Happy Hutchmoot! I know. You don’t know what that is. It turns out it’s harder to explain than you think it should be. So here’s a video taking a shot at it:

That probably didn’t clear it up much, because Hutchmoot is something you have to experience…and given that the 150 tickets sold out in about 10 minutes this year, sometimes that’s a hard thing to do! When we went to the Grand Canyon my mom said “pictures just don’t do it justice” so many times I finally threatened to chuck her in if she said it again. But…that’s probably true for Hutchmoot too. Words just don’t do it justice. But…in an effort to try, here’s my wrap-up from last year:

I came to Hutchmoot tired. Bone tired, my energy and my hope sapped. The past eight years had been characterized by sickness and death, by grief and loss, by discouragement and desperation and despair. I came looking for something I couldn’t even name. Something I could barely remember.

As the last notes of the doxology faded on Sunday afternoon, I was still looking. I had had a good weekend. It was good to be away. But I still felt worn and tattered. Pete broke into my thoughts “You have some art to sign”. I was toward the front of the crowd heading out into the narthex – I had a long drive and I needed to get on the road. And then I saw what we had created together. I saw Jennifer’s plan leaned up against the window. I heard other people exclaim as they caught sight of the tiles all fitting together. And I remembered. I remembered anew that there is an Artist. That as hard and messy and chaotic as these last years have been, they are bounded and finite, like my 5×5 tile (which is good because I was really tired of coloring green!). But they have a purpose, they are critical to the work the Artist is doing. Without them, it wouldn’t be the same, it wouldn’t have the depth or the life it will now. Every tile matters.

As I reflected on the weekend, as I’ve shared about it, I’ve realized that I don’t describe it by what was present, but by what was missing. There was no criticism, no impatience, no judgement, no competition. These are the things that have characterized my life for the last four years. In their absence there was space, and good things started to grow. Encouragement, promise, faith. And then, crawling out of its den, squinting at the sun and wrinkling its nose, so foreign that I barely recognized it…hope.

So hold on the promise! The stories are true – that Jesus makes all things new! The dawn is upon you!

I can’t wait to see what this year brings!

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