Postcard Challenge #9: Empty Lot

My newest postcard was full of delicious possibility words: "immense," "repurpose," "transform," "help the planet."

Kathleen's words were to think of "a space that you would change if you could. Dream it...then pray it..."

My mind immediately started racing even though my body felt weary. Where should I begin? A community garden for Harris Gardens, a low-income housing project in our city? A community center for kids in our neighborhood? An orphanage in a dusty place far away? The thoughts felt heavy instead of what they were supposed to be, an exercise in hope. 

There was a time when I would have pulled out the 64 box of Crayola crayons and drawn you a diagram complete with zoning considerations and possible fundraising avenues. There will probably be a time soon when the box could come out again. But you know what I'm learning? 

Now is not that season. 

I'm taking part in a discipleship group called a Huddle (more on this and on Mike Breen's team here), and we've been going through questions and simple images that help us learn to live life like Jesus did. 

This week's image was called the "Semi-Circle." Here's my version: 

This image shows life the way God intended it, a pendulum swing from resting to working, from abiding to fruitfulness. As we begin to move toward fruitfulness we grow, as we return to rest after fruitful work, we are pruned back until we abide once more. 

Over and over in the Bible, the same pattern emerges. Created humans are told to be fruitful but first get a day off with the rest of creation. Jesus begins a sweeping ministry, but not before spending six weeks with the Spirit in the desert. Jesus' command to bear much fruit, but not until we remain in him. 

"Work from rest, not rest from work."-Mike Breen

And our question: How are we experiencing rest? 

The way that Huddle works is that we are to report back after two weeks on observations, reflections, ways we've heard God prompting us and what we're going to do about it. Slowing down enough to pay attention to what God has for us. 

And for me, God has a season. 

My pendulum is swinging to the left, pruning, often painful, is moving me to abide, so I can one day be fruitful. 

It was everywhere this week, a call to embrace a season of pruning that leads to abiding.

A call to abide in my spirit, trusting God to do the work of redemption I often try to force myself: 

From my reading in Galatians this week:"The person who lives in right relationship with God does it by embracing what God arranges for her. Doing things for God is the opposite of entering to what God does for you. Habakuk had it right, 'The person who believes God, is set right by God-- and that's the real life.'" (3:11-12,MSG)

And, "Does the God who lavishly provides you with his own presence, His Holy Spirit working things in your life you could never do for yourselves, does he do these things because of your strenuous moral striving or because you trust him to do them in you? (3:5-6, MSG)

"The one who plants in response to God letting His spirit do the growth work in her harvests a crop of real, eternal life." (6:7, MSG)

A call to abide in my schedule, trusting that this season is God-given and good, with limits I haven't always let be what they are.  

A wise counselor, listening to me explain my anxious thoughts, exhausted arguments gently suggests that there are seasons in life and that I haven't allowed the seasons to change. I'm still striving to do what I did before rings and diapers, what I could do one day when there are school buses or college dorms. 

I have been fighting the vineyard shears, wanting to pluck heavy clusters of grape globes instead of picking cheerios off the floor. I have been fighting the pruning that will lead to the rest I so desperately need. 

Pruning looks a whole lot like feeding ice cream to soothe new molars and telling Bible stories in the car together instead of reading them because she can't sit still and Daddy's late for work.

Pruning looks like having a heart to heart conversation with a friend on our couch with the drifting smell of a diaper waiting to be sprayed out instead of some Sumatran delicious something from Starbucks (don't worry, no picture of this one!).

Pruning looks like serving Sharp Shopper hot chocolate and leftover dessert from Sunday dinner to two kids doing homework when I want to have a community center with art and English classes. 

This picture reminds me of an I Spy book.
Can you spy the spoon? The sock? The half-eaten cracker? 

Pruning looks like relearning how to live in the thick cocoon of Christ's sufficiency when I want to forge forward in ministry. 

And so, my empty lot might look something like this: 

A fallow field soaking up a stream. Vines abiding in their season. 

Last year, we drove through Crosskeys' Vineyard near our house and were amazed to see what looked like scrawny branches, two arms entwined with a neighbors. We'd never seen pruned vines before and to be honest, it was not impressive. 

And that is exactly what I dream my life will look like, at least for now. 

