Here are the countries I have visited (so far). Adding Spain and Mexico this year.


create your own visited country map or write about it on the open travel guide

I live with a family. Tonight at dinner I was encouraging the 5 1/2 year old to eat her cucumbers (which she was resisting). I asked, “You need to eat those so you can grow up big and strong like me.” To which she replied, “I don’t want to grow up and have big clown feet.”

I was having dinner with some friends from college last night. In the course of catching up, this story came up:
Years ago Brad and I were doing an event for a group of 5th and 6th graders. After the event the church had set up an ice cream social. Both Brad and I were over by the ice cream chatting with the youth. Because the show was in the DC area (where we lived at the time) two of our roommates came along. Next to our roommates at one of the tables were two 5th grade girls who were talking. The girls were unaware that anyone was listening them, much less our roommates. One of the girls was just going on and on. Gene this. Gene that. Then she paused. Gave a long sigh and said, “You know in the end, it really wouldn’t work out between Gene and I.” A 5th grader could see the future and just understood that fates were working against us. We were star crossed and could do nothing about it.

I (re-)realized why most of the people I love are in my life. It is not some much who they are, but who I am because when I am around them. They challenge me to be something, or make it safe for me to be someone I want to be. Some of my friends help me see dreams, others encourage me, while others be their simple presents help me open up to my feelings and what I truly feel.
I think of someone the truly charismatic leaders I have met. I have wanted to follow them, not because I necessarily believed what they did, but in some way they were able to convey belief in something bigger than me. They made me feel as if I was part of something bigger or that I could be part of important change.

I am in the throws of writing a book. (Yes, writing a book. I know, everyone is writing a book. I have been patted on the head more than once and told, “How cute you are writing a book,” in not so many words.) The book has consumed most of my creative energy for most of the last two months. I have worked on it every day, some days as much as 6 hours a day. In some cases to the detriment to my sleep, my other work, and my relationships. It is the first time in many years that I have once again ached to do so sort of work. There are nights I lay awake, with my mind racing that I simply can sleep. Most mornings I wake up and the first thing I do is turn on the computer and start writing. There are nights that I have woken at 3AM needing (not wanting, needing) to write.
Last night I hit a wall. It was not that I was not able to write (a shortage of words is not something that happens often in my life). The wall came in the midst of trying to clean a bunch of the writing up. As I was re-reading a chapter, I realized that the writing in that section was crap. The ideas weren’t clear and the writing as craft was just plain poor. This is not a new feeling in the revising process. Many times when I write my mind works much faster than my chubby little fingers can type. A few hours or day latter when I come back to writing it always needs work. Writing is not my gift. I understand that. The problem was the fact I didn’t know how to fix the problems. I knew my writing wasn’t clear, but I couldn’t fix the problem. I thought maybe it was just that section that wasn’t as clear as I thought in my own mind, so I moved on to another section. Same problem. Bad writing, no clear solution. So I gave up. Off to bed, more than a bit dejected.
Generally, my night time ritual at home is to do ten of fifteen minutes of thought provoking reading, then spend some time in prayer, mostly giving thanks for the gifts of the day. As I let go my thoughts in prayer to let my heart and soul say the things it needed, without the filter and control of my mind, I came back to why I had started writing in the first place. I started writing to respond to a need I saw among my peers. I started writing because I thought I might be able to help, maybe in some small way, those who are fighting for the dream of there soul, but are out on their own. Once I reconnected with why I was writing I realized that new obstacle that I faced was no longer important. That realization, doesn’t change the fact that much of my writing at this point is still really bad, and needs work. That realization also is not going to make it any easier if fixing what needs fixed. It has merely changed my focus. My focus is no longer on great writing. My focus is back to the book which is a tool to meet a larger goal. The struggle and work gets easier because it is driving to something else. The store house of energy to keep fighting to make it what I want to be is the passion for the out come, not the book itself. The dejection of the failed writing session melted away. Once again I ached to write.