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“Happy birthday, dear Rachel. Happy birthday to YOUUUUUUUUUUUU!” #cruisin #homies #thisis40 #canada
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Maybe 17 years is an odd milestone to be in my feels about…but I am. Still can’t believe she chose me and still grateful for every moment I get to spend with her. @rachelkeele, the best part of me is you.
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//7 YRS IS A HOLY NUMBER 🕊️🕊️🕊️⚡️⚡️⚡️
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when I was 27, during a moment in time when it seemed my life was over, a very dear person encouraged me to drive across the country and start over again. “I think, looking back, you won’t regret it,” they said. Now, nearly seven years later, I don’t. At the time, I felt myself akin to Eustace in CS Lewis’s The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, gazing over the waterfall at the end of the world. Like Eustace, when I embarked on the journey of pursuing a masters degree all those years ago, I did not know how terrible, how challenging, how costly an adventure could be. Perhaps this is why Aslan said, “Adventures are never fun when you are having them.” There is certainly some truth there. But, also, I push back. I have learned the truth has many harmonies. I have accepted I may forever be like my elder brother Jacob, clinging to the Stranger in the book of Genesis, as I fight His new name for me. Adventures may not be all “fun,” but mine has been beautiful beyond belief. 
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I wish I could say it is all thanks to my own brilliance; but such a confession would be something more profane than a lie. There is not space in this post to thank everyone who walked with me. There are not enough words in all the tongues of men to quantify the grace I have received. So I will have to be content with two, and those who were there, you know who you are: thank you.
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I think I am glad to have had a true adventure. But all good things come to an end. In the words of Aslan, “there comes a time when you must say goodbye to your friends.” Each of you has taught me a mystery: the deepest chasms, the darkest dead ends, the worst failures; even the waterfalls at the end of the world, are, each of them, mere currents to better shores. So. 
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BLESSED BE THE PRODICAL WIND, 
BLESSED BE THE GREAT SHIP,
BLESSED BE THE SHORE AFTER STORM,
BLESSED BE THE SPIRIT,
FOR BRINGING ME HOME.
AMEN.
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More than anything I’m grateful.

For conversation with friends that made me laugh, kept me sane and helped me grow.
For soft sunrises in new places.
Grateful for enough hindsight to see that God really does work it all out.

This year was full of beautiful surprises and I’m simply in awe. I’m simply grateful. ✨32✨
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//in the clurb, we all fam💛
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I turned 33 on thanksgiving day with dear friends in the midwest. this one felt quiet, like autumn leaves🍁🍂 on wind; like a whisper. I keep attempting to notice the sunsets. I don’t want to leave behind my wonder. Sometimes I’m afraid only grief was able to give me eyes to see the Divine in the simple world, that healing brings with it spiritual cataracts. A kind of “resurrection blindness.” An apathy of perception that creeps into the veins as distance from the pain grows. It is an irony that restoration so easily becomes mystical indifference.
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But I don’t want to believe only sorrow gives us a glimpse behind the veil. I don’t want to need the bitter to remember the sweet. So I have been leaning into the joy. I have been playing my guitar again. I have been pondering what it means to be an uncle. I have been sitting with friends. 
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Perhaps, then, the prayer is for new eyes. Help me, help us, to see, to wake from the dream, to watch for the “deep magic” in the world, as Aslan🦁 once said. To notice the breeze again. Amen. 🕊️⚡️
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