Who Are You to Yourself?

I read a story last weekend about Neil Armstrong’s belongings. His family is auctioning off a number of his artifacts, including items he took on a business trip to the moon in 1969.

One of these artifacts is a rejection letter Armstrong received in 1974 from the Diners Club International. Five years after being the first man on the moon, the Diners Club rejected Armstrong’s application for a credit card.

I can only assume Armstrong believed in a version of the old Woody Allen quote: Planet Earth may not be all it’s cracked up to be, but it’s still the best place to get a good steak.

Sometimes people cast doubt our way that doesn’t line up with how we see ourselves. That may be why the Armstrongs kept the Diners Club letter – because it didn’t fit. I’d guess it was more of a “get a load of this,” rather than a retention of financial correspondence.

When Neil Armstrong’s sons were young, they didn’t think much about his astronaut work. One of them, actually, was upset that he would have to miss playing in a Little League All-Star game in the summer of 1969. Instead, he had to go with his family to Cape Canaveral for the launch of Apollo 11. You can imagine Armstrong consoling his son in this disappointment: “I hear ya, but I want you with the family. This is a big deal.”

Not everyone understands what you’re doing, or why. Who you are to them is what matters.

Armstrong’s son said it was as if his dad had taken “a business trip to the moon.” No big deal. To him, he was Dad.

There’s a bit of old advice that still holds true: “Be nice to people on the way up because you may see them again on the way back down.”

Neil Armstrong, his son said, deflected attention from his small step because he wanted the credit to be rightly shared with all the people who had made it possible. The people he met on the way up – a literal phrase for him – presumably appreciated that. They helped him get back down too.

I don’t know what it’d be like to not need people… as if somehow I could reach a status that it would no longer matter what I said or did… as if I could cause offense and not give it a second thought. Even if I could get away with it, I’m not sure what kind of luxury that would be.

Who you are to people matters. Who you are to you matters too.

When I was growing up, the space race was still a thing… getting to the moon before the decade was out and all that. I don’t remember anything about this prior to Neil Armstrong’s small step. Adults probably knew that this thing was in the works. My father probably knew. When I was young, he told me bedtime stories about a little girl named Minnie riding in a rocket to the moon. He preferred fantasy to reality. This became a bigger problem than a bedtime story, but that’s who he was to me … someone whose feet weren’t planted on earth.

When something doesn’t make sense, you look for what you can to explain what it means. In the stories you tell about what happened, you build your perspective, your instincts, your reality. But here’s the thing I didn’t know until much later. These stories can change.

I like the word alignment; it’s good when our actions align with our beliefs. Or, rather, our stated beliefs. Because our actions probably do align with our actual beliefs. Could there be something in your set of beliefs that you have gotten wrong?

I’ve been surprised by how many things I misunderstood or misconstrued. Or those times I just missed the boat. That’s why I wrote Your Story Shaping Blueprint. I was also a little irritated to have taken so long to figure all of this out. Why needlessly believe things that are simply untrue?

Who are you to the people around you? Are you being the kind of person you believe yourself to be? Who are you to yourself? Is there something in your set of beliefs that you want to change?

Enjoy your magnificent journey.

– Minnie Lamberth
The Magnificent Journey
Vol. 2, Issue 34

P.S. If you’d like to get a $7 discount on Your Story Shaping Blueprint, use the word Launch in the coupon code. Let me know if you need help with this. Details here: https://storyshaping.co/product/your-story-shaping-blueprint/

What Does Time Feel Like?

Eighteen years ago… wait, it was last Monday.

That’s a modification of an old joke. When I worked at an ad agency as a young copywriter, I heard a quote from comedian Steven Wright. He spoke in non-sequiturs, a la: “Four years ago… no, it was yesterday.”

I loved the humor, but now I realize the truth: it’s hard to keep up with how far we’ve gotten.

On October 1, eighteen years ago, I became a self-employed copywriter. It doesn’t actually seem like yesterday, but it doesn’t seem like eighteen years ago either.

Most of us probably feel a lot younger than we actually are, yet it’s hard to argue with the date. Or the face in the mirror.

I’m planning to create some videos where I am on camera. But I have noticed that my face doesn’t look quite right. It has eighteen years more age. This confuses me. My external appearance has taken its own personal journey, but my inside has lagged behind.