Mike Breen puts it like this: 

"We need to learn when it is our pruning time. This seems unproductive at first glance. After all, aren't we supposed to be pressing forth with all of our energy to do the work of the kingdom? In a word, no. We are supposed to pattern our lives after that of Jesus. It is not our energy and determination that impresses God, it is our living in the manner he made us that will produce the fruit he intends for us to bear. Pruning is not automatic for the branch. Left to its own plans, it would continue to grow, increasing in size but decreasing in strength, endurance, and health until it would be unable to hold the fruit it was intended to bear." (Building a Discipling Culture, pg.93)

The postcard called me to imagine this empty space into something that will help the planet. I believe I have, despite the lack of grandeur and zoning considerations.  

The secret's in the pendulum swing. As I allow the pruning, learn to abide, I'll be able to move into more fruitfulness than I could imagine in this season of piles of trimmed leaves. My vines are looking kind of bare but watch out. 

Spring is coming. One day there will be grapes. 

Postcard Challenge #8: Random Experience Generator

So you have to love a challenge called a "Random Experience Generator." Sounds like something Willie Wonka would have appreciated. The only constant was writing; the choices were all inviting. 

All of these postcards come from Everything is Connected, Copyright Keri Smith 2013,
in case you want to stage your own challenge or invite a friend.

I followed my instructions and grabbed my shiny penny.

Immediately the name Jack popped into my head. Besides my grandma's brother Jack, there wasn't anyone I specifically could picture with this name. Jack. Jackson. I had seen the name in a magazine earlier, and now the name clicked. The name of son of a dear friend from college who I haven't seen since before we were both married. 

Meet Anna (the redhead in the middle. For the record, Anna, I was tempted to post a picture of you doing that crazy cross-eyed look you could pull off, but refrained :))

My friend Kayleigh and I (far right) had just moved into our freshman dorm at Cornerstone. We walked down the hall to the next room to see if we could meet some of our hallmates. We immediately found a connection to the two friends from Wisconsin with the infectious laughter, Lisa and Anna. 

We shared a lot of laughs, tears, late night study sessions, and conversations stretched out on their heated floor (they were above the boiler room). These girls loved Jesus, were unpretentious and friends to anyone and everyone, could make you laugh so hard you'd snort and loved a good prank/iced skating rink/volleyball game (all the makings of great college friends). 

The end of our freshman year we took a trip to visit them in Wisconsin, getting sunburns canoeing down rivers, boating and eating, infectious laughter especially strong here with their close knit families. 

Anna left Cornerstone to go to school in Wisconsin and we shared phone calls, emails and cards as we remembered. A handful of years, two husbands and two babies later we'd sort of lost touch. This Christmas we received a beautiful Christmas card with her growing family and the same smile at the center. 

And so this challenge helped me purposefully reconnect with my red-headed friend who listens tenderly and lives enthusiastically and graciously. I can tell from the glimpses of her life now that she is still luminous, still present and vibrant, and still laughing. 

I wish were close enough to have a long chat over something hot and let our kiddos stretch out and laugh hard and sweet, but for now, a letter will have to do. 

So, check your mail box, Anna Banana. Some love is headed your way. It has been way too long, and I loved having a reason to reconnect. Even if I would have liked to try the "write a letter with no 'E's'!"

Postcard Challenge #7: VIP

So this postcard came a while ago, but I haven't gotten around to writing about it yet.

The instructions were simple: Cut out the middle of the postcard to make a frame. Hold it up. Snap a picture of a very important person and then give the picture to him or her.

I started with the usual suspects.

I was planning on some grandiose schemes inspire by Kathleen (taking pictures of strangers and letting them know they are important) but this kiddo came over for homework time at our house, and I decided I had found a VIP I hadn't reflected on yet.

Meet my friend; we'll call her B: (I decided against posting her picture since she's not my child).

I had B in 5th grade, one of my favorite kiddos of all time. She was sweet, eager to learn, perceptive (she was the first student to ask if I was going to have a baby when indeed I was). 

One of my favorite moments was when I asked another girl in our ESL class what came at the beginning of every sentence and B shouted out, "A Caterpillar!" She was a delight. 

Now I have the privilege of seeing B and sometimes her little brother almost every Tuesday. They roll in after school for hot cocoa and help with the crazy stack of homework I hadn't known about from the giving end of the deal. She works hard, helps with Elisa, and the whole time, we learn from each other. 

We've had conversations about being sisters and her wanting to be a doctor. Conversations about why Christians give gifts at Christmas time and about arranged marriages. Conversations about wishing our dads didn't have to work so hard and why some kids are mean. When we read a question about who you would honor with a special day if you were president, she said, "Everyone."

