brandyglows

Last week I launched The Co-Conniver’s Guide To Saving The World. The response has overwhelmed me. My friend wrote a post about it! A dear blogger friend asked if she could write a series based on it! People literally raved. It’s kind of crazy. And it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

BUT.

Originally, my subscribers were the only ones who could read it. I designed it that way, as I did for Think Love Create, but this time, it hasn’t felt right. It’s not settling in my gut.

And if my gut’s not happy, none of me’s happy.

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Jermaine, Sadie, Brooklyn and I took an impromptu trip to visit my best friend and her family last weekend. We wanted spend quality time with some of our favorite people and get away from both our jobs for a couple of days.

Andrea has three boys and is a foster parent. Being outnumbered by children for three days, we drove away from their house a very different kind of tired. On the way back, Jermaine and I fell into a delicious conversation. We talked about theology, saving the world, parenting, and this blog. And, I finally put my finger on something that had been bothering me since my launch.

I didn’t want The Co-Conniver’s Guide to be a subscribe only deal. I want you to be able to read it. Period. Whether you’re subscribed or not.

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When I started my newsletter last summer, I sent it once a week and I shared little bits of my life in that moment, and I wove the posts I had written in through the language. After I had Brooklyn, naturally, I took some time off from newslettering. And when I came back, I tried to pick up where I’d left off, but I got a flurry of unsubscribes. I guessed that because it’d been so long since I’d posted, people had forgotten why they’d subscribed in the first place.

Around the same time, we’d made the commitment to send me to work every night and I had decided for consistency’s sake, I would post regularly: every Tuesday and Thursday. So, it seemed simple enough to combine the ideas and strictly copy and paste my blog posts into my newsletter.

I never took the time to figure out how to automate this process. I literally copied and pasted (and edited and polished) every post into my newsletters. It’s time-consuming to do it that way and every time I did I’d think, there has got to be a better system. But every time I hit “send”, MailChimp (the newsletter service I use) would declare in big, bold font:

High Fives! You just sent this letter to all your peeps!

AndI’d get all excited and whisper out loud (because I was usually in public), high fives! It’d make me so happy I’d forget all about automating. Until it was time for the next post.

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I do want you to subscribe. I want to send you a virtual high five every week. But I’ve not felt entirely satisfied with the way I’ve been doing it.

So, SCORE. On the way home last Sunday, Jermaine and I devised a true high five worthy plan.

And I’ve posted the link for the Co-Conniver’s Guide on my free page. Now, you can read it regardless of your subscriber status. If you are a co-conniver, you’ll notice a change in the newsletter, too.

I’m not going to copy and paste anymore. I will post the links to the blogs I’ve written that week in the email, but I want to share something new with you. I’m calling it brandyglows:unpolished. I’ll share snippets of books and projects I’m working on that normally wouldn’t meet the public eye. I have two books in my head right now. One, my memoir, I’ve shared pieces of here and here and here. The other is fiction. And actually, it will be several books – an epic fantasy series, that has realms, or layers of reality. The first layer is reality as we know it. I’ll add new layers that will include a world of angelic, mythical beings. Also, I’m going to play with time, and create a layer where time is irrelevant. The main human character is a modern-day slave.

Honestly, it’s a jumble in my head, but that’s the brilliant part. My subscribers will witness its creation. You’ll see the outtakes before they’re taken out. You’ll even, if you’re so inclined, have opportunities to shape parts of the story.

ALSO, I want to hear your miracles. I’m starting a log wonders and eventually weave them into my novels. (More on this later!)

As a co-conniver, we’ll scheme world, radical shalom, and we’ll learn the art of securing our own oxygen mask first. And now, in addition to that, you’ll get pieces of prose and bits of my memoir, too. When these books are someday published, you’ll be able to say, I was there when she started that. In fact, that’s my miracle she wrote about! That actually happened to me!