Often when weeks get confusing, we say things like, “This feels like Friday,” or whatever it feels like. Maybe your Thursday morning actually feels like Tuesday afternoon. Who knows. But time has a sort of “feeling,” it seems.

I usually know where I am – clock-wise – during the day. If I checked to see what time it is, I’d be surprised if I were off by more than 10 minutes. I don’t actually get lost in my day. I have befores and afters that keep me on track – before my walk, after my walk, before lunch, after lunch, etc.

During the day itself, I know where I am. But I might have to remember which day of the week I’m on, or which month this is. I might write a year date wrong. I can lose track of time beyond this moment.

“Give us this day our daily bread,” Jesus prayed. “This is the day the Lord has made,” the Psalmist wrote. “Today if you hear his voice, do not harden your heart,” Hebrews says.

This day is important, and the structure of this day I can understand.

Ecclesiastes 3 tells us that God has put eternity in the human heart. We live in seasons – recognizing something within and something beyond, while living something right now.

On this day there is something you can do – or not do. The right here, right now is what we have. Yes, eternity is in our hearts. Our hands and feet, however, are in today.

If there’s something you would like to do… you’ve been meaning to do… or that you fear you can’t do? What is one small step you can take today to move in that direction?

Enjoy your magnificent journey.

– Minnie Lamberth
The Magnificent Journey
Vol 2, Issue 33

P.S. I recently created a new resource for you, and it’s called Your Story Shaping Blueprint. Check it out while you can still sign up for less. Details here: https://storyshaping.co/get-your-story-shaping-blueprint/ Questions? Just ask.

Are You at Capacity?

I have achieved my wildest dreams on this earth: I own part of a cloud.

In the old days, clouds were known for holding raindrops. Now they hold 50 GB space for me to store my videos and photos of Trixie. When I got notices about the limits of my phone to hang on to my collection of images, I expanded my capacity. I have to keep paying every year, so I guess the truth is I am a tenant.

I can imagine in my early years being sprawled out on a lawn in the summertime looking up and saying with childlike fantasy, “One day I’m going to get myself part of a cloud.” But I did. So there.

I visited Lake Martin over Labor Day weekend. I can see the clouds there better than anywhere else I go. Strangely, for a lake developed to build power lines, the view is unobstructed by power lines. I know there’s a big caution that water and electricity don’t mix, but the combo sure works out well when you’re talking about hydroelectric dams.

When my father was a child growing up in Alex City, he called the lake the back water, because it was the water backed up from the dam. He was a lot older than other fathers. He was 14 when the dam was completed in 1926. Before that, there was no Lake Martin.

You can imagine the residents back then thought small, as in “back water.” Not 44,000-acre reservoir that covers 750 miles of shoreline across three counties. Or maybe they felt fear. “Hydroelectric power” probably sounded like the stuff of science fiction – of matinees at the movie house where tiny ants turn into giant monsters terrorizing unsuspecting town folk. Not streetlights and household lamps and air conditioning for the home.

Yet this early idea of back water held the capacity for so much more.

I think sometimes about that word capacity – and its several meanings. Such as your cloud storage is at capacity (that’s all it will hold). Or someone functions in a certain capacity (that’s his role). Or do I have the capacity to get this done (how much can be produced)?

In business, there’s this thing called “scale.” You start out small. You add services and products you want to offer. However, at the same time you have to make investments in people, technology, equipment, etc. to keep your promises in delivering these added services and products.

So you scale up in proportion. Which means you can increase capacity. But not usually alone.

Take Moses, for instance. Was Moses the best judgment-maker in the world? Perhaps. After he’d led the Israelites out of Egypt, he tried to resolve the disputes that arose amongst and between the people. But he still was only human and couldn’t make everyone’s fair and just decisions for them. So his father-in-law Jethro pulled him aside and said, “This isn’t working. You’ll exhaust yourself if you keep this up.”

That’d be bad because if Moses exhausted himself trying to do more than he was able to do, he wouldn’t be able to do the things he needed to do. So he shared the load – and saved his energy for other matters (like health and wellbeing).

Is there something you need help with today? Is there someone who would be a good resource for you? If you’re at capacity, don’t try to do it all on your own. Share the load and enjoy your magnificent journey.

– Minnie Lamberth
The Magnificent Journey
Vol. 2, Issue 31

How Does This Time Next Year Look for You?

One year ago today I did not have a cat. Trixie arrived in my small abode around 1 p.m. on September 5, 2017. We met at the Montgomery Humane Shelter.