She has become part of the fabric of my week.We are Christian and Muslim, mother and teenager, native-born and refugee, and every week, we break "bread" (think Cheeze-its and cookies) around a coffee table and share life. 

Most importantly, B has been a bridge to a beautiful, unexpected friendship with her family. I had met B's family during parent-teacher conferences and spoken briefly with her mother at the bus stop. 

One day, I was feeling particularly lonely and felt a nudge from God to spend some time with B's mom "S." I felt crazy ridiculous knocking on another woman's door in the middle of the day, but I so very glad I did. 

Since that day we've shared super sweet tea and flaky baklava from Jordan. We've talked about loneliness and babies and our parents being far from us. I've watched TV from Morocco and home videos of celebrating a son's engagement and Skyped with family a world away ("Collateral damage" takes on a new light when you see a couch-ful of moon-pale children with beautiful doe-eyes). 

Elisa has chewed on their prayer beads, and S has taught me to make flat bread. We shared a dinner at our table and heard stories of their orange farm, their sadness and dismay over Sunni/Shiite violence and family members who get arrested with an entire village without cause. 

The other week we were given half their box of food from a church that gives groceries to refugees. We have received more than we have given them and this is so.good. 

I have found it easier to be benefactor than be blessed. To save rather than share life. To control rather than admit I need this friendship as much as they need others to come alongside them. 

It reminded me of my friend Bethany's words about incapacity in a recent update from Thailand where she and her family are ministering to people in Bangkok: 

     "Then it hit us, that in order to bond with people, we needed to be honest about our struggles and depend on them in our vulnerability. But it is hard for Westerners; we much prefer to turn to the anonymity of google, than to swallow our pride and ask a human being that we hardly know for help. In asking, you also have to entrust yourself to them and then receive from them. But in asking our “hardware-store family” about repairs we found them eager to embrace us and love on us. When our bicycle was stolen and we asked neighbors where to get a used bike as a replacement, two different neighbors gave us two great bikes on long-term loan. When we thought we were just “visiting” churches to get to know people, we stumbled upon a strong church family right in our neighborhood who showered us with encouragement, visits and prayers. They actively started caring for our needs. It was humbling to receive, but so good!

     Reflecting on these months, we realize that being incarnational is anything but being “with it.” It's about being completely powerless and dependent, kind of like a baby. We found ourselves stripped of any pretenses, and ready instead to receive and be received. (Ok, it is still very uncomfortable!) But along with mortification comes freedom to live in the overflow of God's grace... One day while feeling utterly weak, we read the Beatitudes and received God's reassurance that if we can embrace God in our weakness, then we are right where we should be. “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”

It also reminded me what we've been learning about "people of peace" (more about this here). We've learned that those who are open to hearing about Jesus are often those who want to serve us in some way, to share life instead of just receive. 

We are learning about meekness and humility and culture and welcome, all because of one VIP with cool glasses and a winsome smile. We're deeply grateful for this friendship and pray one day we won't just share around a coffee table but that they will accept the invitation to the supper of the Lamb. 

Who are your VIPs? Have you told them lately? They might be in your home but they might just be in your classroom or down your street. Open your home and knock on a door. You might be surprised who you find when you receive and more importantly, allow yourself to be received.

Postcard Challenge #6: Into the Woods

There are days when an itinerary is extremely helpful. Like days when you end up wrestling a fourteen-month-old over a camera and begging her to let mommy take just one Valentine's day picture with mommy's Pinterest-inspired banner in the background like it really matters. Fresh air is extremely helpful in these situations, too.

Enter our challenge for today:

I knew when I got this postcard that I'd head to the Arboretum, one of our favorite places, even if the bank thermometer read 27. We had snowpants and boots. Elisa's half-Michigander. It was worth it.

First on the list was spending ten minutes looking at the sky and noticing what we saw. For the record, I tried as valiantly as someone wearing heavy boots with a baby strapped to her chest could try. I'm not sure we made it all the way to ten, but it was soul-food. I couldn't remember the last time I had looked up. 

The sky was icy blue with thin strips of clouds being pulled across it like... like...As I struggled to find a word that reminded me of what I was seeing (cotton candy? scarf? cheesecloth?), I realized how often lately I jump to reflecting or making meaning. I very rarely just observe. Just enjoy. Just watch without comment. 

It reminded me of a poem from one of my favorite volumes of poetry, At the Pool We've All Got Bodies, also a gift from Kathleen (See? Don't you want to be her friend, too?). 

