions of nova scotia were more vivid than they ever have been. it is beautiful and i am at rest. this will be a week of contemplation and celebration - celebrating the family relationships i have been blessed with (while playing with my little cousin bradon today i asked him who his favorite ninja turtle is, he responded, "you cousin aram") - contemplating and planning for the terrain ahead, the 'terra nova.'

God-kisses

They are moments - brief and sweet. Like the other night, returning from our weekly shower with adventures behind and relationships established, somewhat clean, somewhat comfortable. As I was walking to the wild-side of camp, my eyes (for some reason) drawn up and they took it in as best they could. Took in the magnificence of a flying bird. Simple perhaps, profound I think - with its wings spread out like it was hugging the wind, up there playing, dancing, soaring near the sunbathed cloud, all orange and pink, that I wanted so desperately to touch. Heart stopping.
God bless you. God kiss you.

Leaving Summer's Best Two Weeks tomorrow after lunch. It has been a month of pure and steady growth, or is communion a better description, or is it what Lewis described on page 117 in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe when he wrote, "that deep shiver of gladness which you only get if you are being solemn and still." But then I suppose, for that to work, you would have to believe it possible to be completely engaged in the active work of the Kingdom of God (whether biking, hiking, or wiping runny noses) while also being 'solemn and still.' I happen to believe it.

from matt in fiji

my dear friend and brother, matthew, sent me an email on july 20 from fiji's capital city. he is working/living/minsitering with an organization committed to Christian based community, a missional approach to living, simplicity, spiritual formation, and education through experience and adventure. in his email he wrote, 'the pictures of Christ here are so visceral and tangible.'
which is of course to say that he is daily encountering very raw and real and fleshy examples of what it means to be like Jesus -- he is doing theology as it is meant to be done, by living it out, by entering into the stories of others and so entering into The Story (Kingdom/Life) of God.
perhaps we could learn a thing or two from matt -- for i'd wager that if we'd open our eyes wide enough (whether we're on an edenesque fijian island or standing in line at wal-mart) we too would realize that we have the opportunity to touch and be touched by Jesus everyday in a very visceral way.

dancing really

'Heavenly Father - Thy whole creation, sun, moon, and stars, and this blessed earth which thou hast made with thy hands in all its beauty, and every creature of this earth whom thou has given life, all of them shout forth in joy and praise of thee save only man whose mouth is stopped with words. Forgive us what we speak and what we know not how to speak. Forgive our world, we pray thee, thy world, which thou hast left us free to grieve and break. Make thyself known to all who are broken in spirit or in flesh, and that is all of us. Grant us thy peace, Lord, which the world can neither give nor take away, they peace that exists only in the eye of the storm, the heart of the battle. Grant us finally they joy of the man on the cross. We ask it in his name. Amen.' (f.buechner)

I spent the week noticing the hand-crafted beauty that manages to out-speak, out-pray, and out-worship us. Spent it with a collection of 14 middle class white kids, leading them - along side of two fine fellow wilderness savvy guides - through adventures of all sorts. Dancing really. Dancing with cliffs, rocks, river, rain, mountain, cave, falls, and fire. Dancing with the Bible, dancing with relationships, dancing with questions of faith and questions of fact. And it was a good dance. I stepped on toes no doubt. I'm foot-sore now. But still enjoying the music and the memories of the motion.

The cave is miraculous. It's a different world in there; you forget that this other one even exists, and it's awesome. I wrote in my journal about something I saw in the cave...
'There was a loose rock very evidently and intentionally placed by the creative sparkle of God's attention to the slightest detail and wonder. It was loose as I said, but had obviously rested on that ledge for some time, according the shallow divet made by persistant water droplets. Its looseness allowed it to be moved easily, and moved it was, rather carelessly, though not vindictively, by one who passed by. And that small miracle ceased as a result. Placed with a casual indifference where the water drops would strike it no longer and the divet would be made no deeper. It made me think of the delicate miracles I pass by during the days of my life - the ones I notice, like the fragility and beauty of a young lady's heart, the power and importance of family, the tender and nourishing richness of the created and natural works of God, friendship, and opportunities to love and be loved. It made me think of how much more I long to treat these delicacies as such, to cherish the ones I recognize all the more, and to realize the ones I miss.'