I had not had a pet since childhood, and I did not know how this would go. They offered me the option to take her for a home visit on 48-hour foster care. I said OK.

At first I thought I would try to keep her off my desk. I gave up.

Trixie sticks near me. I’m her leader. We’re a little gang, she and I, so she stays close. I have grown to love her.

I have made a lot of adjustments since September 5 of last year. For example, I moved my phone. I don’t get that many calls on my land line anyway. And, for some reason, she liked to use it as a pillow.

Actually, I moved a number of things, but some things I just stopped caring about.

One thing I have recently been reminded of: doorbells in commercials sound like doorbells in real life. I’ll have the television on at some point, and Trixie will be minding her own beeswax. Then she hears a doorbell in a commercial and flees as if an intruder is coming.

I try to tell her it’s not real; it’s just a commercial. She is not convinced.
It can be scary to open a door to new things, and Trixie is no fan of doorbells that herald this entrance.

Sometimes people come by for services that I’ve arranged — such as installers, repairers and exterminators. As I’ve explained to Trixie, this is because we can’t always do things on our own and need help from outsiders. If I go a little bit further to tell her that this need is the basis of the service economy, her eyes glaze over. Actually her eyes glaze over at a lot of things I explain — such as why we don’t jump on the counter — but that’s not important now.

Others enter into our simple abode for friendly reasons, and I call out, “Trixie, Trixie… someone’s here to see you.” She’ll slowly poke her head from under the bed and cautiously approach the main room.

As I’ve told her, “There are many warm hearts in the world, and it’s nice for us to meet new ones from time to time. You don’t have to throw the doors wide open for everyone, but you will enjoy many rewards when you encounter those who welcome a purring invitation into your life.”

It seems I was always a cat person, but I did not have a cat. Now I have a cat.

Also, one year ago today I had not sent out any of these issues of The Magnificent Journey. Now I’ve sent out 45. Or 46 if you count that time I sent one twice.

I started this process because I wanted this year to look differently than last year. It does. I had an idea I wanted to develop. It is coming together, and I’ll be able to tell about it soon. If you would like to get this scoop, be sure to join the email list on this site.

In the meantime, is there something you would like to see differently a year from now? Something within, or without? I recommend figuring out what that is, and taking small steps each day.

Enjoy your magnificent journey.

– Minnie Lamberth
The Magnificent Journey
Vol. 2, Issue 30

Is Your Life Bossing You Around?

I’m in an online group led by Jill Badonsky, a creativity coach based in San Diego. She posts interesting prompts during the week to spark a new creative thought. One time she asked us to write a review of our breakfast, as if it were a musical performance or restaurant critique. So I came up with:

“This act was getting some buzz, and I had to sniff out the scene for myself. The pans clanged loudly as the chef looked for just the right pot in which to stir a delicate dance of oatmeal and water. You could feel the heat in the room as the stovetop eye started to warm to its audience. Finally, the combo began to gel, then a little sugar sweetened the mix that was ultimately smoothed into a cohesive delicacy, thanks to a bit of margarine and milk. The show runs every morning this week and will appeal to those who hunger for a basic breakfast experience.”

Story shaping is a little like that. Looking at things differently. Finding more joy in your ordinary journey. Discovering the beauty in the mundane. Even breakfast can be a great story, if you start noticing how cool life really is.

“What do I get to do today?” That’s a question Jill tells us to ask. It’s how you shift your thinking from seeing obligation everywhere you look to seeing these same things as opportunities. So, instead of telling myself “I have to write this article,” as if this article were bossing me around, I say, “I get to write this article and share these ideas.” There’s a lot more energy in the “get to” when compared to the “have to.” That’s the point.

The “shoulds” can really pile up. I heard a speaker one time (it was a church event, no less) talk about people who have a “should-y” attitude. It was such a perfect phrase, I don’t know why it hasn’t caught on. In any case, he was trying to encourage us not to put all these shoulds on ourselves, but instead to relax and trust and have faith.

At times, though, daily life just gets really bossy. Like when you’re running late, running behind, running over or even running under. That whole idea of “running” is probably evidence that daily life is entrenched in its overly pushy tendencies. As if it just really doesn’t want you sitting still and enjoying the view, but would rather nag and pick on you till you look away.

So it helps to have techniques to remember to relax and let go of the demanding expectations some of us carry in our head. It helps to pull back, slow down and cherish the small things.

Wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, there are a lot of amazing things to see. And you’ve probably got a least a minute to spare to notice the beauty around you or the joy in your moment. So take another look today and enjoy your magnificent journey.

– Minnie Lamberth
The Magnificent Journey
Vol. 2, Issue 29

Who Are the Hinges in Your Life?

I heard a phrase the other day: “Little hinges swing big doors.” I liked that phrase in that it presents a picture of how the small actions we take every day add up to something important. Yet almost immediately I started thinking of a different application – because the day before I’d heard a Fred Rogers’ speech where he tells his audience to think of someone who made a difference in their lives.

I assume most people think of a parent, a teacher, a coach, mentor, a boss, a pastor… someone in a role of influence who had an influence. But, I wondered, what about the little hinges who swing big doors? What about the people in your life who do a small thing that ends up making a big difference?

Often my copywriting work is a series of little hinges. One time my friend Lenore couldn’t get to an assignment, so she passed it off to me. That assignment led to another assignment that put me at a conference where I ran into a client from long ago, Julie. She connected me to a new client, Mike, and I’ve been working with him on his book projects for a couple of years.

One time I was asked to chair Huntingdon’s alumni awards committee. Because of that invitation, I was the emcee for the awards presentation. One of the people there that night invited me to speak to his civic group where I ran into my friend Rosemary, who asked if I could work on a temporary project for her. I’ve done that temporary assignment off and on for about nine years. Also, she referred another client to me, and now I work with them on their newsletter.

So, a lot of little hinges have made my copywriting work possible. I’ve also had hinges in other areas of my life.

Take the late Pat Stewart, for example. I volunteered with her in the church kitchen. I knew she worked in the preschool on Sundays, and one day I asked her what it would be like to work in that department. She’s the one who said, “You should go visit Donna Hoomes’ class.” And she’s the one who told Donna, “Minnie’s coming to your class.”

The preschool department (in this case 4-year-olds) gave me new insight into what you might call “missing information.” This is the room where fundamental concepts are reviewed again and again. Remember that Shel Silverstein poem about the circle who says “I’m looking for my missing piece?” I’m not saying everybody will find their missing piece in a preschool class, but I do think it’s a good place to look.

In any case, these concepts influenced the Story Shaping Project I’m developing. And this did too. A few years back, I was writing a series of stories about people I met at church. Pat was my second subject. We sat down for about 15 minutes in the office of the church kitchen, and she told me about the 50 years she’d spent working in preschool. After we were done, I said, “Thanks for letting me interview you.”

Pat pointed a finger toward me and said, “No. Thank you. Nobody’s ever interviewed me before.”

I was so surprised. Stunned, actually. I’ve been in the public relations field. I’ve been interviewed quite a few times on behalf of employers. And so have my PR friends. Also I published book projects, and I set up interviews for myself. It hadn’t occurred to me that some people hadn’t been interviewed before.

So I started thinking about how there are people who probably don’t realize what an interesting life they’ve led and that theirs is a story worth telling. That was also a hinge in story shaping, and through this is a door I’m expecting to see lots of interesting developments. (FYI, If you would like to be included in the beta launch of this new project, be sure to sign up for my email list on this page. Subscribers get a discount.)

In the meantime, can you think of people in your life who took a moment of their lives to think of you and, in doing so, swung open a door? Will you take a moment to do the same for someone else?

Enjoy your magnificent journey.

– Minnie Lamberth
The Magnificent Journey
Vol. 2, Issue 28

Do You See the Beauty Around You?

I love the John Rutter version of the hymn, For the Beauty of the Earth. It’s fitting that a song about beauty is so beautiful.

Listening to this hymn one day, a line stood out: “For the love which from our birth over and around us lies.” There’s a lot to think about in that phrase… the idea that we were loved from the beginning, and that this love has surrounded us since that time.

Do you ever forget that? If so, what would it take to keep remembering?

I came into the world the youngest of four. For that reason alone, I’m fortunate I got this chance. Many families stop at two children these days, so perhaps my generation was the last chance for me to be born. Of all the things they say about having kids, the one thing they do not say is, “They are so inexpensive.”

My birthplace was Old Russell Hospital. That wasn’t actually the name of the place, but by the time I was old enough to be aware of my surroundings, Old Russell Hospital had been torn down and replaced by Russell Hospital on Highway 280. When I rode through town as a child, my mother pointed to the area where this significant moment occurred: “Old Russell Hospital was over there. That’s where you were born.”

