Hello August
Bookend blooms, shalomsick summer days, why many stories matter, and more
Our hibiscus tree has finally bloomed. A week ago a handful of white flowers showed up like popcorn stuck in a sea of summer green. It took awhile for the tree to fill and the white petals to unfurl. Our tree remains a mystery to me. Last year it was full of pink and white flowers and this year, it’s only white with one pink bloom at the very top of the tree.
Our summers are marked by blooming bookends I keep watch for. Peony blooms are at the start and hibiscus blooms at the end. Peonies fill me with hope, and hibiscuses remind me where I come from. This year, like every year, I feel surprised by the passage of it all. I want to hang onto it all a little more than any of it will let me.
Launching a book last May was a joyous exhale and it was a long labor. The launching continues, but in a much different way than it began in May. Like the end of Spring and the long hot months of summer where blooms continue their cycles of bright color and dying to the heat, my launching pace has slowed, and I’m dreaming of cool, crisp, creative fall days once again.
The Shalomsick Days of Summer
We went school shopping last week and our whole house has turned its eyes toward a new school year and new things. I feel jolted over having a high schooler and no one else who needs help with buttoning their clothes or reading a story.
I don’t call our kids littles anymore. One of them is inches taller than me and has been for awhile now, and another is getting closer by the minute. I can’t remember when I stopped calling them “littles,” and I think that’s what’s getting to me more than the change of vocabulary. It’s not just that time keeps speeding up while I pant from far behind, shrinking in height, trying to catch my breath — it’s that I didn’t even see everything lap me multiple times in the process.
Just the other night I took the boys to play tennis after dinner. After few rounds, the sun was setting on one side of the court where I watched my oldest collecting tennis balls and filling up the ball hopper and everything was orange from the setting sun. On the other side, the moon was rising, beckoning us to leave the moment we were in, and along with it these lazy summer days, and head home. I felt that combined feeling of shalomsickness and deep contentment. My spirit was in a state of whiplash as I longed for both things, wanting to keep this moment and see what it would grow into.
Shalomsick Days of Summer
Sometimes I feel it when the sun sets and the wind blows just so—like it knows
All the questions piled up
under the sun-burnt skin of summer
Shalom dances through the trees
and walks across cracked courts
smiling like a teenage boy full of dreams
And all I want to do is hang on
to these last streams of orange light
and catch the moon while it rises.
Instead of running from the Shalomsick aches that come in waves and new seasons, maybe we can stay and acknowledge them: let the sun’s last light warm our backs while the moonshine gently lights our eyes while the sky darkens. We don’t have to shake off the middle space between yesterday and tomorrow. Being present doesn’t only mean being where we are — how do we do that when where we are is in constant motion anyway? Being present is a courageous way to acknowledge the ache for home and how we’ve known glimpses and still long for more. In the end, these aches lead us to the One who loves us with a perfect love and always leads us home upon home.
May we feel deeply, and stay long enough to say thank you for the light that was.
May we feel deeply and notice the light that catches our eye in the dark of what’s yet to come.
May we ache and remember, ache and acknowledge both.
May we ache and remember that we are loved and move forward believing we are loved.
This fall, I have the absolute joy of leading a track for a six-month fellowship of emerging BIPOC writers through an organization I’ve admired for awhile now:
Writing and publishing can be challenging for BIPOC writers who are trying to navigate staying true to who they are in an industry that hasn’t always valued BIPOC stories. The publishing world and recent statistics on published authors are still glaringly majority white, and it’s even more so in Christian publishing. There have been wonderful movements of justice when it comes to all of this, but the progress is slow.
I know how hard it is to not give up and to stay true to one’s voice — especially as a young BIPOC writer. When I was a young, emerging writer ages ago, I left that path of vocation for what I thought was the better choice of full-time ministry. Back then, I had no guides to show me that the two paths weren’t mutually exclusive. I only had voices who told me I’d have to choose one over the other, and ultimately, that one path was more spiritual or holy than the other.
I’ve been interviewing these incredible emerging writers for the fellowship over the last month, and I’ve already been blown away by their fresh creativity, artistic thinking, their hope, their commitment to Jesus, their neighbors, justice, shalom, and their unique stories. I can’t believe I get to spend this next stretch of 6-months shepherding this part of their journeys in a small way, and learning from them.
That said, a number of these fellows are in need of help to cover the costs of the fellowship. Would you prayerfully consider being part of their journey with me by donating to PAX’s scholarship fund for this fellowship?
Chimamanda Adichie said, “Many stories matter. Stories have been used to dispossess and to malign. But stories can also be used to empower, and to humanize. Stories can break the dignity of a people. But stories can also repair that broken dignity,” and I believe this fellowship opportunity is a Jesus-led answer to that truth.
Support an emerging BIPOC writer here.
I got TOON’D!
My friend and fellow creative, Steve, has started a new service called “TOON’D” and it’s so much fun. It’s part digital illustration and part photo, with some added personal flair. Each digital illustration is so unique and I love how mine turned out.
Check out TOON’D here and connect with Steve to talk about what your own version could be like.
Upcoming local events!
August 12th
11-1pm
Author meet & greet
Register here!
September 10th
10am-1pm
VisionLoft, Stutz building, Indianapolis
Tickets go on sale on 8/5!
November 29th or 30th (choose a date to attend)
Early Bird tickets are available until August 4th
Grateful & Shalomsick,
Love this💕 It reminds me a bit of a quote I from Anthony Bourdain’s documentary, Roadrunner - musician Josh Homme says, “The bittersweet curse...Nothing feels better than going home, and nothing feels better than leaving home.”
Thank you for putting words to that homesick ache. "I felt that combined feeling of shalomsickness and deep contentment. My spirit was in a state of whiplash as I longed for both things, wanting to keep this moment and see what it would grow into." — yes, yes, yes. I feel that so much and so often.