boyhood

I'm in PA - I'll be working at Summer's Best Two Weeks (www.sb2w.org) for the next month, guiding wilderness adventure trips and ministering along side of a quality group of men and women. Arrived on Monday (11th) and was on a bus en route to our rock climbing destination with a group of 15 boys early the next morning. I love the raw energy of boyhood. I spend the day watching (and joining) boys of all ages as they climbed cliffs, scrambled on rocks, pushed over trees, captured and cooked craw fish, slid off a waterfall into a cool pool of fresh water - as they devoured hot dogs, toasted wet shoes over the fire, and as they couldn't possibly refrain from playing with flaming sticks. Theirs was a refreshing presence to be in. One of the other counselors asked me to tell the boys about how I met Jesus - I ended up telling them what I have found the way of Jesus to be like since I met him. I told them that I think, if we listen quietly - quietly enough to hear the music of the rain or the sound of a baby sleeping - then we'll probably hear, each morning when we wake up and our hearts are the most vulnerable, the Spirit of Jesus whispering something about an adventure, something of an invitation; and maybe we should start asking if we can be a part, or just start being -- 'enjoy being' as the bumper sticker on the small pink car on Central Avenue in Indianapolis says. The raw energy of boyhood, that's what it is - it's being, and enjoying it. We could all learn a bit from such childlike enthusiasm.

thots to ponder

"Those who believe they believe in God, but without passion in the heart, without anguish in the mind, without uncertainty, without doubt, and even at times without despair, believe only in the idea of God and not in God himself." -- miguel de unamuno

"We have been content for too long to netiher believe nor disbelieve but to accept God as a comfortable old habit rather than a burning passion." -- thomas yorty

"God is always bigger than the boxes we build for God. So we should not waste too much time protecting the boxes." -- richard rohr

a conversation i didn't have

I'm reading 'The Last and the Word After That' by Brian McLaren. It's sort of about hell and how hell has been perceived in Western Protestant circles for the past few hundred years and how some of those perceptions might not be all right. But more than that it is about the process of becoming and growing in the presence and accountability of community as guided by the Spirit of God and divinely-placed friendships.
It's format is a quasi-narrated collection of hypothetical and imagined dialogues, so, in keeping with that here's one I didn't have...

'I don't really approve of all the ideas in this book, I don't like where they lead. That is, to the denial of the truth (unfotunate truth though it may be) of hell.'

"Why are you so reluctant to let go of hell?"

'Why are you so frivolous as to deny hell?'

"I think that's an unfair question. Perhaps I should rephrase myself; perhaps 'let go of' is not the best termonology. If I am frivolous it is in being willing to rethink hell, not by denying it."

'Well I think that is dangerous still, my question stands: Why bother rethinking something so rooted in tradition and scripture?'

"Alright, if I try to honestly answer your question will you try to honestly answer mine?"

'Deal.'

"I'm willing to rethink hell because the way it has traditionally been understood doesn't settle right."

'You mean it doesn't feel right - that's kind of shallow don't you think?'

"No, I mean it doesn't settle right. I'm not talking about finding a soft substitute for hell that feels good. I'm talking about at least looking for an understanding that setlles with our belief that God is good, just and loving."

'But if God is just then hell is fine, cause we all deserve it from the get go.'

"Granted. Maybe. But let me finish first. Then see what you think."

'Sure.'

"Thanks. I grew up understanding the point of Christianity to be believing in Jesus (which meant saying the right prayer and being good according to a certain list of goods and bads) so that I could go to heaven (and avoid going to hell - though nobody ever said much about that). This worked fine for me because all the people I really loved and cared about had said the same prayer and at least tried to abide by the same list. But then one time I asked my dad to autograph my Bible, because he is one of my heroes. He signed it and wrote 'John 10:10' under his name. It didn't do much for me then, probably because I didn't know anything but 'life to the full'. Still, it was there and the idea began to seep into my soul - and eventually caught me off-gaurd. The idea that the whole thing Jesus represented (which has most often been labeled, for better or worse, 'Christianity') was (is) something more than avoiding eternal suffering in hell. The idea that hell isn't the point, and nether is heaven for that matter. The point is to be for what God is for (which is, I think, the Kingdom of God - we should talk about that another time, it's hugely important) and to be against what God is against (things like sin and selfish arrogance and indifference and hate). So the grace that is so central to the gospel is not about a free ticket to heaven so much as it is about a free makeover - transformation. It is not so much a moment of grace (not to say that there aren't moments of grace) as it is a process of grace, a process of grace-full transformation - a process of becoming a person who identifies with Jesus in being (actively/courageously) for what God is for and against what God is against. I think that some of the things God is against are exclusion and suffering; these are parts of the Story (very real parts) that don't make God smile. So I wonder if we've gon wrong somewhere in our understanding and usage of hell, just as I was wrong in my undertanding and usage of Christianity (thinking it was about me and my eternal destiny rather than about God and God's all encompassing Kingdom - perhaps we should talk sometime about eternal destiny vs. eternal identity). I wonder if, maybe, God is interested in something more than what we've made this whole thing out to be. So, where in lies your reluctance?"