I tried to look. I wanted to see. But the moment went by too fast, and I could never figure out where Old Russell Hospital used to be. I just knew it had been “over there” somewhere.

I was told that my father backed his car into a parking place behind the hospital and positioned my three older siblings on the trunk. My mother held me up to the window of Old Russell Hospital’s maternity ward so they could get a peek.

I grew up getting prodded to go outdoors on Saturdays. As in: “Go find yourself something to do.” I took bike rides without helmets and enjoyed unstructured play times in a neighborhood. Perhaps that too was the last chance for such things. But it’s probably a good idea that people stopped smoking indoors, and we figured out that those seat belts stuffed down into the seat cushions should actually be worn as restraints while the vehicle is in motion.

In restaurants, my favorite appetizer was a pack of saltine crackers spread with one of those individual pats of butter, where you lifted the thin paper, even if you had to shake it off your finger because the butter had an adhesive quality. Or maybe it was margarine.

I liked the smell of crayons, Play Doh and Silly Putty. I also remember the smell of the school hallway, especially when the janitors spread out that red dust they swept away with huge brooms. I can almost hear the methodical slapping of the brooms in the hallway. I used to know the sound of the front door at my house opening and closing. I also knew what it sounded like to yank a bedroom window open to get a breeze. Or, more likely, just more of the stifling heat.

That was the beauty of life on earth in those early days, where a sense of place could tell you who you were. And you could feel as much optimism and hope as your dreams allowed.

Yet life did get difficult in this flawed existence of humans being human, and learning as we go. For each hill there was a valley, and a sunset for each sunrise. I got some bad information at times – ingesting it into my operating system. And I usually learned the hard way things that could have made life so much easier. How about you?

It’d be a shame, I think, to waste the amazing insights I discovered during my journey. For example, how do you recapture your first impression of life – the one that speaks of your momentous potential and remarkable value? That’s the first topic I address in my new Story Shaping curriculum. I’ll tell you more about that soon.

The love that was over and around us from our birth is over and around us still. I hope you see evidence of that day. Enjoy your magnificent journey.

– Minnie Lamberth
The Magnificent Journey
Vol. 2, Issue 27

Which Words Would You Change?

I love Tim Herrera’s job title as “Smarter Living Editor.” That is so cool. If I could reset my life from the beginning, I’d like to end up at that title – Smarter Living Editor.

Smarter doesn’t put too much pressure on the reader, as smart might do – as if you’ve got to be smart in all your decisions. Instead, you don’t have to worry so much about being smart. Just do something “smarter” than you were doing.

I’ve got plenty of room to be smarter.

And editor – oh, that would be so cool to help people with their smarter living, as if you could only change out some subjects and verbs and get it done. My kind of job.

Herrera writes a weekly email for The New York Times. This week’s email was about several of the “fear of” acronyms that trip us up. FOMO, or fear of missing out, turns distraction and impulsivity into the rulers of our day. FOBO, or fear of better options, stops us with indecision as we agonize over which choice would be the one perfect one for us.

These terms, Herrera said, were coined by Patrick McGinnis following his experiences in the Harvard Business School. McGinnis has another one that is the Fear of Doing Anything – another type of paralysis.

You may face these FOs as I do. I’ve also got one I’d add to the list – FOLO, or the fear of letting go.

I suspect that somewhere inside my DNA lives a historic preservationist trying to maintain the artifacts of my decades on this earth.

I can only imagine the tour guide of the future saying, “If you open this desk drawer, you can see the remnants of the best deal she ever found. It was back in 1999 when she bought ten boxes of paper clips for a dollar. She was able to use these to fasten papers together for her whole writing career – and never ran out. There’s still an unopened box remaining. Oh, and in this section are the pens that still probably have ink if you press harder. And some pencils that need sharpening. They came free at various conferences she attended.”

Really, there is just so much to see here. I’m sure the tour will be quite popular.

Though here’s a concern: what if the people who come to inspect my space can’t tell the difference between what has value and what doesn’t? What if they, say, move a couch and find a grocery store receipt from 2003? Will they wonder if it contains a forgotten message about the price of bread at the turn of the century? Or will they sense, instinctively, “She wasn’t a very good housekeeper.”

