You are the second quirky little place I’ve lived. The second quirky place where people liken the flow of transition to a revolving door. Oh, Wilmore, they say with loaded affection. You’ll see.
And then, they welcomed us. Because that is how they are.
This is the second quirky place where there is an ethic of gentleness and faith is not a platitude-quilt. Rather, it is wondrous tension that pulls us deeper.
Conversation cannot stay shallow for long. It is hard, in this place, to talk about mascara and queso when there is so much at stake in our hearts.
They are risky, here. People peel back the skin of things and say: Here, take a look, pull on my heart-strings, because I would like to be changed. They tell me this is a formative thing: to spread our chests and yield, like this.
So, I trust them. Because trust, I think, can wind up looking a lot like love. Yes, this place has taught me that.
This is the second quirky place where the mailman knows Greek and teaches us in our living room. Undelivered envelopes wave with his passion.
We sit at his feet, still and curious. He could go on and on but, you know, people need their packages.
Yes, we agree. They do.
And then he tells us something about the duty of the moment being filled with God’s presence.
In other words: We are all doing sacred work.
So we keep on, keeping on, together in this quirky place. Community happens, when you do this. When you do your job, deliver packages and speak a dream in a stranger’s living room.
This is the second quirky place that is more space, perhaps, than it is place. We have a space for you to grow here. Or,
Find a third quirky place. An even easier exhale. And remember, there is always room, here.