rain.

wandering city streets in the rain. eyes open for hidden treasures. whole in the wall coffee shops. used book stores with cats. overwhelming record stores. eccentric art displays. without much of a plan. besides a hope of discovering beauty. in whatever varied forms she decided to reveal herself. and there was a certain beauty in the women at the day shelter. in stories and friendships. in laughter and singing. in confidence and hope. and that beauty remains with me. even more than the dazzling city lights.

and i wouldn't say i fell in love with seattle. perhaps i can blame it on the cold january rain. but i can say i hope to return. for there is always more to discover. more to learn. and i'm thankful for a dear friend. who lives there. honouring people. promoting dignity. with compassion. and humility. who is a part of beautiful things. things too beautiful for words, really.

carolina.

nearly every morning. the sun would wake me up. eight o clock or so. and i'd walk over to my window. to greet her. to thank her for the light. the abundant light. and for the day.

and some days were filled with journeys. alongside one of my favourite traveling companions. as we made our way. in search of family. of friends. of places. that i hadn't seen in a year. or more. and we talked about things that were certain. and things that were uncertain. or we didn't talk at all. and simply listened. to the music that followed us. and we agreed that the journeys were worth the miles.

and some days were quieter. traveling on foot. admiring the trees. the fallen leaves. the patches of snow. the frozen lake. and reading. and being. and taking time. and abandoning hurry. days wondering what will be. days in between worlds. trying to make sense of it all. trying to listen.

and i loved when we could sit around the table. for hours. sharing delicious food. and laughter. and memories. as the birds sang. reminding us of time passing. and i didn't have to answer questions. or have a plan. but could just be with people i love. and feel loved.

and questions remain. without answers. as they always will. but somehow what will be will unravel as the journey continues. as i wander. with hope. with open eyes. my soul stumbling upon whatever it was searching for all along.

twenty five.

i loved that caroline gave me clip on holiday earings. i loved that folks made a special point to call. i loved that mom's russian tea tasted like christmas. i loved that fawn made too much fry bread. i loved that leah magically salvaged my humble attempt at grandma's red velvet cake. i loved that so many friends filled our tiny living room with conversation and laughter. i loved that people contributed foods that were meaningful in their lives. i loved that there was enough for everyone. i loved that folks brought guitars and harmonicas. i loved that people donated gifts for the shelter. i loved that friends knew me well enough to bring homemade and thrift shop gifts as well. i loved that now mukluk has his very own christmas ornament. i loved that i felt loved.

but what really made my birthday. was when we brought leftovers to the shelter. and we figured out that it was one of the guests' birthday too. and she declared me her "birthday twin." with multiple hugs. and we sang a cheerful "happy birthday to us." and there was shared experience. and joy. and it somehow completed the day.

and although this year promises much uncertainty at the moment. i celebrate it. i welcome it. i wait and see. i listen. i wonder. just what will be.

hope.

neither one of us expected it to be on the front page. in the sunday paper at that. but there it was. in black and white. the reality of it all. spoken plainly. and he seemed rather overwhelmed. but said maybe, just maybe someone will wake up. people need to know. homelessness exists here. but it exists everywhere. and people's eyes need to be opened.

and he was so brave to talk to that reporter. to share his voice. his story. but now he seems apprehensive. of what others may think. or say. but mostly. folks around here tell him he did a good job. that they are proud of him.

and then we imagined. what if there was a part two. a sequel to the story. that his situation changed. for the better.

he said he was tired of all of this. and ready to try again. for something different. for something more. and i said that story would certainly be worthy of front page news again. even though we agreed neither one of us are front page news kind of people.

but we determined it was worth a try.

and something like hope surrounded us in that moment. as we concluded something good will come out of this. it must.

human.

"god bless you of so kind heart. you make us feel human."

this is what one of the guests at the shelter wrote on a thank you card tonight.

you make us feel human. the phrase continues echoing in my head. in rhythm with the quiet snores of folks sleeping. and what does it mean to feel human? and what does it mean to not feel human?

feeling human seems to connotate dignity. and honour. and recognition. of being a person of worth. of value. and not feeling human... that seems to imply the opposite.

and the idea that i might be a small part of someone feeling human brings hope. its all i really want to be a part of. honouring. and listening. and loving. and the idea of people facing situations where they feel less than human. is. well, more terrible than words.

so open our eyes to our common humanity. that we might see each other. really see each other. hear each other. truly hear each other. to recognize one another. as people. simply people. worthy of love. worthy of grace. worthy of hope.

remembering.

my heart had been forgetting. amidst overflowing calendars. and incomplete to do lists. and moving in too many directions. and thinking in too many directions. and continual feelings of inadequacy. and uncertainty.

my heart had been forgetting. amidst abstract words. and talking in circles. about issues. and causes. and ideas. and growing overwhelmed by the scope of it all.

my heart had been forgetting. how to be present. how to be still. how to listen.

my heart had been forgetting. until the first folks walked in the shelter this evening. one who brought his large print harry potter book that he found at the thrift shop. one who always seems overjoyed to see me but can never remember my name. one who looked so relieved to be in from the cold. one who wandered in at three in the morning. with no where else to go. postponing sleep for a little conversation. for a chance to be heard.

and amidst the cold frigid temperatures outside. my heart was strangely warmed. and began to remember.

and something like thankfulness. and something like hope. and something like passion. began to stir again.

names.

my hasty footsteps cross paths with his. he smiles. and joyfully shouts out. abigail or abby? do you go by abigail or abby?

i slow down my hurried feet. and pause in the middle of the vacant street. either one. i'll answer to either one. you've got a good memory, you know.

i always remember names. went into the hospital the other day. said hello to doctor so and so. and he was surprised i remembered his name. from when i went to see him four years ago. yep. i remember names.

well i'm not always as good with names as you are. and i'm sorry but i've forgotten yours.

well its written on one of your cards up there at the food bank.

hmm. yes. but i've still forgotten. and i'm sorry.

its robert. most people call me robert. except this one lady who calls me stanley. that's my middle name. she says i look like a stanley.

robert. i'll try to remember that now.

a few more words exchanged. laughter. smiles. and our paths part ways.

and i found the folder of papers from the shelter this past winter. forms and signatures and lists of names. of people that needed a safe place to stay. of people that told their stories over cup-o-noodles and hot cocoa and went back out into the cold the next morning. of people that we can add into numbers. to say how many guests came. to put in our brochure.

and i have to start making case files with notes. about children. and families. about successes and struggles. about progress. and setbacks. and keep them in a special file drawer. except i don't even get to use names. just initials.

and i sit in a class. where we talk about people far away. people whose daily lives know tension. and fear. and violence. and war. and there's a picture of children. growing up amidst it all. and those children have names. and there's a picture of soliders on the other side. living amidst it all. and those soldiers have names. and they remind us of the humanity of it all. of these issues that we comfortably sit around talking about. drinking our decaf coffee. munching our organic fig bars.

names. records of names. food bank cards. shelter rosters. case files. newspapers. and so many unnamed. each a person. a life. a story. oh that we may come to love each other. to honour each other. to truly see each other. for who we are. for the depth that we are. beyond these flat records of names.