if i don’t live it, i can’t write it
Tennessee is a friend of ours — a fun, sweet guy in his 50s, far from home. He has an infectious laugh, and greets his friends with a distinctive “yay-ey!” that lets you find him easily, even in a crowd. He loves his freedom, loves to travel, yet he has also been feeling a need to settle down. Tennessee has family back home, but he can’t return there. He just can’t live they way they want him to. But he’s writing a book about his experiences. He tells us, “I can’t write it if I donR

C.S. Lewis on Love
I got this beautiful quote from Jessica Roye’s blog. I don’t want to comment; it speaks for itself. (The structure is mine. I hope Lewis wouldn’t mind.) To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket

what we believe
As soon as we mention God, or Jesus (or, for that matter, Buddha) people want to know what we’re about. If you’re looking for something like the Nicene Creed, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. Here’s the best we can offer instead. We believe in the living Christ, but we don’t try to define the living Christ. We believe in God, but we don’t try to define God. We believe in Grace. We believe that we’re called to love with a radical, scandalous dedication that sometimes looks a little weird. In every single moment, we are called to honesty, compassion, and awareness. Mostly, we believe in criticism—that

changes under the bridge
Things have been very different since we lost our friend James last month. The atmosphere has been dark. Several people who lived near the park have left, and the ones who remain are quieter, and more scattered. Also, the rain is here, and that means we move back to the area that’s covered by the overpass, and we have less sunlight. It reminds me of the cold, wet nights when we first started coming. We got pretty comfortable in the park this summer. Instead of coming to meet new folks, it began to feel like we were coming to hang out with folks we already knew. I am wondering if we got lazy, neglecting to reach out to the folks who stayed away from the center of the

A Beautiful Gathering
The memorial service was a beautiful gathering. It was crowded, bigger than anything we’d done in that park before. But we had just enough food to go ’round, beautiful flowers, and lots of connection. Tears flowed, and I had the feeling that folks really got to do the mourning they needed to do. Here’s a news video about it.