Lighting Out

Last night in Seattle. Remembering again the beautiful dinner with friends on Saturday night, how loved and surrounded by light I felt. I had plans to make a big old list here of favorite Seattle places, but I'm too tired. And doing so makes it seems as if I won't see those places again, which is ridiculous. I have a work trip here in just a few days! I am hopelessly nostalgic.

Emily gave me a book of David Whyte poetry for my birthday, and I've kept it out when all the other books are packed. (Also, Rumi. I never put that away.) He has a poem about stepping out of the boat and walking on water--a metaphor for the Biblical story when Jesus' disciple does the same, falling into the water a few steps in because he's terrified.  This poem ends differently, and I offer an excerpt for all of us who are trying to step out of the boat. Whatever hand is being extended to you, take it. Get out there. 

...I think of the story 
of the storm and everyone
waking and seeing
the distant
yet familiar figure
far across the water
calling to them,

and how we are all
waiting for that abrupt waking,
and that calling,
and that moment we have say yes,
except it will not come so grandly,
so Biblically,
but more subtly
and intimately in the face
of the one you know
you have to love,

so that when
we finally step out of the boat
toward them, we find
everything holds
us, and everything confirms
our courage, and if you wanted
to drown you could, but you don't
because finally
after all this struggle
and all these years,
you don't want to anymore,
you've simply had enough of drowning,
and you want to live and you
want to love and you will
walk across any territory
and any darkness,
however fluid and however
dangerous, to take the
one hand you know
belongs in yours.

Are you crying yet? Love that poem. I feel that we are hand-in-hand, favorite readers. And a postcript to Yancey. Tomorrow is our sixteenth anniversary. We're spending it in a U-Haul, but there's no one else I'd rather walk with and toward. I love you, babe.