One of the regrets I have is my seeming inability to take pictures. When a moment occurs my tendency is to soak it up like a sponge, to embrace, to enjoy, to fully live in that moment.  When living like this you rarely stop and think, I should take a picture of this. I need to pull myself out of this moment and document it.

As it is, in the past nine years I've lived in ten different houses/apartments. Lived in eight different towns in two states. I've been to Nicaragua and the Dominican Republic. I've built amazing relationships, lost others. Completely changed my vocation. Went from living in a town of 265 people to the suburbs of one of the major cities in America. When I get nostalgic and want to look at pictures or remember people from all the places I've been, I find I have to rely on my memories, and my memory proves to be an unreliable narrator.  

I put events out of order. Over dramatize situations, forget about others. Ignore wounds I've caused, play up wounds I've received. 

Our life, this story we're telling is pretty much all get. This tale we're telling. We have to make memories, do things that are worth re-telling. 

One of my favorite thing to do is sit around a table with good friends and start telling stories, everyone trying to top the other, it gets ridiculous and we laugh until our stomachs hurt and we get louder and more raucous. Telling our tales spinning yarns all things we've told a hundred times, getting bigger and more ridiculous as we re-tell it.

In his great book Storyline Donald Miller asks if you were able to attend your own funeral what would be most important to you? Would it be how much money you left, or how much television you watched? Or rather would it be relationships, how we effected the world...you never effect while staying safe.

Anyways, I'm back to blogging. I hope to tell true stories, to relate this life to yours as you relate to mine. Maybe post pictures relating to these stories if I can ever remember to take them...

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