Ginger Al

I'm so tired after a day of gardening with my mother, packing for a week at camp, and getting heartbreaking news about the death of an SPU student, a friend to many.
I got dirt under my finger nails.
I went on an In & Out run with my neighborhood besties, and played in the dark at my old elementary school.
Stars in the sky look different here in Santa Barbara. But it's still the same sky.
To my friends all over the place, where-ever you are-- Seattle, Nevada City, Berkeley, the midwest; as far away as Provence, Paris, Turkey, and South Africa-- I hope that your hearts are well.
I hope, even if you don't read this, that you know how much I love you and count you as a blessing-- as one of the many stars in my sky.
I hope that your grieving heart doesn't grow so heavy that you can't carry it. And if it does, put your arm around my shoulder and I will help carry the burden. That is what I am called to do.
And think of me this week as I get away from familiars, become a "leader" to high school girls, and visit my Home in the mountains.
This is needed right now.
I don't know what road I'm heading down; it looks glittery but I think it's actually dark. And I don't want to go there.
I'm afraid of losing my foundation. Afraid of being careless, of being hypnotized by desire and connection and a fake feeling of worth.
So I go back to a place where I have encountered God as an adolescent.
So something begins.
Summer begins.