Seth Godin is a visionary. He talks a lot about the future of publishing. The idea that print books and brick and mortar stores might be obsolete in a few decades is scary for a lot of people, but the way that we experience books is also changing and that is incredibly exciting. Check out the video below to see what I mean.

I watched this video a couple of months ago and it’s continued to percolate in my brain. I want to be a part of that! We are living in exciting times and we have the opportunity to get in on the ground  floor with innovations that didn’t exist even as seeds 50 years ago. brandyglows:unpolished is my interpretation of that. I hope you’ll join me in creating this new world.

“Stupid girl,” I muttered under my breath. She heard me. She winced but said nothing, continuing to stare at the cement floor. Shame washed over me. It drowned me for a moment. It was all I could do to keep from choking. This poor baby. She was so young. We all were. But she couldn’t afford the vulnerability she’d just displayed. Lives were on the line.

I wanted to hold her. To tell that it would be okay. That we’d make it out alive. Scarred, but still in one piece. I couldn’t, though. I’d stopped believing it. It was far easier not to believe anything. To let the calluses take over, and shift into autopilot. Even if we did make it out alive, what life could we hope to have after this?

She started to cry. I wanted to slap sense into her. I gathered up all the kindness I had left in me.

“Don’t cry in front of them. Some get off on it.”

She sniffled. Next to her, Rasa laughed and gently touched her arm.

“What’s your name?” Rasa smiled. She was always smiling.

“Celeste,” she whispered without looking up.

“It’s not so bad,” Rasa said, still smiling. “I mean, it’s God-awful, actually. But if you’re creative, there are ways to cope.”

She got up and tiptoed over to her little patch of rug. She pulled the corner up and smiled her mischief smile. “Thisus my heaven. Heavenly Celeste.”

A charcoal drawing of chubby little boy beamed up at us. His bright eyes shining.

“He’s so beautiful,” Celeste whispered, “How did you draw that?”

“I steal coal when they take us to do showcase,” Rasa giggled. “I smash ‘em with my feet under the rug over here and then I use my fingers to “paint”.

“But don’t they notice?”

“Bah,” Rasa clucked, “They’re not looking at my fingers.”

That night, I couldn’t get Rasa’s cherub drawing out of my head.  We were in a white room. Too white. I was afraid to sit down, afraid the dirt from my dress would soil the bedspread. Afraid the blood on my feet would stain the carpet. I stood very still for a long time. The boy, also white as snow, sat in a crib in the middle of the room. He stared at me, always smiling. It was a light smile, innocent. I didn’t like it. The scene changed. Celeste was in the room. A man had pinned her dirty body to the gleaming bed. I could hear Rasa laughing. The crib was gone. The baby had grown up. I screamed.

“Shut up!” Rasa yelled. She covered my mouth, and began to shake me. Now wide awake, I pushed her back down on the cement.

“Close your eyes,” I ordered. She gave me a terrified glance but obeyed. I stood in middle of the room and waited. I looked at Celeste, pretending to sleep. At least she caught on quick.

My blood boiled. I steadied myself, bracing for the worst. His muddy brown eyes and greasy hair and putrid breath. I could do this. I was creative. Where could my mind travel this time? Maybe I’d like to go to Greece.

The creaked open. But it wasn’t him.

 {Click if you’re confused}

Last September, I gave birth in my living room. Next month, we’re moving to a bigger home, and I’m definitely psyched I’ll have a little more space to breathe (I’m getting my own office!), but it will be difficult to say goodbye to the room that welcomed our son into the world.

Some days, I still can’t believe I did it. 14 hours of active labor. No meds unless you count the herbs my midwife gave me – which actually made the contractions stronger (what was I thinking??). I moaned and cried and sweat and bled. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually, it was the most exhausting event in my life. And yet, like many other mamas who decided to experience birth at home, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The month leading up to my due date, Jermaine and I attended homebirth-friendly birthing classes. Our teacher repeated the same  four words every class.

“You are not broken.”

“But what if she never comes? Is it possible to stay pregnant forever?”

