Box of candid photographs.

In my memory I sit curled up in my favorite reading chair. A blanket wrapped for comfort.

I push play for music that speaks to my soul. I can feel the bass in my chest. Light flickers against walls.

I sort through the pictures. Like in Harry Potter's world, these pictures are not static but move as I hold them. They bring with them sounds, and color and texture of life.

I pick up the first photo. An old theatre. Deep red curtains. The center isle leading to the stage. It was my new experience to have church in a building other than, well, a church. It was a place I only visited a few times when I could catch a ride during my car-less freshman year. There was something different about the voices. The sounds in the theatre. The story that began during autumn years ago.

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Edges of another photo. A converted supermarket is now a church. Clouds are painted on the front wall bordering the brick wall in the center. Candles line the front stage, wax dripping down the black metal holders into puddles. The young man in front has humor and honesty that catches me off guard. And the music pulls me out of myself. Out of my awkwardness and clumsiness. This became my resting place.

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The back room is painted in deep blues, golds and burgundy. Couches in a circle. And discussions between peers that make my head and heart spin. Sometimes it's a Sunday morning. A handful or two of college students. Some days it is a Tuesday night and there is the sweet smell of cigars and maybe a pipe. It is here a group is gathered one week after a phone call. It was time for on leader to start a new community and new journey. Time for the torch to be passed on to another. I remember a feeling of sadness for this passing moment. And a comfort in my soul for this community I belonged.

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A retro Sunday. "New" burst orange pews to accommodate the few hundred college students. In the spirit of celebrating a silly gift of seating, some of us boldly dressed up in old 60's and 70's attire. There was fun here. Laughing. Spirit. Sarcasm at times. Yet there was also awe. Mystery. Beauty. Humility and brokenness.

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Communion during the last Sunday before I moved home from college. Orange pews still. Tears from my friend Kelly and I before walking up for a torn corner of bread and the small plastic cup of grape juice. It was time for my life to change. Many good moments from the previous few years. And a lot of uncertainty ahead. Distance to separate me from a place that fostered the paradigm shift. One that would leave lasting ripples of change. Distance from a community that always allowed me to be me. The music that enveloped me, was felt in the beat of my heart and soul. With eyes closed, within moments I was transported to another world.

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Another photo. The last time I saw my pastor Kyle. He spotted Kelly and I during the sermon. A moment of recognition. I remember how much I longed at that time to be back in that room week after week. To a place where I could come to with whatever was on my heart. Close my eyes. Sway. Forget about the outside and remember my connection to something else. We chatted with Kyle after the service for only a few quick moments before visiting another college hangout.
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This next photo was outside of a house on Halloween weekend. Dressed up in costume with the phone in my hand. To hear the words "Kyle is gone". The world paused if only for seconds.

The dramatic pause of a song that soon would let the tears begin. And a new melody rise.

The cool October air. Inside candy corn and chocolate, decorations and a few early students and parents. But outside is was an enveloping darkness. It's a picture I hid against my chest for a few hours that night before sharing. A picture says a thousand words... This snap shot was a climatic chapter of Kyle's story that had a brief but profound supporting role in my story. And my story there after continues to be colored by this picture.

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I sort through more photographs. Some are laid out in a time line. My eyes dart back and forth between them. There are others that are out of sequence laying in my lap. The beating the bass is still there. The melody of relationships is present. The harmonies of conversations are the richness and colors. There are shadows and light playing around with the images that are sometimes clear and other times softly blurred with time.

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So I pull out the most recent photograph. Standing in a pew of a church I have never attended, in a city I don't live, more than a thousand miles from where the first picture in the old theatre was taken. Instead of candles there are lights. And the music louder, more complex. The same band plays. A request from someone in the audience leads to a quick recall of an old song. One that was played often in the beginning of my time with my college church. Moments like these to bring the story full circle. And yet they add a new layer to build on. Some days these photos lay tucked away. But times like these I bring them out on display. They can say more about me and who I am now than I can explain. They frame my present.

