beginnings: a Nashville sabbatical

The basil grows tall at the end of the sidewalk. The front porch is bathed in the sunlight of early eve. The fresh air of North 2nd Street floods in through the screened door.

Novella Carpenter's urban Oakland farm and Frederick Buechner's notes on telling the truth are spread on the floor in front of me, alongside journals for Scripture reflection and scribbled lyrics.

Though I've never started a sabbatical before - intentional space for hearing, seeing, knowing - this doesn't seem quite too bad of a way to do it. I hope to offer to you some outpouring from this time, if I do in fact get filled up to the point of being able to pour out to you.

But more than anything else, I'm here for this - to be present.