All Shall Be Well

All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well. {Julian of Norwich}

Tonight, Miska quoted this line from Julian of Norwich, these words we have both come to love. As she spoke it, tears came. Oh, I do love her tears. Our recent weeks have been full of upheaval and chaos. And there is more to come. That is the way of things when you are finding your way in a new city, a new home.

I dropped Wyatt off for his first day of first grade on Wednesday. He was nervous, but he was a trooper. He’s always been keenly sensitive to transition and change – and well, there’s been loads of both for him here lately. And that day asked a lot from him. There Wyatt stood among a line of kids he didn’t know with a teacher he didn’t know at a school he didn’t know on a street he didn’t know in a city he didn’t know. The whole thing overwhelmed me – and he’s only six. When Wyatt turned to wave his final goodbye, I cried. You have to let go, though. You have to remember: all shall be well.

Here, I’ve been struck with the overwhelming sense of what it is to be the outsider. I’m the outsider in my neighborhood. I’m the outsider in the bookstore and coffee shop, at the neighborhood park, as I tool around town. The outsider in most conversations, in almost every social situation I encounter. Truthfully, this is good for me. I want to always remember the loneliness of not being known, of there being no one in the room who can honestly say, “I know who you are – and I believe in it.” Right now, the aloneness is thick, but this I believe: all shall be well.

As I sit in our house tonight, I have no idea how our next few years will take shape. I don’t know what kind of community we will come to give ourselves to. I don’t know the places that will tug at our hearts or the sadness we will encounter or the fresh hope that will touch our soul. However, I do believe that God is generous and kind and is bent on the ultimate restoration of all things. So, this is why I agree so zealously with Julian. Not because of some self-help mumbo jumbo insisting that smiley faces will win the day – not at all. I simply believe that in the end, after all the tears and the pain and loneliness and the disillusionment and the chaos – in the end, when the final pages of our lives are written (whenever and however that will be done), we will truly be able to say with rested and joyful hearts: and all manner of things shall be well.

Peace.

(and as my new friend Ed, who reads tarot cards most days on C’ville’s downtown mall, answered when I offered him the same salutation: and peace on us all)

From Compulsion and Toward Freedom

Whatever form it takes, the movement of the soul and God is always finding its way toward freedom. In prayer as in the rest of life, it is a movement toward freedom from willfulness, from the compulsion to be in charge and the fear of loss of control. {Gerald May}

Toward freedom. Away from the addictive compulsion to hold on tightly and manhandle our environment, our relationships, our future. Manhandle God. Away from the fear of losing control.

Well, lose control, I say. Let lose of that sucker and let it run free. Control is mostly a mirage anyway. And when I exert such energy toward control, I miss the subtle activity of God all around me. I miss God in the faces I meet. I miss God in the smells and the sounds and the hopes and the longings, in the places of mystery and silence and laughter.

And in the tears. When I am bent toward keeping my life in check, then I will always miss God in the tears – because when we are addicted to composure, tears are always viewed as an enemy, never as a friend. And, of course, that lie has killed far too many a heart.

These words emerge from where I find myself today. I can not (must not) attempt to manipulate the many uncertainties of our new life. That will be death. I must be open for surprised, curious as to where and when God might reveal himself. Open. Free. Curious. Losing control.

{I reflect on this a little more and from a different angle – and tell an embarrassing bike story from last Tuesday on the Relevant blog}

John Blase On Holy Curiosity

John Blase is an editor for a publishing house and a fine writer. You can catch him most days on his blog. He recently wrote some kind words about Holy Curiosity.

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As an editor in Christian publishing, I read a lot of manuscripts every week. Some are handsome, some are plain, as we are. But a few, every once in a while, are good. I’d like to go on public record and say that Holy Curiosity by Winn Collier is good.

E.B. White described that pig-lovin’ spider this way: “It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.” One gets that feel when reading Winn’s new book.

I could go on at length about this book, but I won’t. I’m an editor. I’ve got standards to maintain. So, here’s the approach of “where 2 or 3 are gathered”:

Number 1 – What I felt throughout Winn’s book was “spaciousness, room to grow.” In this age and day of books, most of them tell me what to think or not to think, what to feel or not to feel. Winn’s words allowed me room to ponder; such as he practices, he gives to us. There was no rush to get to the point or make sure I “get it” – no, these pages achieved an unforced rhythm. Permission to think/doubt/and wrestle with angels granted.

Number 2 – Winn quotes his wife and sons just as much, if not more, than he quotes Augustine, C.S. Lewis, or Bruner. Let me raise a glass to that modus operandi and declare HERE! HERE! A thread throughout this book is the necessity to keep on going; not a worship of the future, but an awareness of that’s where we’re headed. By paying attention (a form of prayer) to those voices closest to him, Winn demonstrates the ability to be formed by the past but not live there. No, he’s living with Mrs. Collier and their two sons, now, in the present. You may not think much of this point, but I read authors every day who cram quotes from dead folks in their books like teenagers from the 60s in phone booths. It’s kinda impressive at first and then it’s just weird. Thanks, Winn, for resisting that temptation.

