But if the path set before her feet was to be narrow, she knew that flowers of quiet happiness would bloom along it. The joy of sincere work and worthy aspiration and congenial friendship were to be hers; nothing could rob her of her birthright of fancy or her ideal world of dreams. - Anne of Green Gables
Existence within Campus Outreach insulated us from any uncertainties or incongruencies. Everything was black and white. Stark clarity between good and bad, right and wrong, worthy and unworthy. Staying within the lines of their invented legalities kept us from all of the existential questions most others wrestle with. In it was a kind of safety; false, but felt. But it was all a veneer and took little to start to crack and crumble, for the initial stitches to be pulled loose and everything to come crashing down.
Holding it all with her hat and her shawl
She sways in the hall above
Combing the room for a piece of the moon
She braces against the wallNight after night with the sound and the light
She sings and whispers please
Day after day he lies in the way
Of his life that was meant to be
Confused and whiplashed from the whirlwind of moral failure, lies, and abandonment that now surrounded us, we sat across the table from a local pastor in a quirky little neighborhood called Webster Groves. We set up a meeting with him because he had written a book called Sensing Jesus that was poking holes, or rather, gauging them, into the shaky foundation we thought we stood on. He listened to our story intently and offered little advice. He refused to insert himself as the one with all of the answers but instead empathized and shared only one small thought that started lifting us out of the wreckage of an imploding, corrupt organization. He said, rather quietly and simply, that lives have many story arcs. He affirmed that we had been through some troubling ones, but many more were around the bend.
Fast forward a couple of years, and I’m sitting on my therapist’s couch, unpacking our story in sharp detail. We center many conversations around the reality of agency manifested in choice. Part of what is essential to being human is the right to choose, and what was so dehumanizing within the organization we were involved was how it strategically and systematically took choice away from its followers. Autonomy was its kryptonite. And because of my personal history and getting involved at such a developmental time of my life, I had lost all ability to choose. It wasn’t even a thought for me anymore. So this constant refrain from our conversations was you can choose a path, and if it goes a route you don’t like or didn’t expect, you can choose again. That right was mine again. Reclaimed autonomy. A resurgence of humanity swelled within me.
Fast forward another year or so, and I’m enduring the long, end-of-the-workday drive from downtown Indy to Fishers. I am a career consultant at IU Indy, wrestling once again with what I’m doing in life. I spent the time listening to a podcast by Curt Thompson, an MD and licensed therapist, called Being Known. In it, he shared that the most powerful question he asks patients and clients to consider in the wreckage, or bombshell, as he called it, of trauma.
“What is the next beautiful artifact you are making?”
That became our mantra. I can’t remember every detail about why that is such a powerful question to consider, but I know it uniquely met me. I was so exhausted from all of the processing of the past. I was tired of running mental circles about what happened to us and why. And that invitation to consider what the next beautiful artifact I’d be making gave me something tangible to put my hands to.
You can begin again
Honey you can begin again
You can begin again
Honey you can begin again
What happened, happened. There is still so much to learn from it all. But what matters now is that we are beginning again. And regardless of how this goes, we can begin again. And again. When despair and darkness, failure and fracture, bruises and batterings, dampen the light within, or smolder the flame of life and humanness, we can begin again. It’s the only way that hope makes sense to me. As I reflect on the upcoming traditions of Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday, I can’t help but feel that somewhere in the heart of that message is the opportunity, or even the invitation, that we can begin again.
So what’s the next beautiful artifact we are making? Our marriage, our family, and our business. A simple, slow life where scuffed palms and dirty fingernails tell of a life well -- where we lean into what it means to be makers. A life where we seek to leave our mark on whatever we get the chance to put our hands to. And a life trying to find comfort in the hope that new beginnings are always possible.
Night after night with the sound and the light
That comes from down below
The street sweepers clean St Augustine
And tired they head for home
You can begin again
Honey you can begin again
Holding it all with her hat and her shawl
She sways in the hall above
Combing the room for a piece of the moon
She braces against the wall
Night after night with the sound and the light
She sings and whispers please
Day after day he lies in the way
Of his life that was meant to be
You can begin again
Honey you can begin again
You can begin again
Honey you can begin again
She breaks into his dreams
And finds his colors on the floor
Says don't you disappear
Stay awake my dear
You can begin again
Honey you can begin again
You can begin again
Honey you can begin again
You can begin again
Honey you can begin again
You can begin again
Honey you can begin again
You can begin again
Honey you can begin again
You can begin again
Honey you can begin again
This song reminds me of the verse
Your mercies are new every morning- great is your faithfulness