“No. You are not broken. Neither is she.”

“But the doctor told me the baby is too big.”

“He’s just big enough. Your body was made for this. You are not broken.”

“What if I can’t stand the pain?”

“You are strong and you are not broken.”

These words strengthened my resolve that I could defy conventions and hospitals. They were a gift to us to help guide us on our journey. And lately, they’ve been penetrating the corners of my mind again.

{But, let me just say, I’m not planning to have another kid anytime soon.}

This time, I don’t think they’re meant for me.

You are not a machine. You do not need a quick fix, or even a long fix. You were created with a divine spark, and it’s yours to grab. This black hole you’re facing, you can overcome it. And you’re not less human if you haven’t. You’re not wrecked if you don’t follow the story they told you was yours. Quite possibly, it’s the narrative that’s broken, not you. God is not angry. You’re not a whore. You’re not a jackass. Love really does win. You’re loaded with potential. That’s what your mother meant when she called you a pistol. 

I’m giving you permission to throw out the script if it’s breaking your back. Rewrite the ending. You’re not broken. Embrace that.

PS. If you’re in love with Revolution Apparel’s Versalette as much as I am, you can still comment on this post to enter to win one!

An excerpt from The Co-Conniver’s Guide To Saving The World:

I got my bachelor’s in sociology at the University of Maryland. If I had to sum up
the social science degree I received just minutes away from the capital of the
United States, it would sound something like this:

There is untold racism and sexism flourishing in every country in the world today.
Globalization is killing us. One percent of the earth’s population makes all the
money. A college degree means virtually nothing anymore. And you geniuses
who decided to study society? Yeah, yours means even less.

That’s where I’m sitting.

It would have been easy to dig a hole for myself , find a job pushing papers, and
just give up. But I’ve worked very hard to steer clear of cynicism. My senior year, I
participated in an alternative spring break program. Seven of us flew across the
country to San Francisco to study the California justice system. We sat in on a
parole meeting. We met with policy makers. We even spent a day in the San
Quentin State Prison. Eating prison food. Getting hassled and cat-called by
grown men behind bars. Walking out onto a tiny slab of cement they called the
courtyard, our guide told us they had to let the prisoners out by race.
If they didn’t, the men would kill each other.

At lunch, I sat with one of the inmates. He was my age and he had a daughter,
too. He’d never met her. He was serving life, so he probably never would. I
chewed my bologna sandwich and realized he could have been me. A sprinkling
of different circumstances here. A couple of bad choices there. I could be
spending my days locked in a tiny cell.

The trip hit me in the gut. For weeks, I couldn’t get it out of my mind. And the
more I researched, the more I realized: the system sucks. In order to make
parole, a prisoner has to complete a series of rehabilitation programs. BUT the
state doesn’t have the money to run the programs. It’s a prison sentence with no
means of escape.

Fortunately, I am a hopeless optimist. And I believe the California justice system
can be reformed. I believe all of our outdated systems can be improved in my
lifetime: education, government, all over the world. That’s the business of
restoring Shalom. And that’s what my blog is about. Sometimes that means
research. Sometimes it means getting our hands dirty. Sometimes it means
washing someone else’s hands.

Ooh, also, the lovely ladies of {r}evolution Apparel are doing some fantastic world saving stuff. To honor them and to celebrate The Co-Conniver’s Guide To Saving The World, I’m giving away their brand new Versalette, a fabulous piece of clothing saves the earth’s resources and can be worn 16 different ways. Check it out if you’d like to enter.

Our 10-year-old daughter watched as Jermaine CorelDRAW’d silhouettes of a giant tank and a little girl.

“What if she was painting on the tank?” Sadie wondered out loud. Wide-eyed, my husband turned around to smile at me.

YES. That’s exactly what she should be doing.

She is a genius.

We had thought the child should be stopping the tank. And, honestly, she still is. But this . . . this is a good idea gone rogue.

