Heart - too big

Oh my heart, my heart

It’s too big

For its still drawn to shiny things

and deep eyes.

Distracted by the temporary

and the partial.

Clinging to the hopes stored

in jars made by other men

Cut away that extra

So I can love

You.

The Lord your God will circumcise your heart and the hearts of your children, SO that you may love him with all of heart and with all your soul, and live. Deut 30:6

8 years

It was a big duplex house - we had the downstairs.

Through the glass doors, that let in all of the heat, (or all of the cold) was the sunroom. It became my office - my classroom. Through that door, and to the left, was my desk. Covered with papers and books and highlighters, there was just enough room for my laptop and a mug of coffee.

In the fall of 2010, I logged on to the school’s website and started to finish my undergrad. During the winter, hunched over the heater, listening to a lecture, I would sit out in that room and dream of my career to come. During the summer, sweating without an A/C, I would write research papers mostly concerning children that I hoped I would have the chance to work with. 

We moved from that house. Then I finished undergrad and started grad school. Then we moved again. Then we became I. I took a break from classes. Then I went back at it. And then, a couple of evenings ago I got an email:

 I knew it was coming. May 19^th was a while ago. But still.

Almost 8 years after I went back to finish my undergrad, and almost 6 years after I started grad school, I’ve finished.

And it feels really good. It took way too long - a ridiculous amount of time. But, also just long enough.

I think back to the person I was in 2010 and I am glad that it took me so long. I wouldn’t have had much of a chance of being a good counselor if I hadn’t lived through both the difficulties and joys of those 8 years. So, I can only be grateful.

And excited for what’s next. 

Head down, heart up, hands out. Here we go!

Bark Mulch

I’m sitting at Starbucks. I was given a gift card and I’m enjoying an Italian roast. Just outside the window of the chair that I’m sitting in is a flower bed. In that flower bed is mulch – bark mulch.

I started thinking about the owner of the bark mulch place, and how excited he was to receive word that the St. Petersburg Starbucks wanted his mulch for all of their stores. And maybe when he got into the bark mulch business all of his friends and family thought that he was ridiculous. But, he stuck to his dream of having the best barkmulch in the bay area, and here he is, just seven short years later – the barkmulch king of St. Petersburg, Tampa, and maybe all of Florida. “That risotto you’re eating?” he says to his children, “That risotto is barkmulchrisotto.” And even though it’s a lemon spinach risotto, and not barkmulchrisotto, they understand that everything they have in life is due to their dad’s persistence that barkmulch was profitable. And it’s true.

And I so often forget that life isn’t about mulch, barkmulch or any other variety, but life is always about the mulch.