It is a dream of mine (I have many of those in case you can't quite tell) to live in a community with artful people. And no, I don't mean a commune of painters, writers, musicians, and actors who merely want an excuse to not work. And I don't mean an early 1900's Paris neighborhood with Hemingway, Pound, Moore, Eliot, and Lawrence. I mean a hub of sorts for creative conversation, hospitality in forms of feast, making things, care for creation, music, books and developing ideas that to live as a disciple faithfully means to live in an artful and imaginative way. A community where sound spiritual counsel is readily available. Where coffee conversations take place in a home and not a Starbucks. Where a party is for celebration and not getting wasted. Where academics and the arts are not separate things. Where theology and imagination go hand in hand. Where everybody has a vegetable garden and a compost pile. Where people are looking everyday to be interested in the same things Jesus was interested in. Where our sights and goals are not for the amassing of things, but the advancement of care for hungry, lonely, criminals, strangers, and overlooked. Where music is stripped down and raw. Where nursing homes are scarce. And cemeteries aren't overgrown. Where every day someone wants to know what's going on with that family down the street who's son was arrested the other day. Where every day someone wants to know what happened in Darfur yesterday. Where learning and study are essential and encouraged. Where people can ride bikes all the time for transportation because it's fun. Where we have guests to share our food and couch every day. Where someone else's laughter is always heard in my home.