Sadie beamed, so proud she’d contributed to her mom’s book and her dad’s design. She hovered behind him for several more minutes, attempting to recreate that magical moment.

Eventually, we suggested she go read Calvin and Hobbes. That’s where all brilliant ideas come from anyway.

I am stoked that my entire family played a role in piecing together The Co-Conniver’s Guide To Saving The World.

The book is a virtual workshop. I’m proud to contribute to it, too! It’s completely free! Honestly, and forgive me while I blow my own horn here, it’s quality. If I hadn’t written it, I’d pay to read it. I’m pretty excited with how it turned out!

I’m serious when I say I want to save the world. If this journey were a book, The Co-Conniver’s Guide is Chapter One.

The book is broken into two parts.

The first part is my philosophy of peace on earth.

What’s the vision? What would it look like to see Shalom:restored? What would it taste like? Would there be hot dogs?

Why this vision? Why am I so hung up on the word “Shalom”? What does that mean exactly? Where’d it come from?

How exactly do I propose we create a peaceful world? Do I have a grandiose scheme to turn my Shalom-y dreams into realities? Why, yes. Yes, I do.

The second part breaks down my Seven Steps To Restoring Shalom.

And, along the way, I sneaked in exercises I created to help you actualize what a Shalom restoration project would look like in your life.

I hope you like them. I hope you do them. I hope you dig deep into these earthy questions. May they get under your fingernails and grow roots in your soul.

Thank you for taking time out of your day to come and read my words. Thank you for the love and encouragement you’ve spilled on me since I began to trek this path last year.

Ooh, and, let’s not forget the Versalette{r}Bomb!

I love gifts. Giving and receiving them (my birthday’s August 8th if anyone loves giving, too). And so, I’m celebrating the free release of The Guide with some more free love.

The winner gets a Versalette of their very own!

Now, I know what you’re thinking.

First, yippee! Holy canoli! A Versalette of my very own! I’ve always wanted one of those!

Second, um, what’s a Versalette again?

Good question.

It’s a brand new idea. An oh-so-stylish piece of clothing that, with a few adjustments, can be worn over 15 different ways – including a purse! It’s a {r}evolutionary way to conceptualize our clothes. It’s in the production stage right now. It’s on it’s way to becoming an essential piece of everyone’s wardrobe.

It was available for pre-order, but they’re so busy with the orders they’ve already got, you can’t even do that anymore. It will retail at $75. It comes in several different colors. The winner will be able to pick the color they dig the most.

From the Versalette Kickstarter page:

“The Versalette can be worn as a skirt, dress, hood, scarf, purse, poncho & more — and is essential for travelers and women looking to minimize their wardrobes, reduce their footprint, and still have creativity with their clothing options.”

Pretty freaking Shalom-y, huh? Revolution Apparel is all about conniving to save the world. Shannon and Kristin are using their talents and resources to create beauty and make the world a better place.

A co-conniver and a Versalette. It’s a perfect fit.

Want to enter? Here’s how:

• One entry when you leave a comment on this blog post divulging where you would take your Versalette.
• Five entries when you comment about where you would take your Versalette AND subscribe to become a Shalomy co-conniver.
• Six entries if you’re already a co-conniver AND you leave a comment below (just make sure you mention you’re already part of the tribe)!
• Extra entries if you tweet about the contest and/or share it on Facebook and/or Google+ AFTER you’ve commented.

The contest begins the moment this post goes live (which will be sometime on Tuesday, March 20th). The contest will close on Tuesday, April 3rd at midnight EST. I’ll creatively choose the winner in some sort of wild and random manner. And I’ll videotape the process and make the big announcement on Thursday, April 5th!

Okay. Let the fun begin!

Today, I got out of my element and danced in another blogger’s tea.

I debated.* I used really big words. Brooklyn was way impressed.