Hard to say. We don’t get to control interpretation. But back to the main idea: letting go is important. When you move something out, you make room for the new thing that’s coming. You only have so much space in a life. So many closets, so many storage rooms, so many shelves, so many drawers, so many cabinets. Letting go is how you can make room for something else.

There’s a question in Isaiah 44:20 that jumped out to me one time: “Is not this thing in my right hand a lie?” It gave me pause about things to which I was needlessly clinging. I don’t know what that might be for you, but it’s something to think about.

While this letting go could be a physical item, the unhelpful clutter could also be a thought, a belief, an attitude. Our minds and spirits can get cluttered just as much as our physical spaces. And you can let go of old notions that are irrelevant, outdated or simply untrue. But be sure to replace these unhelpful things with something true, or they’ll come right back again and bring their friends.

This is why willpower is lacking in permanence. You need truth, plus a structure. Like language, for instance. Language is a structure. The way you talk to yourself matters. But what if you changed out your subjects and verbs to a friendlier point of view about your life? What if you chose some new, more uplifting sentences to describe your day?

Like they say, be kind to everyone you meet. And let me add: including the one you see in the mirror.

Enjoy your magnificent journey.

– Minnie Lamberth
The Magnificent Journey
Vol 2, Issue 26

Did you have a question?

When I was a child, I went with my mother to visit a friend of hers who had moved into a brand new house. As Miss Julia was showing us the main room, she pulled on a string hanging from the ceiling to reveal a set of stairs that led to the attic.

I was amazed at this feature – truly astonished that these stairs had appeared out of nowhere and were now in the middle of the room. I had never seen anything like it. Not only that, Miss Julia permitted me to walk up the stairs to her attic. This was so cool.

On the next visit, just a regular visit, I asked Miss Julia (quite impertinently) if I could see the attic again. My mother dismissed the request out of hand. In polite society, it seems, you just don’t go around asking if you can see people’s attics. But Miss Julia said, “I tell you what, Minnie. You come here some day without your mother, and I’ll let you see the attic.”

I agreed to the terms. Which I actually thought were terms. Apparently, adults sometimes say things just to say things, then find out kids actually believe them.

Later, I was playing with a friend at her house, which was on the same street as Miss Julia’s, when I suddenly remembered the terms by which I could see the attic again. Clearly my mother was not with me, and this would be a good opportunity to take advantage of the offer.

This was the late 1960s, and young kids could wander neighborhoods during those days, so I suggested to my playmate, “Let’s go to Miss Julia’s house and ask if we can see her attic.” I assume my little friend thought this was a great idea because, next thing you know, we were on the street headed that way.

I rang the bell, and Miss Julia came to the door. Whereupon I said with the full confidence of a young child, “My mother isn’t with me now. Can we see your attic?”

I can only imagine her surprise and – potentially – amusement. Miss Julia graciously welcomed us in, pulled down the stairs, and after our tour of the attic, gave us each a bottle of Coke.

In that moment, my life was filled with good intentions, the freedom to wander, short journeys to a happy destination, gracious response, and the refreshment of a bottled Coke. Truly, it was only my ignorance of doubt that made these experiences possible. For if I had been old enough – or cognizant enough – to question the sincerity of the offer, I would have missed that sweet experience and fond memory. And Miss Julia would have too.

Belief seems to be easier for children. No wonder Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” Luke 18:17 (NIV) You get a little older and knocked around by life, and it’s more like, “Are you serious? You can’t be serious.”

In Life with Strings Attached, my narrator says in the introduction, “I was trying to remember what it was that I knew before I began to doubt.” As she goes on to tell a nostalgic tale from her neighborhood and community, she does so from a 7-year-old’s perspective. The reason that is so is because, when I thought of who this character would be, I wanted to capture her at a time when everything was still possible, before she was aware of any limits, when she still believes she can do anything – and carries the faith of a child that life offers promises to be pursued.

I never heard anything else about my visit. I don’t know if Miss Julia told my mother. My mother didn’t mention it. In hindsight, I do think I left her with a good story that day. For the price of two bottled Cokes and a little bit of her time, I think it was probably worth it.

Is there something you’re having a hard time believing today? Can you find your way back – at least for a moment – to an impertinent faith? One that asks, seeks, knocks as if promises are actually true?

Enjoy your magnificent journey.

– Minnie Lamberth
The Magnificent Journey
Vol. 2, Issue 25