Jonathan Rogers and Andrew Peterson under the tent. This was good.
(photo by Whit Elam)
Back from Hutchmoot
I am. Back from from the moot. I've been to Hutchmoot twice and each time I come back new. Different.
Who knows what I'm becoming? (There's an obvious answer to that, I guess, but the answer isn't me).
The voices (of fear, discouragement, of not-enough) tried to derail the process but the faces of the friends I did and didn't know offered me the possibility of ignoring those lies. Instead, I listened to their stories and smiled, laughed, and cried.
God fed me, soothed me, teased me and healed me and He did it through other people. Beautiful, messy, broken people. With their hands and ears and hugs and songs.
During the best moments, I focused on them and mislaid my self-consciousness. When I struggled, the others were there, being the body of Christ to me.
Soft. It all felt soft.
People are still looking very precious to me.
Maybe I'm learning to see.