Number 3 – A transparency exudes this book. Winn uses words like “exude” – so hang on. But, it’s a transparency that’s not exhibitionist. Winn doesn’t strip down to the buff, but he does tell us he used to part his hair down the middle and wear pink oxfords. And in the economy of holy curiosity, sometimes that’s enough to satisfy.

O.k. One last word – I was also struck by the belief that this author really loves Jesus. And that is not a slight thing. In fact, it may be the thing.

Thanks, Winn.

Tell Me it Isn’t So…

A note for all my Clemson com padres:

Come on, people, hold it together! We’re not even gone for a week and this happens?!? I mean, you can still smell the fumes on 123 from our behemoth Penske truck – and the whole shebang is already falling apart???

Next, you’re going to tell me that Ancheauxs took the Black Jack off the menu. Or Clemson is canceling football season in favor of lacrosse. Or Stuart Hayes bought a new Bible and carries it under his arm instead of in the back of his pants.

This truly is a tragic day. If I were there, I would mourn with you. I mourn in spirit.

In lieu of a eulogy, I will simply and fondly remember my favorite Astro memory: watching Nacho Liebre in those incredibly uncomfortable red seats, trying to peel my feet from that sticky floor and enjoying Nathan Elmore’s deep belly laughter throughout.

Here’s to you, Astro.

Urbanite

I’ve gone urban. Sort of.

Last Friday, we moved to Charlottesville, Virginia – and this town has it goin’ on. Like a true urbanite, this week I’ve commuted to UVA via bike twice and on foot to downtown three times. I’ve snagged the transit schedule (a bus stop is half a block from our house) and lugged two pieces of IKEA furniture up multiple flights of stairs into our abode. If that doesn’t make me a city dweller, I don’t know what would.

I am so enamored with biking to work that I now greedily eye the saddle bags of every biker I see on the road. I’m getting me some, if I can just figure out what I actually need and how to find them cheap. Craigslist has been no help, but good news: Performance Bike is in town with their 10% off Tuesdays.

Now Cville is no urban metropolis, I will admit. The DCF diaspora has sent friends to Denver, Nashville, Richmond, Charleston, Seattle – admittedly, all more urban than our new home. But this town has a very legit funky vibe. I mean, two friends went to see B.B. King downtown tonight for crying out loud. This city has already captured me. Much more to come.

Walking down 5th Street the other day, I saw an elderly man with this caption across his t-shirt: “Step back and let Jesus do what he do.” What’s not to love?

Last Sunday and a Letter

Today was such a strange mixture of joy and sadness. We said goodbye to our church community, DCF. The whole morning was full of tears and hope, gratitude and remembering. Seth summed up his emotions Friday when he told me, “Daddy, I don’t mind going. I just don’t want to leave.” That’s says it about right.

This morning was my last time to teach @ DCF. I didn’t want to dig in to a text, didn’t have it in me. So, I shared a pastoral letter for the church I love. If you are interested, you can read it here.

Among a Row of Houses

Book Club Update: Our life is in upheaval this month, as we move from Clemson to Charlottesville, VA. Thus, the book club will resume next month. Sorry (again) for the delay on Peterson’s The Jesus Way.

I’m aware that I have written little here of the seismic shift that we are about to experience: uprooting our family and life from the people and the spiritual community we love in Clemson to set off on the adventure of rooting ourselves in a new place, with people we will grow to love in Charlottesville, Virginia. I’m not sure why all the quiet. Perhaps, in part, a desire to stay present here and now, making the most of the short time we have had. Perhaps, in part, a result of the emotional complexity of the whole affair, unsure how to give justice to two competing truths (we deeply love this community and we know deep in our bones that we must move into another community) without it sounding like some hollow junior high breakup (Let’s just be friends…).

Well, here is the God-honest truth: we do deeply love this community, and we know deep in our bones that God has another mission for us, another community where we are to give ourselves away.

Tonight, our church gave us the gift of gathering at the Hayes’ home, everyone bringing food, and all of us sitting around the room as various people shared their well-wishes for Miska, me, and Nathan (my pastor-partner @ dcf who is also moving away) and Amie. It was beautiful. There were tears. There was laughter (mostly at my expense, but I hold no grudges : )

The evening reminded me of the rich truth that love (true love) never exists in abstraction. Love is not an ideal or an ideology; it is an action. Love shares another’s pain. Love hurts when another faces sorrow. Love laughs and cries and hopes and believes (I think St. Paul said something similar). Love shares meals and watches kids. Loves gives money and time and dreams. Love hugs and pushes. Sometimes, love hurts. But love does not – ever – simply theorize. Love acts. Love moves. Love lives.