(then I think the phone rang or the cat knocked over a glass of orange juice on the kitchen table so the conversation was never finished. but, really, is it ever?)

pk's comment

Paul commented on 'Romance...' --- "For some reason, this is the line that really stuck out to me: 'For those who believe in God it is all the purity and wonder of God's grace. And for those who don't I'm not sure that it's anything less than that anyway.' Any thoughts on why that might have stuck out to me? "

one thot: it might have something to do with the fact that you would get along well with julie (a delightful lady we met together who, if one were to use labels, could be labeled as conservative) AND you would get along well with her sister (who we were told was a bit more on the liberal side, or rather on the other side of the liberal side) - the fact that you realize the value of patiently living the gospel into people's lives, rather than force feeding it to them, and living the gospel into people's lives requires a certain (or uncertain) patience, an understanding that some people will call grace by Its name and others will not, not yet - you recognize the harm done by approaching the gospel as an item to sell and therefore approaching your neighbor as a consumer rather than as your neighbor. Sure the gospel ought to stir in us a sense of urgency - but it is not the urgency of a salesman trying to force his merchandise, it is the urgency of a gardener watering her budding flowers, patiently desiring their scent and awaiting their beauty. It is the urgency of Romance.

romance (the embrace)

what i wrote about 'Romance after all' was, i think, an attempt to hint at something (or Something) that has more to do with the way of God than it does the way of a man with a woman (though God knows I believe the latter is a beautiful manifestation and echo of the former). and it was somewhat of a poetic attempt, probably unclear, probably for my own sake more than anything. still, if you haven't read it yet - do so, and if you have, perhaps do so again -- and then read the following selection from 'A Generous Orthodoxy' that, i feel, captures that which i was directing my hints toward:
'I am more and more convinced that Jesus didn't come merely to start another religion to compete in the marketplace of other religions. If anything, I believe he came to end standard competitive religion...by fulfilling it; I believe he came to open up something beyond religion - a new possibility, a realm, a domain, a territory of the spirit that welcomes everyone but requires everyone to think again and become like little children. It is not, like too many religions [even/especially Christianity often times], a place of fear and exclusion but a blace beyond fear and exlusion. It is a place where everyone can find a home in the embrace of God.'
That Something-beyond, that Embrace, that Possibility - that is Romance, as i understand it (and as i don't).



ps - today i finished 'A Generous Orthodoxy' by Brian McLaren (www.anewkindofchristian.com) - it's intense, it's superb, it's comforting, inspiring, challenging, encouraging --- started reading 'Vagabonding: An Uncommon Guide to the Art of Long-Term World Travel' at the recommendation of my friend and a kindred spirit Paul Kind (www.paulkind.blogspot.com) and in preparation for the Trail ahead...

Romance after all

With the weddings and other circumstances and conversations in my life I've continued to ponder... What is Romance after all?
Or perhaps we could ask, 'Is Romance after all?' And answer quite truthfully, 'Yes it is after all, and before all for that matter, and possibly within all and without.' But then we would be asked, 'Surely you're not talking abou the romance that I hear so much about - the romance of Danielle Steele novels and Hollywood's racey sex scenes?' To which we would reply, 'Surely not. The Romance we speak of is something else all together.' 'And what is that?'

It's the beauty of simplicity; hearts sculpted into one heart. It is a bigger view of life - life more colorful and colors more vivid, crisp. It is music sounding sweeter - or sadder. It is breathing deeper and enjoying the air. It is existing and more than exisiting; it is enjoying and more than enjoying. It is embracing laughter, the kind that brings tears to your eyes, and it is embracing tears, the kind that, ultimately, ends in laughter. It is experiencing companionship and knowing it to be sensational. It is appreciating intimacy and recognizing it to be sacred. It is a taste, a hint, a glimpse, a memory of Something. Something divine and right and intended. For those who believe in God it is all the purity and wonder of God's grace. And for those who don't I'm not sure that it's anything less than that anyway. It is something captured and something caught - elusive but tangible, felt. Romance inspires and grips and stirs - it breaks and reforms the heart

Let Romance reign in the hearts of lovers, in the hearts of children, of women and men both old and young. Let Romance be restored (for it is distorted, unrecognized, unrealized) and redeemed - that those within It, experiencing It may restore, redeem.
May eyes wet easier, hilarity overtake more readily. May Love govern all. And through the thin veil of Romance may the Author - Whoever that may be - be seen, be known.