...seems like I'm always on my own

this was a good weekend. oh man.

a friend of mine from school came into town, after spending three months in Eurpoe, and another month in Africa. If you can picture it, a bunch of us guys sat in the living room, telling long and deeply inspired stories, with numerous honey lagers.

we talked intently about shalom, and home, and loving God. I think we all share a common idea about how we find shalom by reaching out to the least. shalom exists when everyone has enough.

i woke up at about 10 the next day, to find that the rest of my party had crashed on couches. and we summoned the comfort of the couches, and pots deep, rich, Tanzanian coffee and chai tea with unrefined sugar, writing music and playing guitars (well, i can't play guitar, so i was playing with a round shaker thing). to me this felt like community as its finest, a revival of sorts.

later on that night an even older (as in, how long i've known her), and maybe even more dear, friend showed up, and more music ensued.

i'm starting to wish i had written all this down yesterday, when the thoughts were still writing themselves in my head. today i'm much more tired, and way more overly caffeinated and obnoxious. i still have a lot to learn about writing it seems. either write when the moment occurs, or write long after in a slowed down reflective mood, pulling together a warmth of insights as if they were kept safe in a precious room in the heart. I think its those kinds of reflective times that shed light on how profound a moment was.

i'm in neither of those places right now. if the "standing on a mountaintop" analogy works at all in this situation, i'm climbing down at the moment, the air still fresh in my lungs. and i'm already trying to plan the next great hike in my mind.

listening to : Augustana