The Crommunist posted a thought-provoking article about the controversy that’s swarming around this video (if it doesn’t immediately show up on my page, it may help to refresh your browser – or you can check it out on YouTube):

Just in case you don’t have an extra 30 minutes, I’ll summarize:

• The video was produced by Invisible Children.
• Joseph Kony is the leader of the Lord’s Resistance Army, a militia that kidnaps children and forces the boys to become soldiers and murderers, and the girls to become sex slaves. A conservative estimate puts the number of abducted kids around 30,000.
• The premise of the video is to create massive awareness of the war crimes of Joseph Kony, to make him famous – to shout from the rooftops what he’s done to these children so that, ultimately, he will be stopped.
• The first ten minutes of the video introduces the filmmaker and shares the journey that led him down this path.
• The second ten minutes (give or take) focuses on Kony himself and the atrocities he’s been allowed to commit.
• The last ten minutes (what to watch if you don’t have time for the entire movie) dives into the specifics of the mission – what you can do to have Joseph Kony arrested in 2012.

In this digitized world, the game has changed. There are new rules. We’re experiencing a power-shift.

Your voice matters. The way you choose to use your voice has massive implications.

“The people of the world see each other and can protect each other.”

Interestingly, there’s been a lot of backlash against the video. It has experts scratching their heads.

Uh, why are we arguing about this again? Can we all agree that making kids mutilate and murder is bad? Can we just start there?

Okay, I get that it’s not that simple. But, the cynicism is breath-taking. And it’s started a new conversation.

So, uh, are ya feeling a little racist today?

“I find it interesting how quickly the ‘debunking’ happened. As I said, I have some experience with social media skepticism, and I can’t think of any example where a meme like this fell into disrepute so quickly. Given that the whole purpose of the campaign was predicated on the ignorance of North Americans about Africa (borne, I argue, of racism), I cannot help but suspecting that this same racism is what makes us uncharacteristically ‘skeptical’ of this campaign. If I were being particularly cynical, I’d say that we were looking for a reason to dismiss this campaign because a) we don’t care; and b) we want an excuse to continue to do nothing. I don’t know how much of the response this cynical interpretation explains, but my understanding of the ways in which racist attitudes manifest themselves simply does not allow me to dismiss it as frivolous.” – The Crommunist

Here’s the thing, being racist is on the red side of the taboo spectrum. We all harbor prejudices to some degree. We’re all racist (and/or sexist, and/or ageist, and/or lots of other ists) on some level. Especially if your generation was raised by parents who went to segregated schools and were taught “us vs. them” mentalities. Especially in a world that enslaved an entire race of people less than 200 years ago.

We’re all still sorting it out. And it hurts.

The only thing worse than being a racist is admitting it.

We don’t want to believe we’re struggling with this. Racism is so pre-Civil Rights, right? We’ve moved past it, right? Right?

Wrong.

Because we can’t move past what we don’t acknowledge. 

The Crommunist made another great point:

“While people cluck disapprovingly about the “corruption” of African leaders, they conveniently omit the fact that the destabilization of African leaders is a consequence of the influence of these corporations, which sell their products to us. We may not have created Joseph Kony, but we certainly fund the system that makes him possible.”

Now, I am completely on board with this video and its mission. Go ahead and clear my calendar for April 20th. I’ll be there, at midnight, posters in hand. Sign me up.

But this goes beyond the video. It goes beyond racism.

What negative feelings do you harbor and know you need to deal with, but aren’t because you can’t bring yourself to admit they exist?

Honest, simple confession is the great diffuser.

Want to end an argument? Own up to your part in creating it. Want to stop a war? Admit the role you played in starting it. And then watch the anger melt away.

*To read my part of the debate (and my smartie-pants husband’s), click on the Crommunist’s link and scroll about 3/4 of the way down the comments (there are a LOT of comments).

**Not to be all selly, but when you sign up, you’ll get this book I wrote called Think Love Create. Shauntelle, of Being Is A Verb, told me yesterday that she keeps it on her phone and reads it when she needs a little inspiration. It’s the most honest thing I’ve ever written, and I am honored and thankful that it impacted her that way. I hope it will inspire you, too.