"...your new poet voice, which sits somewhere

in the bleachers of your brain, 

sees what you see

and tries to commandeer the events of your life into a poem, 

even as you are living them...

Occasionally it's nice just to wash your hands, 

to lather and rinse unpoetically, 

to stay in the water from time to time."

                 -From"Now that I'm a Poet," Lance Odegard

I tried to stay in the water this time and found the clouds were lovely. And that only when I was standing still did I really sense how fast they were moving. Not sure what that all means. I'll leave it up to someone else for a change! 

Next up was documenting ourselves standing under a tree. Because I wanted Elisa to get to see it and because I wanted extra points for wit, we stopped at the mammoth uprooted tree that JMU has left where it fell so that kids can explore it and see how huge trees are when seen from another perspective. 

It was like the barricade from Les Miserables, a tangle of carvings so smooth they seemed polished. We made another valiant effort to hop up on to the trunk but if you were paying attention above, you'll remember the baby strapped to the chest and why we moved on. 

On our way to the swinging bridge we stopped to look at the rings on a freshly cut trunk. 

Now, there's definitely a poem in here somewhere. It was like looking at the loss of a twin or a spouse or a friend closer than a brother. What must it be like for the trunk that remains? 

I knew I had found the place to "arrange something I find into a circle." 

The rhododendron leaves felt very noble, Greek maybe and tragic; it felt right, like leaving flowers at a graveside. 

Only two more items to go. "List the number of people you see." 16. Most were college students on their way to class, though. There was only one other walker like us, two more students who stayed measuring trees with a clipboard. Even the ducks were gone today (though Elisa liked quacking at the birds she heard anyway). 

Last item on the list. "Leave something of yours in a secret location." Now, I know this location isn't really secret, but I thought it would capture Kathleen's fancy. It always has mine. 

At the "Poet-tree," a little placard tells you to "leave a poem, take a poem." So we did. 

I left my poem about aspens and drew out a crispy, water-stained paper. It had a haiku about winter squirrels that isn't really appropriate for me to post here but nevertheless made me chuckle, and a poem about a weeping willow who "wants love but all she can do is look down from above."

I was tempted to "forget" it on the bench after I photographed it, pretend I hadn't pulled it from the basket, let it be exposed to the elements. To be honest, it wasn't a very good poem, not even really pathetic enough to draw sadness. But something stopped me. 

I realized I often do this with other people's words, sometimes other people's lives. If they're not eloquent enough, convincingly packaged, or beautifully presented, I discard them. In arrogance, I leave those I deem "less" exposed and forgotten, dismissing and distancing myself instead. I held onto the paper, another's words she thought worthy enough to leave for someone else to receive. It seems like all we really can do, really. 

In the end, I felt like the words we found near the footbridge were true: 

We finished our adventure on a bench near the bird feeders, watching the nuthatches hop upside down and busy, the tufted titmouse flash and pop like powder, and I was reminded of another poem by Wendell Berry, another poet I love: 

Wendell Berry "The Peace of Wild Things" from Schumann Media Center, Inc. on Vimeo.

Thanks, Kathleen, for another invitation to "rest in the grace of the world" and be free.

Postcard Challenge #5: Experience Map

When I was preparing to write the poem about the forest, I stumbled upon this pantoum (a very fun form I had learned as a teacher, basically a woven poem). The poem is about the power of touch and ends like this:

"Each velvet hair on the low curve of back;
a comfort of touch, though fingertips
find, perhaps, the zipper of a scar,
a particular understanding, peculiar knowledge." -From Details by Judith Baumel

I was struck by the lines "a particular understanding, a peculiar knowledge." What a thousand unique stories line the lines of our hands, the whorls of our fingerprints! 

And that is exactly what the next postcard challenge from Kathleen was all about, mapping the stories through the medium of concrete nouns, nouns tied to memories of things we've touched.  

As a poet, I am enchanted by the power of words to suggest. Earlier this year I was able to go to a reading at the library by Sofia Starnes, Virginia's poet laureate. She read a poem called "One.Child." The poem was about how while language is limited in it's power to describe, it is almost unlimited in it's power to suggest, evoke a flood of memories in the mind of each reader through images like "one" and "child." 

Or, as Kathleen described the act of choosing words to express memories: 

What a wonderful challenge. Here was my result: 

Some big stories packed themselves into several syllables: pineapple for my time in Costa Rica, constantly surprised by places, and people, and God's whimsical way of using people to grow his kingdom (hot water for the time there where we were ripped off and given a "tour" of the natural hot springs that turned out to be a hot river where the locals swam :)) . 

