Crystal the Artist

I had a dream this morning and although I don't have time to write it all down, I don't want to forget the key takeaways. It showed me that the most attractive thing to me that I find in people is their compassion for others. I will always stand with those who choose to see humanity without judgment. It is so hard sometimes, you know, like when anger is justified. But the bottom line is we're all human. Whatever differences there are between us and the horrendous neighbor of ours, we can be thankful for what we have been given in life that helps us act better, do better, live better AND we can acknowledge that other people's actions are evidence that we live in a multifaceted world where people live through extremely different experiences that shape them into who they are. I don't blame you if you won't back the actions of those who take no responsibility for shaping their minds and hearts to do more good in the world, but at least don't be a jerk to those w...

This morning the grief hit me like an unexpected and unrelenting freight train. My plans were forgotten, my determined spirit lost into oblivion. As the waves of sorrow kept on flooding over me, I welcomed the hurt and the remembrance of all that I had lost. I gave myself permission. "It’s okay to hurt, it’s okay to feel, now is the time to grieve." Twenty-four years ago, to this day, I lost my mother to a long fought battle against cancer. I was only nine at the time and was without a clear understanding of what that would mean for the rest of my life. There were so many things I could not have known. I didn’t cry then. Not when I was told the news. Not at her funeral (at least not genuinely). Not in the arranged counseling that followed. I was relieved that her suffering was over and that she was now resting in peace. I didn’t want to talk about it. I just wanted life to continue on and to not dwell on the fact that my mom had just died. She had set me up for success and I ...

I held my fist so tight. My hand was clenched upon my dreams. They sat inside a darkened cage. The walls were firmly pressing in. Inside the life was fading. Then in a moment of sweet grace, I heard the whisper stated, "Let go." My hand obeyed. With an outstretched palm I sat in wonder. I yearned for my hope to stay and for a moment I thought it would. Then the wind came and swept away my treasure. I watched it leave and fly away. How beautifully it danced upon the breeze. Out, away, far from me, it vanished into the open sky and followed the horizon. I could no longer call it mine. My heart, it wept. My strength was gone. My outstretched palm slowly fell to my side. It was alone and growing colder. And when I forgot why I stood, and where my feet were planted, I felt a hand in mine. A gentle pull beckoned me to follow. With one foggy step, one heavy step, my feet walked with no plan or intention. My only comfort was the man whose shapeless form seemed like a familiar strange...

Did I really travel solo to Romania with no lodging lined up? And did I really stay the night at the home of my driver's family? Did I leave the next day with a perfect stranger to cross the border into Ukraine? Did I really have no idea what I was doing? Where I was going? Who I would be meeting? Or how I would return? Did I really end up in a college dormitory with a young woman who could only speak Russian? And was I picked up the next day by more new people? And did I finally see firsthand the work of those serving refugees? Did I hear refugees’ stories in foreign languages? Did I follow their gestures? Did I receive their thanks? Their complaints? Their tears? Their smiles? Did I watch shell shocked children climb aboard a charter bus? Did I watch their fear melt away as we drove up to a park? Did I see their concerned faces light up as they played games with volunteers? As they made crafts? As they giggled chasing each other? And as they ate and ate and ate and ate? Did I wat...

Short Stories from Ukraine: Long story short, I arrived in Ukraine safely. Upon my arrival, I was roomed with a young woman in a college dormitory near where supplies for refugees were being stored. On my first night on campus my roommate invited me (in Russian translated through Viber) to worship and communion at the home of a couple she knew. We walked through the streets of Ukraine as the sun went down. My only navigation was my new roommate. She was sweet, beautiful, and hospitable. Together we shared the words for "right" and "left" in our own languages as we made turns on our walk. We giggled. We smiled. We enjoyed each other's company. Soon we arrived at our destination and were buzzed through a locked door. The flight of stairs we fumbled up were barely lit. Each step, stair after stair, was deliberate so as to not trip as we spiraled up a few flights to the couple's apartment. We were welcomed in and offered house slippers to change into. Communion ...

Did I really travel solo to Romania with no lodging lined up? And did I really stay the night at the home of my driver's family? Did I leave the next day with a perfect stranger, and cross the border into Ukraine? Did I really have no idea what I was doing? Where I was going? Who I was meeting? Or how I would return? Did I really end up in a college dormitory with a young woman who could only speak Russian? And was I picked up the next day by more new people? And did I really finally see firsthand the work of those serving refugees? Did I really hear the stories in foreign languages? Did I follow their gestures? Did I receive their thanks? Their complaints? Their tears? Their smiles? Did I watch shell shocked children blossom during a day designed for them? Did I walk the streets of Ukraine alone? Did I really enter strangers' vehicles in foreign countries? Did I adventure and get mistaken for a spy? Did I meet friendly people who welcomed me into their homes? Who fed me? Whose...