when you forget who you are, tell your story.

there is nothing like the centering power of telling your story.

are you feeling hazy? disoriented? uncomfortable and disconnected?

it’s not the end-all-be-all… but it helps:

tell your story.

and i don’t mean just writing it out. that helps, too, of course. writing always helps.

but there’s power in staring another human in the face (or at their name in the ‘recipient’ box), and laying it all out – where you’ve come from, where you are now, and where you hope to be going.

my name is ana. i have walked barefoot through classrooms at the university, with goofy grins on my face, and real and imagined wind in my hair. i have come through hazy winters, and down from lonely mountaintops. i am walking now through something richer, but hazy still, and sometimes lonely, too. i want to walk through forests. i want to dive deep into dark and dangerous oceans of the kind of grace and love that kills religion and kills pretense. i want to be who i am and nothing more, nothing less. i want to walk with jesus, his name always on my lips, and his love closer than my breath.

that is the story of who i am. or a part of it at least.

and let me tell you – sharing that with you felt good.

now it’s your turn.

find a human to look in the eyes and share your story with them. feel the awe and gratitude seep softly into you as you remember how uniquely wonderful and hard and beautiful the road has been. be in awe of grace and kindness. be in awe of the absolutely magical being you are.

and, if you like, you can share with me too at ana@awilderwhim.co. i’d love to hear your story.

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new year resolutions

i turn 25 in 2 days. a quarter of a century.

ever the sensitive little spirit, i felt a change in the air last saturday, as if my body knew that another year was coming to an end for me, another one about to begin, as if 24 felt threatened and was trying to hold on and stay.

even though i live in south texas and the heat’s been holding strong here at a steady 95 degrees, the air smelled like fall to me – the death of old, and the birth of new. the warm breeze that blew in last weekend brought with it a strange meditative air that filled my bones with something sorrowful and hopeful all at once. part of it may have been the chaos and tragedy that was unfolding just a few hours away, but i have to admit that i know a lot of it was my own turmoil. it was a messy and frightening couple of days. but grace is kind and good and will not leave me alone.

many thoughts have filled my mind in the days that have followed, and i hope to share them here in the weeks to come. but there is one thing in particular that i want to do today.

i think (ever testing… dipping my toes) i want to set some resolutions of a sort for my new year. a quarter of a century is a long time, you know. i think i take that for granted. a year is a full gift. 25 is a wonder to me.

and so, in gratitude, i want this year to be my kindest yet.

i want to be kinder to my mind this year.

kinder to my body.

kinder to my spirit.

i want to be kinder to my jesus.

kinder to his earth.

i want to be kinder to the spaces i inhabit.

kinder to those i love who are far.

kinder to those i love who are near.

thank you, friends, for the big and small ways that you have softened life for me and made it richer. thank you, life, for being ravishing and mysterious and such a beautiful adventure of learning grace, grace, grace. i am so so grateful. may this year make me softer, yet, and more grateful.

becoming.

there is room for everyone here

and when there isn’t – I am making room

this is a wilderness,

but it is taking shape

this body-spirit-home is taking shape

this body-spirit-soul is becoming home

there is a long way to go,

but even now – every breath,

every beat –

we are

becoming.

Taking shape.

Making space.

welcome

The girl shrugged her shoulders, pulling the coat tighter around her arms. “I don’t know,” she said with both affection and slight irritation in her eyes. “I kind of like my little wilderness.”

The man cocked a wild, speckled eyebrow at the girl. He looked to and from the thick brush that spilled onto her backyard from the dark woods.
 
“That’s not wilderness, girl. That’s confusion, entanglement, a parasitical madness.”

This is for the brave ones, the seekers, the persisters – in their wild and in their wilder.