May Day! May Day!

It’s May.

Today, I gathered my things from my old office at the Mad Hatter Agency. I said goodbye to Eli and Nikko, a couple of the most creative people I know. Nikko asked where I was going from here. I told him, I plan to work at a coffee shop, and when I’m not working, to write. And otherwise, to be
free.

I’ll work and I’ll play,
and as I tumble
with every intention
I refuse to be dull.

All is rhythm.

You might be graduating this year. You might be a junior wishing you were graduating this year.

You might be a senior
wishing you weren’t graduating this year.

Maybe you’re moving to a new state or city, or at least moving out.

Or maybe nothing’s really changing at all…
and you really just wish something would change.

Regardless. At any given moment in your life you stand at a crossroads.
Especially at this moment, though.
This moment
in May,
because this is the moment
you’ve got.

And whether it seems like it or not,
things are not what they seem.

During times of change, you start to see what is quicksand and what is clay.
There is just one rock. We cling to him or we get pulled away
by the waves. Often interchangeably.

During this month of May, you can neglect perspective.
You can let another month pass by without thinking about where you are and where you’re going.
But you’re a rock.
Aren’t you?

I don’t know what you did last night or what you’re afraid you won’t do in the future.

But this moment is both a moment and an eternity.
The sand and the clay will shift
and the rock will be the rock.

So we build our sandcastles knowing the fun is in the building.
We shape the clay and live in it for a season.

It’s never too early to sink.
It’s never too late to cling.

And we’re all dirty, sandy rocks, sometimes forgetting we’re rocks.
But we are rocks nonetheless.
The sand smooths us out as we tumble,
together.

And so long as the dirt and clay refine us —
refine us but don’t define us —
we’ll one day settle on the mortar
in the house of God forever —

My Home didn’t have a place to rest his head.
But Home has no home but Home Himself.

You are my Home.
And I am Yours