Ring for almost four years of learning to love another person and be loved, in all our messy glory. 

Whiteboard for two years standing with brown eyes looking back at me, sometimes feeling invigorated, sometimes completely inadequate. 

Baby curls and cheeks for the crazy fleshiness of this person that grew inside me. 

Some words brought back memories from childhood I had almost forgotten: gate for the rough white that opened to our garden, eggs still warm and speckled from a hen named Panda, pine needles that carpeted the floor of our tree house as we pretended to be Dr. Quinn or Laura Ingalls. 

Some words evoked more than one story, some of them painful. Hairspray of pageants and prom dresses and also one of my most fearful, angry days; Needle for things mended and for the C-section that made the start of my motherhood journey painful and exhausting. 

She had encouraged me to honor even the words that opened doors I'd rather leave shut. "Have fun walking down memory lane. Allow the hard things to exist there, too." 

When I had first read this, I had thought, Oh, this exercise is kind of like recording one thousand gifts, except for this has bad things too.  

Then I remembered, is anything lost in the breath of God? Anything not a gift in the end? 

Ann Voskamp had put it this way:  

"Can it be that, that which seems to oppose the will of God actually is used of Him to accomplish the will of God?"

and 

"...I see what I am. I'm amputated. I have hacked up my life into grace moments and curse moments. The chopping that has cut myself off from the embracing love of God who 'does not enjoy hurting people or causing them sorrow (Lamentations 3:33), but labors to birth grief into greater grace...all is grace only because all can transfigure" (From One Thousand Gifts)

My hands have touch and have been touched by a million stories, a million memories that have made me who I am today. Even the words that made me wince can and will be transfigured for good. 

She had ended her postcard with these words: "Be blessed as you see His hand in Yours." 

I was. 

May you as well as you study the places your palms remember, your fingers have forgotten. See Him there and remember the grace (beautiful and agonizing) your hands have traced.

Postcard Challenge #4: Forest Poems

So here is the next porcupine adorned postcard from Canada: a challenge to escape to a forest, real or figurative and write.

You know it's been cold when the forest that ends up sparking your imagination is on the side of a mug. Seriously. We've been drinking more tea than the Boston Harbor. 

Something about this image of a tree stirred me. The reflection seemed intriguing to me, the idea that there are two parallel trees growing at the same time. I thought a lot about the tree growing underground, seeking water like the tree above soaks in sun. 

I started reflecting on how that tree grows slowly in the dark, how it moves deeper through thick mud toward what it needs to sustain it and the tree above. It made me, somehow, think of motherhood. 

Sometimes, I'll admit, learning to be a mother who loves like Jesus feels like breaking through clay in the recesses of the earth: slow, hard work that feels like a thousand small deaths to self in seeking real life. 

However, He invited us to drink. As I seek him, I'm finding what I need to sustain me and provide Elisa with the life that will outlast my life and my love for her. I wrote "Roots" to explore this journey a bit. I follow it up with a poem I wrote in the summer for a friend's wedding since it's also about the forest, sort of. 

Enjoy and drink deeply this week, even if it feels like pushing into the dark. 

Aspens

For Michael and Noelle

There is water below land

our feet may have wandered,

the earth laced with veins

flames will not set ablaze.

Tongues of fire crown each dancer

as hectares of hands clap,

jubilee spun and spread

from an old rugged Tree.

Sick Day Fun From Canada

So last week, my third postcard arrived in the mail. A lovely challenge to write poetry about the woods:

Unfortunately, the Weaver household has been like an advertisement for why you should take Emergen-C and not bite your nails (or in Elisa's case, attempt to consume your hands) since last Tuesday, so the only poetry around here has been along the lines of "Cats in the garden, playing with the roses. Cats in the bedroom, tickling our noses..."

A quiz about how viruses are the great levelers of ideals. Which of the following has Melissa's child done in the past twenty-four hours? 

A. Eaten a chocolate chunk cookie for snack (and later heard the words, "I hope that's a cookie.")

B. Drank both green and Chik-Fil-A sweet tea

C. Been offered (and accepted) conciliatory chunks of butter "resembling course crumbs" in the midst of an ill-timed attempt at making coffee cake 

D. Watched Sesame Street from a link now on the desktop

E. All of the above

But I digress. 

