Being the Change

A few weeks ago, something really cool happened to me. Sarah McLachlan replied to a question that I asked her on a Twitter chat she was hosting.

I thanked her for the reply, and also shared something with her that I hoped she would take the time to read.

While I honestly don’t think she has the time to read what I wrote, I wanted to make the effort anyway. It made me feel good to reach out.

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Being a Work in Progress

I get inspired by seeing people live out their callings in real life.

Sometimes it’s something big: trying to improve the foster care system. Writing a book on spiritual formation. Orchestrating a leadership conference to change a whole community.

Sometimes it’s smaller in scope: meeting the needs of a child with special needs, with endless patience. Bringing a weekly meal to a neighbor. Making time for that teenager who has so much to say and no one to listen.

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Coming Out of Hiding

What does it take for any of us to be our authentic selves? How do we suffer in our own ways when we choose to hide our truth in order to fit in or avoid being judged?

How many of us are hiding in our own lives in ways we are too afraid or ashamed to talk about? Is it worth coming clean about?

This is what the journey is all about in my book. The march of this life is a walking toward, a backing away from, and a walking again toward, authenticity. Everything we do is at its core an attempt to uncover – or cover up – the truth.

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Excellence, Not Perfection

I called Camille because I knew.

I had spent two full days stewing over thought chaos that had exploded in my brain. I was stumped. Confused. Tired. Frustrated. And I no longer wanted to waste precious headspace chasing the never-ending rabbit trails of useless thinking.

Her advice was calm and passing, yet, it was as if she yelled it in my face with a megaphone. It hit me hard. Hit me deep. Hit me with truth.

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Why Quitting is Perfectly Okay

It’s always the same story for me: I start a project, a class, an idea, or a story. I eagerly rush in, align my pencils, lay out my notebooks, and make delirious plans in my calendar. That first day, ideas and dreams pour out of me.

Then four days pass. I waver, tired. My calendar seems oppressive. The new habit loses its stickiness against the watery pulse of time and circumstance.

I lose another day, a week, and slip behind.

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