I am blessed that I get to share these photographs with others. And look fondly at these moments.

Midnight revelations

Okay it wasn't midnight. Maybe 2:41 am. Or It could have been 4:37 am. It has been different times for the last four nights.

The first night it was a dream about earthquakes and fires. I woke up abruptly and knew it was one of those dreams. Those dreams--the ones that if I did not get up for a drink and go to the bathroom to wake up would continue haunting me all night. I brushed off the dream in the morning figuring it was due to: a) the upcoming 20th anniversary of the '89 Loma Prieta Earthquake b) I had been in San Francisco more frequently in the last month and that always makes me think about earthquakes c) I had started to read a book about the 1906 earthquake and fires that ensued. While irritated that I had broken sleep, I didn't think to much about the dream.

Night two brought on more dreams. Dreams I cannot recall details from but definitely disaster of some sort. Another middle-of-the-night trip to the bathroom and then the kitchen to get a glass of water. It was Saturday night. So again I brushed it off to bad timing and figured I'd make up for the disjointed sleep in an afternoon nap.

Sunday night came. Once again another disturbing dream woke me twice. By the second time I was mumbling a few obseneties. I NEED sleep. I already struggle with getting enough hours. More days that not hoping that the 6 1/2 to 7 hours a night won't cause me to slip back into a nightmarish state in my waking hours. The details were a blur but something told me that these weren't just my normal random dreams.

I mentioned my strange dreams to a friend via email who recommended I write them down and figure out if there was some meaning. I started to blow it off figuring it was just random memories my brain was purging. But eventually I decided if I wanted continuous sleep again I had to figure if there was something there. Yet the details were all blurred. There were people but they were nameless and faceless. I recall a sense of panic and chaos but that was the limit of my recollection.

The fourth night of a waking nightmere sent me once again to the bathroom and the kitchen. This time I took a spoon from the drawer and served myself a tablespoon of peanut butter. Strange dreams in four nights called for a strange response. I crawled back into bed trying to move my legs around my dead-to-the-world-sleeping cat. And there I decided that my dreams were about me losing control. Or the chaos that happens when I pretend to be in control.

It was at some odd hour that this conversation occurred in my head. I think the peanut butter was God's way of keeping me quiet--and limiting the snarky comments that I often put in his mouth.


Me--"Okay God, what are you trying to tell me?!? This is the FOURTH night in a row I woke up from crazy dreams".

God--"Shannon, you have to let go of your control."

Me--"WHAT?"

God--"Your control. All of your dreams about how things go wrong when you try to control something. Or that things can be out of your control completely. I want you to trust me."

Me--"Could you not have told me this when I was awake!?! You know how much I need sleep!"

God--"No. You weren't listening to me. I knew you'd hear me this way. There are too many distractions for you during the day. "

Me--(thinking and bordering a pout)"But what does that look like?"

God--"Trust me and I'll show you".



Think what you will about this little conversation. Believe me I went through quite a few explanations of my craziness before catching the last few hours of shut eye. But the feelings and conversation were real. And the need to respond to this was real.

Limited by my humanity and brokenness, despite all the times I've tried so hard to ignore, deny, curse, and run from faith--I still believe. I still believe in hope, in love. In a God that is bigger than me. In a God who tells me a story that I can see myself living. That those who come before me share my story. The communities I have lived within, moved away from (for whatever reason) or will encounter at some point share in the story. And it's the story of my life that I don't want to just endure and survive but LIVE.

So to God I say:

"Bring it on. Bring on your correction. Bring on your lessons. I'll accept the suffering knowing that it produces character. But also bring the joy. Bring the beauty. Your love.

Forgive me when I go off the deep end like I do at least oh 1000 times per day!

Oh and one more thing--yup. You already know. Let my team's story end in a big silver cup this June. Even if there are more nights that the story is a little messy like it was last night".