Today, Daddy came home early so Mommy could recover a bit from a two front battle. He and Elisa brought home a new challenge from the mailbox: 

This we could do (although I hope to get to the poetry this week, sweet friend!). 

Patrick's contributions to my nature list: waterfalls, cliffs, lions, tigers and bears.
Oh, Men. 

The three boxes: things found in nature, things you use every day, words you like. I made the lists, chose my words, and got out my art supplies: 

Note the serendipity in the origin of the cup!

Here's the finished product, an art project to make this sick mama lighten up a little. 

Inspired by our mountains and this crazy solar panel I just read about off the coast of Japan: a water bottle with a solar-powered water filter inside. The panel can also heat the water for some tea on the go.When the water is safe to drink and nice and hot, dawn rises up the black bottle and you can "seize the sip!" 

Now, if this makes me the big bucks, you and I can go hiking in B.C., Kathleen. You provide the tea. 

For now, I'm going to sip on this sweet one from Sweet Beth and her mama, and pretend it's a big glass of wine with hints of Rhubarb and Balsa, in honor of the book they brought me to enjoy: 

Cheers, friends! Please drink to our health! 

Porcupines, Postcards, Providence, and Ponies

So today I got a postcard with a porcupine on it:

Don't you just love Canadians even more for this postage stamp?

Before it arrived, it had been a fairly mundane Monday. Lots of laundry. Blurry eyed emails. A nap that just started when hers ended. Just get out of the house, came a whisper as I dragged myself from under the covers to go get Elisa.

We changed the laundry, walked to the mailbox and found challenge number two from this book  sent by this lovely lady.

Challenge number one had been to cover up something I didn't like with a postcard. "Best and Worst Beach Bodies" in the check-out line at Kroger? Done.

Today's was just what our Monday needed: an adventure.

Call to daddy to figure out which way is Northeast? Check.

Full belly to avoid possible meltdowns.

Check.

Sock-monkey hat from Auntie Amber.

Check. 

We made our own rules. Roll the die at every stop sign or light. Fifteen minutes and then we'd stop. Go toward EMU whenever it said north because mommy has no internal sense of direction and zoned out when daddy tried to explain. We were off! 

Yes our check engine light's on. It's been "fixed." Don't worry. 

We drove through a section eight housing development I never knew was there. I saw the same toy Elisa walks with on a front porch. A fake cherry tree. A rain barrel.

We took a hill so steep I felt like we were in San Francisco. About half way through I realized I was so caught up in where we might end up that I was missing the journey. I slowed my seeing. 

I saw a rock that looked like a polar bear statue. A dancing crossing guard. A house emblazoned with "The Barbie Mansion." Have I been living asleep before now? 

At four o'clock we took our last "Turn Right" and parked outside of this building: 

The Arts Council of the Valley

I'd seen it many times but never been inside. It seemed to fit Kathleen's bill for a new place to explore and "breathe it in." The tile outside told me I was on the right track:

It was like they were expecting me.

As soon as we were inside, I knew Providence exists. There was a gallery of art by local students. Guess which school was first in the hall? 

There were names I recognized. Ones I had forgotten until now. 

I never knew he could make such beautiful things when he struggled over spelling in sixth grade. 

There were other pieces from other schools. 

Intriguing: 

Serendipitously similar: 

Of course he'd be here. I forget sometimes to keep my eyes open. 

I couldn't resist signing the guest book: 

And taking a candy from the front table full of brochures: 

Because who doesn't love a yard long cherry Pull N Peel?

My adventure partner! 

We finished our adventure by visiting a few favorite haunts, but not before seeing a dachshund riding in a driver's lap and a man walking with what I thought was a baby wearing a My Little Pony hat but what turned out to be a stuffed My Little Pony strapped to his back (I had heard of Bronies but hadn't known that they really existed until now! We live in a weird world!)

Our favorite place to get free coffee samples and talk with friendly volunteers.

Outside our library: I've thought this is lovely since I moved here, but have never captured it before.

The irony. I still want to go listen...

Because what adventure is complete without a little germ roulette? 

I even managed to get a shot of a license plate that makes me laugh whenever I see it parked on the street:

We live in a wonderful world. Broken yes. But still full of surprises for those who still see. Thanks for the new lens, Kathleen. I had gotten a bit myopic. 

Maybe you are in the same boat. Look around. Try a new road/store/building/food/book/friend. Really listen. Document it. Tell your children. Tell me! 

He's still good and still giving. May your wanderings evoke lost wonder this week.