This place has become too polished (or at least my expectations of it have).
My dilemma here is the same one I have in my house. I want to be hospitable. To welcome you in with open and generous heart, but first I need to pick up . .
and put away that pile of laundry
and clean up the stack of papers on my desk
and . . where'd you go?
The time and opportunity went with you. It's too bad. You came to see me not my house.
And so here. These words are my welcome, my offering, me. I want to offer what I have even when it doesn't sparkle. A cup of tea today, tomorrow maybe a meal. Or maybe just a glass of water.
I want to come here, and invite you here, on the great days and the not so.
At my mountain summits and in the dark and treasure mine valleys. Even on the flat, (boring) plains where I have to seek to see.
My words capture an image, a moment. They're a reflection. Let the image be true.
Because true is better than perfect.
So my heart is open. These words my invitation. I don't know your name, but if you're here, welcome. This is me. More important, this is me becoming.
Walk with me a while if you like. I plan to be back here often and hope we will meet again.
And please ignore the mess.