Think Love Create will be available on this site without you having to sign up on the first day of Spring. So, if you’re not ready to take the email plunge, but you’d like to read it, you just have to wait until Tuesday!

On that same day, I’ll release a new digital book. It’s called The Co-Conniver’s Guide To Saving The World. It will go deeper into what I mean when I say I want to restore Shalom on earth and it will flesh out the 7 Steps To Restoring Shalom. It’s free when you subscribe (just like TLC is now), you’ll still get it if you sign up today, and I have a surprise planned for launch day: A plan to ring in Spring with style.

When I was eight, I would ride the bus to my babysitter’s house every day and as soon as the doors opened, I’d run. Wind in my hair, I was on a mission to my sitter’s son’s yellow skateboard. I’d jump on it and try, for the hundredth time, to successfully navigate their curvy sidewalk that was perched on a little hill.

I ate grass every day. And the kids on the bus would giggle and point as they rode past my babysitter’s corner lot.

But I didn’t care. Or, maybe I did. I would show them. I was going to make that turn, damn it.

I have always wanted to be a skater girl.

I dated skater boys in high school. I wanted them to show me their tricks, but I was (am) a poor learner because I was (am) stubborn and thought (think) I knew (know) everything.

Plus, what didn’t bother me at eight, began to mortify me as a teenager. Was I cool enough to be a skater? Forget about mastering a half-pipe, how could I first work up the nerve to carry a skateboard with me. What if someone thought I could ride it and then found out I was just a rookie? Oh, how utterly embarrassing that would be.

Skateboarding mingles enchantment with pink cheeks like nothing else I know.

In fact, one of my most embarrassing moments involved a skateboard. It was the first week I met my husband.

We were at St. Simons Island, GA, walking in the park that overlooks the beach. We passed a gazebo and the boy in it, who may have been 14, had his board with him.

I couldn’t help myself.

“Can I borrow your skateboard?”

The boy stared at me, expressionless.

“Um, could I, um, could I just see it for a moment? I’ll give it right back.”

I don’t know what I was planning to do. I don’t know how to skateboard.

But I wanted to impress Jermaine. How, I’m not sure. The ease at which I talk to people? My bold and gutsy nature? How simple it is for me to make a complete stranger think I’m nuts?

We shared a few more awkward moments before the boy made his escape. Jermaine was flabbergasted. Who was this girl that asks strangers if she can play with their toys?

I guess it’s a good sign that Jermaine stuck around. But he hasn’t let me forget it. I’m embarrassed just thinking about it.

And yet, I am still hopelessly fascinated by all things skater. It’s like an itch I’ve never been able to properly scratch.

Girls just wanna have fun.

We all have lessons in our lives that we will need to learn over and over again. Apparently, one of mine involves skateboards.

It’s in my nature to be fun-loving. Like writing, it’s a natural talent. Also like writing, if I don’t practice it, it will wither away and turn into crap.

I suck a playing.

In some ways, it’s not my fault. Looking back, I can see that my love of good times fueled my rebellious streak. When I decided to let go of that, I mistakenly blamed my innate playfulness. I got serious to be good.

And I got good at being serious.

But, my desire for fun and my aptitude for play keeps surfacing. I think it’s one of my lessons.

There is a divine force in the world trying to teach me that I need more fun in my life. Can I get an amen?

So, I’m braving the beast. Last Sunday I jumped on my daughter’s skateboard and pushed. Wind in my hair, I flew down a new hill. Sadie and her friend giggled and oohed, obviously impressed that this 30-year-old mom dared get on a skateboard.

On our walk home, Sadie looked at me meaningfully, “This was fun, mommy! This was a really good time.”

What does it mean to restore Shalom?

People kept emailing me this question, so I decided to write a digital book and dig into the gritty details. It debuts on March 20th, the first day of Spring.

