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Meet Me in The Garden


I wrote recently:


“I do know I’m meant to be covered in mud and disconnected from the world. We all are. Don’t be afraid to get dirty.”


I’ve been ever-rooted, ever-present, more than ever before, it feels.


Acutely aware.


Enveloped in stillness.


Faithful.


Hopeful.


My senses alive.


There are so many stories I’ve decided to no longer be apart of, I’ve broken the pen, threw it in the fire and gave it back to God.


Think what you want, do what you want— but for the sake of your soul, I pray that these choices do not perpetuate harm.


We are too exposed to one another’s inner worlds. We fear intimacy yet desire it with such intensity, that it’s easier to be anonymous on the internet spilling our guts than to talk to the people around us that love us. Maybe that’s what it means to truly be in the mud— all flesh, blood and bones before one another cultivating the intimacy we desire.


That level of vulnerability can be terrifying. But my goodness, it’s necessary. We have to stop fearing one another. We have stop fearing the messy business of being human. We have to stop fearing being alive.


I’m not afraid.


Me? Well, I’m going to let this life be big, be messy, be real— I’m going to be knee deep in the mud until I take my last breath.


I’m invested in the cultivation, I do not turn away from hard work. Life is too precious to be a passive observer. I’m here. I’m ready.


Let me grab my boots— I’ll see you in the garden.

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