Little Things

“The nation as it is currently constituted has never dealt with a yesterday or tomorrow where we were radically honest, generous, and tender with each other.”—Kiese Laymon

Over the past couple of months, our ministry of migration got slowed to a halt. The delta variant laid Tom up after catching it on a flight from Central Oregon to Orange County in mid-August. It was a rough five days, followed by a few weeks of fatigue. Tom was fully vaccinated in mid-May. In the last month of summer, these breakthrough cases seemed to sprout up everywhere. To add insult to injury, a few days into September, Lindsay was stung by a bee and her leg was swelled up for more than a week. She kept it elevated, Benedryled and on a rigorous icing schedule. 

It's amazing how little things make big things happen. Viruses and bee stings. Mustard seeds and yeast. Grief and gratitude. We have emerged from this time of illness and injury with mad appreciation for health, but also for the flexibility and margin infused into our vocation of soul accompaniment. We are also extremely grateful for the beloved community that has surrounded us during this time. We received so many texts and some dear friends and family delivered food and sent door dash gift certificates. Our recovery was curated through beloved community, rest and a lot of junk food. 

On September 14, we packed up our two silver Toyota Corollas (nicknamed "The CoCos" by Nick Peterson) and started driving from Southern California to Detroit. Again. This will be our third stint in Michigan. We will be moving into a 3-bedroom apartment in a southwest neighborhood called Hubbard Farms in late October. For now, we are posting up in a little flat in Ferndale, literally right across the street from Detroit's northern border (8 Mile). Over the next month, we plan on getting organized. We've got some much delayed administrative work. We will be writing a financial support letter to be sent in early November. We will cook good food (left: Lindsay's Thai curry) and watch Reservation Dogs and our new favorite Midnight Mass (send us your recs!).

We are excited to re-connect safely with kindreds and colleagues in the work of soul accompaniment. To host zoom lectio divina sessions and socially distanced bible studies. To volunteer at the soup kitchen and food pantry. To meet with folks interested in hosting gatherings committed to composting the pain and trauma of fundamentalist faith. To share life over coffee, beer, the phone or zoom. To read and reflect and write about what is happening in this world. In short, we hope to spend most of our time being honest, generous and tender with each other--in radical friendship, intentional gatherings and the written word.

It is a relief to be off the road and in a place with a kitchen and enough room to breathe. We huddled in hotels for 12 days, expecting to move into our new place last week. It was not ready. We are in a privileged position to be able to pivot and find something else. We know that tens of millions of Americans aren't so buffered by this kind of privilege. The housing crisis continues to ramp up and it is crushing the other America. Renters, who make up one-third of the population and growing, are more vulnerable than ever. Check out this piece and this podcast for more. It is frightening how corporations and private investors are snapping up properties and how the real estate industry, for the past century, has created an incredibly segregated landscape. 

Out here, the Fall colors are starting to play peekaboo. In two weeks, it will be a full enflamed spectacle. Maybe the best way to grow our souls is to savor every second of it. Soaking it all up in honesty, generosity and tenderness. 

And a special shout out to Lindsay's Mom, 

whose grocery runs, continuous flow of lentil soup, 

and radical care during Tommy's quarantine 

we wouldn't have made it through without.

We love you, Nanc.

Thank you for all of it.