When my heart wants to stand and demand others to conform to my wishes and my worldview, I need to get low. To listen. To ask questions. To read or watch or listen to voices different than my own. I need to hold my hands open and relinquish my ego. I need to recognize the trauma or influences that have shaped others, and I need to admit I’m a product of the same.
Sunday night, an EF2 tornado touched down about 2 miles from my house. 20.4 miles later, after growing into an EF3 tornado, it finally left my community alone. Somehow, only 146 homes sustained substantial damage; and “only” 22 homes were total losses. The storm was was fierce. An artifact from one house was found six miles from its flattened home.
I just ugly cried in a public park downtown.
Don’t worry: they were happy tears. I was overcome with both gratitude and hope.
I chose to move to Lynchburg and have fallen in love with it enough to call it home. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that my wife and I are factors in my sister and some of our closest friends emigrating to what we lovingly call “LynchVegas.” Here are the selling points with which I would counter the Lynchburg skeptics.
Hey, I struggle, too—not to judge, not to disparage, not to avoid. I’ve got a long way to go—at least as much as the facelift haters, probably much more. But I know my path toward Christ-likeness doesn’t take me up a ladder with a can of spray paint.