Everyone subscribed to my newsletter will get a copy. For free! And anyone who subscribes before or after 3/20 can get a free copy, too!

It’s my new manifesta. It’ll talk about what Shalom is and what we can do to restore it. If we’re going to bring God’s wholeness back to the world, then we have to get the word out. My hope is that you’ll sign up to become a Shalomy co-conniver (if you haven’t already), read it, get crazy psyched about your own unique Shalom restoration project (if you haven’t already), and tell all your friends to sign up so they can read it and we can all scheme unimaginable goodness together.

And, just in case you don’t want to wait 12 whole days for the definition, and because the business of restoring Shalom is what I’m all about, I thought it would be fabulawesome to give you an overview now.

This is the theological component behind Shalom Restoration:

The Hebrew Bible starts in a peaceful garden (Genesis 1-2). God is with the people in the garden and a divine wholeness rests on every living thing.

That’s Shalom.

The New Testament ends in a city (Revelation 21-22). God comes back to live with the people again. The people and the environment have evolved, and God’s peace rests differently in that space. But it’s back too.

That’s Shalom restored.

The big idea is about partnering with God to do the things that God is passionate about (social justice, the environment, Invisible Children, etc). In both books, God is leading us back to Shalom. We go off on all kinds of crazy tracks, but that’s The plan.

The rest of the Bible tells that story. The earth and its inhabitants are out of whack. We don’t live in God’s peace. But our hearts ache for it and our God aches for it, too. The Bible is a collection of tales about a God looking for Shalomy co-connivers.

What’s more, rarely do the stories resolve through divine intervention. God uses ordinary people to bring Shalom to others who need it.

The good news is that God wants to partner with you, too.

Shocking, I know.

Sooo, this might not be completely safe for work.

Hesitantly, she approached the check out counter, wondering what the cashier would think. She knew she looked young for 19.

“Camel Light Menthols, hard pack, please,” She mumbled.

“ID,” The cashier made a face but said nothing more.

Laci rummaged through her too-full purse, a couple of pens and her wallet fell to the ground. She swept them up clumsily, and with downcast eyes, thrust her ID toward the cashier. The woman grunted and handed Laci her purchase.

But there was a problem. She didn’t have to pee.

The one time I don’t have to go, she mused.

She sighed. The remedy was easy enough. She made her way outside and sat down on a bench. Staring out into the parking lot, she twisted open the crisp, cold Diet Coke. The first taste was always the best; that magical flavor found only by combining carbonation and Nutra-Sweet.

She dug her hand into her pocket and wiggled a bit until she grasped her lighter. It was the same with a cigarette. That first puff! Relief. Comfort. Exactly what she needed.

Any sensible person, she thought to herself, would simply go home and take the test.

But her mother was home, and she’d certainly sniff and pry until she found it out.

Laci inhaled a big breath of smoke. She held it for a second, like a joint. That would be better, she thought. But she had no place to smoke it.

She took her last puff, squeezed and pinched the cigarette until the cherry fell to the ground. She threw the butt in the trash, took a swig of her soda and walked back through the doors of Wal-Mart.

“HOOOUCH!” A tired looking woman in her early 30s exclaimed, doubling over, nursing her foot. A tiny boy, perhaps three, ran spastic circles around her, grabbing this and that.

“I want this! I want this! I WANT THIS!” He sang. Laci stared. The woman swept him up with two hands, one foot on the ground.

“Would you STOP?” She meant it as a command, but it came out like a plea. The boy wriggled his way to the floor and shot off toward the camping equipment. His mom whimpered and limped after him.

What a horrible little boy! That poor woman, Laci thought. Then she realized she’d been staring. She stood in place for another minute, to gather herself. Eventually she resumed her stride, and began to wander aimlessly through the aisles, her mind processing the scene she’d just witnessed.

And then, suddenly, finally, she felt the urge. She gulped. The moment of truth.