Recently, a friend passed along a New Yorker article (which I was happy to receive because my subscription ran out) by literary critic Adam Gopnik. In the piece, Gopnik sifted through the “troubling genius of G.K. Chesterton,” on the occasion of the 100th anniversary of The Man who was Thursday. Explaining G.K.’s intense reaction to homogenization (particularly the modernistic and industrial sort) and strong passion for localism, Gopnik commented on some of Chesterton’s pithy lines to draw this conclusion:

[Chesterton believed that] we cannot have a clear picture in white light of abstraction, but only of a row of houses at a certain time of day…

A certain place. On a certain street. In a certain moment. These particularities are required to yield the clear vision. But we have to sit and wait and watch. We have to give ourselves. And we have to give ourselves time. And we have to give ourselves this time with others, listening and laughing and working and dreaming, all in the way and in the name of love.

So, in Clemson and in dcf, we have (at least partially, I hope) lived among a row of houses at certain times of the day. And oh, how I will miss this street and these sunsets, these coffees and conversations and walks and prayers. And I hope and pray that we will again live among a row of houses, different though they will be — because one row never replaces another.

Book Club | July.08

First, a confession: I did not finish Peterson’s The Jesus Way. So, that will be next month’s choice. If you are like me and didn’t get it done, you still have time. It’s a good one.

This month’s read then was Leif Enger’s So Brave, Young, and Handsome. As I’ve said, I held eager anticipation for this book. Enger’s Peace Like a River would probably land on my top ten novel list. It was stunning, simple, imaginative, earthy. Amazing prose. Vivid characters. And a line here and there that truly stopped me cold.

So Brave, Young, and Handsome was a fine story. For me, not meteoric like Enger’s first, but still, pretty fantastic. Enger has a way of catching a dialect – and sticking with it consistently – that moves you into the world and the lives he has created.

There was a point in the book, perhaps midway, where the dialogue almost annoyed me; but I can’t say quite why. I think the narrative felt a bit too tidy for me at the moment – not enough grit. And somehow the smooth, folksy cadence of the language (mixed with my need for a little more bite) made it feel a tad sentimental. But I simply needed to hold on. Hood’s story was grit enough to go around – there was real tragedy to be found there. I also felt that Enger made a fabulous move in how he brought Glendon’s tale to a close. Enger could have chosen a different, easier path. But he didn’t. It seems he told the story the way it came, not the way we might want it to come. I respect that.

Two things I like about Enger (and these can actually be found in both of his novels):

[1] I see Enger wrestling with masculine themes through many of his characters. He gives the good, the bad, and the ugly about the many roads a man can take on road to becoming (or leaving behind) his true self. Becket, plagued with self-doubt, knew little his identity, but he took the hard path in order to discover who he was, what he was made of. Glendon fought his demons and wrestled for redemption – particularly redemption that was for the good of another. Hood wrangled between being a child and a man – an interesting character study could be found there. As a man myself, I appreciate Enger’s wide-hearted exploration into the masculine soul.

[2] Enger is a romantic. He has high ideals; and while he won’t pretend that all his characters live up to them, somehow his stories always leave you hoping for what is deep and true. Enger’s romanticism is earthy yet mysterious at the same time. Enger described Grace as a woman “who believed romance was no mere ingredient but the very stone floor on which all life makes its fretful dance.” Though written of Grace, I think Enger described himself too in these words. And I like that. Alot.

Invitation: Be an Insider and Get a Free Book

So, I’ve made an arrangement with my publisher – and I’m pretty excited. I get to share, with a few of you, my new book – two months before it is available to the public.

I have four galley copies of Holy Curiosity that I can give away this week. Galley copies are the pre-publication manuscript of a book. The galley will have the full text in it’s almost-completely edited form. This is the copy that goes out to various media types and publishing types and sometimes to other writers or celebs who are considering endorsing it. It’s the copy I’m looking at today making final edits.

So, when you get your hands on this little baby, you are truly an insider. It will excite you so much, you are almost certain to levitate.

If you receive a copy, this is what you are agreeing to:

[1] Read through the manuscript by August 15th

[2] Post your thoughts on the book here on my blog and on Holy Curiosity’s Facebook group (and on your blog as well, if you have one)

In return, you will get to read Holy Curiosity before everyone else – and, best of all, my publisher will send you a free copy of of the book when it releases in October.

If you are interested, then shoot me a quick email by Tuesday night (July 8th @ 12 p.m. EST) answering this question: What intrigues you about exploring the sorts of questions Jesus asked the friends and strangers he encountered?

I will pick 4 entries, and Baker will send you the galley. And then a copy fresh off the presses in October!

[also, here is an endorsement that came in from Leonard Sweet for Holy Curiosity. He was obviously quite generous, and I am very thankful]

Winn Collier is one of the few young authors writing today who is as comfortable around Thomas Aquinas as the Simpsons, Soren Kierkegaard as Anne Lamott, Martin Luther as N. T. Wright. With a curiosity that embraces the great and the grating, Collier takes the reader on a joyous journey of discovery: each of us is part of God’s answer to each of Jesus’ questions. {Leonard Sweet}

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