about the sun setting over Florence

Isn't it wonderful, going someplace new?  It fills you with the type of energy you simply have to DO something with, you know? That might be my favorite part about traveling.  It always makes my brain and heart feel so full that I've got to pull out some pieces and create something with it all.

This is a tiny love poem.  Well, a love poem of sorts - it is from the voice of Florence to the sunset. One of my favorite days during my vacation to Italy was in that city.  It was Tuesday, (my Dad's birthday) and we had explored and climbed the bell tower and toured the Uffizi and traveled from Rome in the morning, and then we just took a breather and rested at Piazzale Michelangelo, drinking wine, listening to live music, and watching the sun set over the city.  It was astonishingly beautiful.  I kept thinking about how, if I were Florence, I would be head over heels for that sunset.  It crowns the city in the sweetest, golden light.  It makes the whole place royal.

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Florence, to the setting sun

Before the fall of total shadow, 

Love finds me from on high.

She is, by nature, tender -
she blushes humbly against the sky. 

I become mapless in her presence,
I misplace every lesser thing;
in love, I wear her crown of rubies,
in love, every church bell rings.  

I grow uneasy, remembering hidden alleys,

my poor, those wandering the night -

Yet still she drapes colors in every corner,
still she dresses me in better light.  

about lions in St. Mark's square

When I was in Venice this past week, one of my most favorite discoveries was the winged lions scattered all over the city -- they are the symbol of Venice, having been the symbol of Mark, for whom the church in the main square is dedicated.  

I'm not sure when my thing with lions started, but they fascinate me - by far my favorite animal.  I find them to be beautiful and strong and they remind of things that are certain and unapologetically glorious and beyond our limited capacities.  When I first saw these particular lions, I stumbled into St. Mark's square lost and unaware of the beauty of that place.  They stood out to me and mesmerized me, these gorgeous stone creatures keeping watch over the city, reminding it's inhabitants to be brave.  Before I left, I bought a little glass lion I found in a shop near the square.  It's sitting on my shelf now, encouraging me to be courageous and not to run from things more beautiful than my understanding. 

Here's a little poem about those things. 

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Lions in St. Mark’s Square

Lost wandering through the city,

a family of Mississippians finds us

sitting on a bridge, lighting up a map

with our phones, finding us as lost

people find each other, each bearing

tired and wandering faces.

We talk about the maze of this city, 

the way the streets bleed into each other

like they were in battle, all dying

to themselves and belonging to an endless

story of turns and defeats.  They walk us into

the square and I was so lost earlier

that I forgot what is it was to be

astonished, but remember it suddenly

so strongly that all I can keep

in that moment is what’s before me:

golden domes draped in shadow, towers

reaching for clouds that cap the canal,

moonlight drifting over ornate columns

and onto the shoulders of two quartets

who fill the space with competing magic,

music that surrenders itself upon the other.

After taking this in, I notice them

scattered all around the square –

Lions, winged stone figures whose

faces contort, belting out almighty,

silent roars over this city and its

wanderers.  One stands high above

the entrance to the square, eyes

gazing out toward the blue water

beyond, so beautifully certain he rules

even over that place, and more --

and in seeing it I become a lost lamb

asked not to run at the sight

of something holier, and the lions

watching over the night bid me to trust, 

and stay. 

about a small feeling poem

It’s scary how the marching band

sound of your life can be hushed

by the beauty of the earth –

how you can see the waters and

land stretch like they were

limitless, and in that moment

your skin becomes the outside

of a balloon, filled with too much.

You know then love is a thing

far more than you can carry,

and when the earth tells you this,

it is both very dangerous, and very kind. 

about buying tambourines

Tonight I did a weird thing -

I bought a plastic tambourine.

I was thinking about something someone said to me a year or two ago that has bothered me since. They said it was obnoxious of me to use the phrase "celebrate" as often as I did.  Apparently I was in the habit of saying things like "We should celebrate tonight!" or "I want to celebrate you" or "This calls for celebration!" I remember them implying that the term was somehow too much, that it shouldn't be flung around, that life was hard and doing things like celebrating was naive or silly of me.

And do you know, I actually took that to heart.

Their words made me feel ridiculous.  I started worrying about my perspective on life, started wondering if everyone around me thought I was a fool.  Was there something as too much celebration? 

A few weeks ago I went to a great conference and one of the speakers started talking about how she is reading through Exodus, which I thought was pretty great because I am as well.  She started talking about the part after the Israelites have crossed the Red Sea, when Moses and his people begin to sing a song of praise and thanks.  She pulled out chapter 15, v 20:

Then Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a tambourine in her hand, and all the women went out after her with tambourines and dancing

It's easy enough to skip over that, but the speaker paused there.  "Tambourines", she said.  "Did you ever think about it?  They had to pack those."

They had to pack them.  These women, in their exile from their land, in their fear and uncertainty and hurry - they didn't leave behind the tambourines.  In the midst of everything,  they knew they should always be prepared to celebrate.

Celebrating isn't always easy, because life IS hard.  Today I sat at my desk reading an article about the 200 plus girls who were recently abducted in Nigeria and my bones began to feel heavy and my chest began to ache;  I hate this world sometimes.  I hate its darkness and deceit.  But I love more the victory of the light.

I love more the gifts and grace and goodness from the Lord, and I love them enough to dance in the face of brokenness.  I think we MUST.

I think we must be the type of people who celebrate the breath we take when we wake in the morning.  We must be the type of friends who celebrate each other's talents, who celebrate each other's pressing through difficulties, who celebrate each other's joys and passions and desires.  We must be the type of family members who celebrate one another in our changing and growing.  We must be the type of strangers in this world who celebrate when redemption and resurrection happen, in small ways and in big.  We must.

I haven't always been confident of this, but in this moment I am -- I am a woman who celebrates. And for this I am not sorry.

So that's why, tonight, I went on Amazon and I bought a plastic tambourine.
And you know what?

I'm going to celebrate with that thing all the damn time.