Fear crept over her as she made her way to the bathroom. She pushed open the heavy door; a ghastly smell filled her nostrils. Someone had puked on the floor. She thought she might throw up herself. It smelled like shit, too. She found the cleanest stall and grabbed the little test kit from her bag. Pee on a stick for 10 seconds. Okay, I can handle that.

Afterwards, there was nothing to do but wait.

She placed the test on the back of the toilet and stood there holding her breath. It was the longest three minutes of her life. Her mind contemplated the boy, the test, how she hadn’t thought any of it through. Her boyfriend was still at work. She didn’t get along with that awful woman he lived with, so she couldn’t have taken the test there . . . but this place. Damn, she thought, I knew I should have gone to the nice Wal-Mart.

She looked at her watch, two minutes and 36 seconds. That would do.

She knew the answer before she looked, but that little pink line shocked her all the same. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she grabbed her belongings and ran from that wretched bathroom. She didn’t stop running until she reached her car. It took a while to get the key in the lock. Her hands shook so badly it scared her. She sank into her bucket seat and lit another cigarette.

Well, she thought, I’ll have to switch to ultra lights.

Chaucer: “Oh geez, William, you aim too high.”

William: “If there’s another way to aim, I don’t know it.”

- A Knight’s Tale

We are exhausted. And I look forward to the day when I make enough money to hire a sitter. Still, having been given the gifts of getting my words out, when I’m home, I am more present.

In January, I committed to spend five days a week (every weeknight, except Friday, and Saturday mornings), working on my dream. It’s been a sacrifice for everyone in my family. Brooklyn and Sadie get less mommy time. And when I’m gone, writing away at the local bookstore, Jermaine, after putting in a full day as a soldier, has to come home and care for the kids.

These last few weeks have felt like spinning yarn into gold.

I got accepted to speak about how to teach children the art of the Third Way, or creative nonviolence, at Children, Youth, and a New Kind of Christianity. I shared my prophetic thing on Tanya Geisler’s Thing Finding Thursday. And a magazine I’ve reading and pitching to for the past seven years finally accepted one my pieces! In fact, I submitted the final draft to them just before I started writing this post.

And this summer I get to go the World Domination Summit to meet and play with some of the dear friends I’ve met online. 2012 is off to an imaginative start.

This time of concentrated, deliciously undistracted work has been remarkable. And we’re only just getting started.

I have three nuggets of news to share. Three projects I’m pouring my heart into. Three pieces of peace that I’m creating for Shalomy co-connivers.

Two of them I’ll offer for sale. One of them is completely free.

Yep. GULP. I’m going to sell stuff.

I can’t tell you everything just yet. I don’t want to spoil all the surprises. But, I’m so bleeping excited, I couldn’t help share a little bit.

• My free project will launch on the first day of Spring! It’s an expansion of 7 Steps to Restoring Shalom. It’s going to trade places with Think Love Create! So now, when you sign up, you’ll get this up and coming manifesta. And Think Love Create will come out to play on my website. And everyone who is already signed up will get both, easy peasy.
• The biggest project I’ve ever developed will launch on Sept. 1st.  22nd (the first day of Fall!). It is for strategizing Shalom. I will help businesses use their platforms to make the world a better place, to wholly flourish.
• And, in between the two above, I will launch my first digital kit on June 20th, the first day of Summer! It will be my art and soul. That’s all I can say for now. Because it’s fun to be mysterious.

Tara Gentile preaches that making money should be beautiful. I think she’s right. I often hear Christian business people put themselves down because they don’t work on a mission field or in a church full time.

But your life is your mission field (and I think this applies even if you’re not a Christian)! Radical hospitality, fabulawesome generosity, and finding ways to use resources in wildly creative ways – all of these are found in good business and all of these are essential parts of the restoration of Shalom.

This new world we’re building, it is intuitive and right-brained. It’s a world where the maker has direct contact with the consumer. It’s a world where the consumer uses the products and services of others to make their community a better place. It’s a world that’s beautiful and real, where everything is spiritual.

It is the business of restoring Shalom.