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The "Festival of Faith and Writing" at Calvin College in Grand Rapids, Michigan is a bi-annual tradition, beloved by writers and readers from around the world.
It is a place to gather for celebrating that which connects us; our faith and the written word. It has become my adult version of the summer camp I attended as a kid. I see dear friends from the past and I make new ones. In this environment, we all share the common appreciation for the work and the soul journey of the writer and we come here to love on each other. It's glorious.

I share with you here, a taste of my favorite memory:

In her first session, as the festival participants were walking in, finding their seats, and getting settled, I looked up and saw this woman reciting a Robert Frost passage into the microphone. I didn't pay much attention to it or to her, until I quickly saw that she had this instant and automatic control of the room. People stopped their bustling around to listen. Frankly, I thought she was just one of the college student volunteers getting the stage ready. When she noticed we were all paying attention to her, she quickly retorted back, "Oh, I'm not saying anything of consequence. I'm just doing a sound check. If you're looking for consequence, I'm not your guy."
We all laughed.
She walked away.
That was it.
I thought nothing of it really other than, "Who is that girl? She's darn funny. Bring her back whoever she is, cuz I'm tiring quickly of listening to a lot of these authors who can't public speak their way out of a, well you know."

So, the session began and that same girl approached the podium.
We were aghast.
It was her.
It was that cute, small, cowboy boot wearin' clever chick who commanded the room when she wasn't even trying to say anything of "consequence". By then, I was glued; hanging on her every word. Now mind you, up until that point, I had never even heard of Kate DiCamillo, let alone read anything she had written. I was just there on a random trip to somewhere else. Turns out, the way God is and how His plan is orchestrated, it wasn't random at all. My being there was a divine appointment. I needed to be there. I needed Kate. I needed the spirit she brought. We all did.

You see, a lot of authors can't public speak.
And, a lot of public speakers can't write.
I'm a trained actor, public speaker, and a school teacher. I'm one of those people who isn't as convinced about what you communicate in writing until you can convince me of the truth when you talk to me. So, I sniff that stuff out right away. Just before her session, I had been in the large assembly listening to one of those best selling authors whose head was so buried in his notes, and whose voice was strikingly similar to a grumbly old man dying of emphysema on his last two breaths, that my patience had worn thin already. And it was only day one.
He was literally singing rows and rows of people to sleep.
Isn't the job of an author to connect with his reader?
Don't you think? This man was worlds away from the possibility. So, when I heard the first utterings from Kate, it was as if I had taken a bath in a cool spring after crossing the finish line of a marathon. I wanted to gather all the authors in the festival and have them sit and watch her, cuz SHE GETS IT.

Her actual speech was concise and brief. You could see she was more interested in talking with us then to us, so she wanted to get the formal part over and done as soon as possible.
I timed her.
About 15 minutes.
And she was done.
Then she opened it up for the infamous Q and A. I rose my hand immediately.
I was compelled to speak. I stood to my feet with an enthusiastic certainty and just paused, looking at her. It was a long pause. I think she thought it was a confrontational pause. I could see her preparing a defense.
Oh no. Not at all. I had to gain my footing to speak my mind as confidently as I was about to speak it. And the only way to get the grounding I needed was to mix the deepest prayer of my heart with a look into her eyes. And let the silence work its magic.
"Turns out, you do have something of consequence to say," I said.
"It is the writer's primary job to connect to the soul of the reader. You have done that. And that unique combination of being able to connect with the spoken as well as the written word is a rare and precious gift. You possess them both. Thank you. I've never even heard of you before, but I'm a reader now. You said more in your self admitted "inconsequence", than many authors and speakers will say in an entire career."
Or something like that.
Maybe a little is lost in the translation, but you get the point.
The tears welled up in her eyes. She didn't seem to want to let herself cry, yet she dearly appreciated what I recognized in her. I wondered what story might be lurking beneath her tenderness. The crowd clapped.
I kept standing there looking at her.
We just let the moment be. It was a kind of balm to all of us.

So, I followed her the rest of the conference. And like the Pied Piper, I brought fence squatters and the marginally impressed to hear her again and stand in her book signing line. During her last speech, which was designed as an interview, I had prepared a speech of my own to deliver, in case she opened the floor up for questions.
And again, I had to speak.
I raised my hand.
She smirked as she saw me waving my arm in the distance.
She called on me.
I was shaking in my cowboy boots. I wear them too.
I knew I was risking a lot to share my heart, but I did it, cuz I had to.
For me, I had to. For her, I had to. For us, I had to.

"I know her," she spoke into the microphone.
Everyone laughed.
And again, I just stood there in the silence, looking at her.
I was going for that footing again.
I wonder what the audience was thinking. Many of the same folks from last time, were sitting there.
I pulled out my tattered copy of "Charlotte's Web" and read the moving quote about Wilbur's gratitude for all that Charlotte had done for him. How he wondered why she did it. Saved his life and all. He didn't really do anything for her. And Charlotte humbly responded, "You have been my friend and that in itself is a tremendous thing."
With the bold assertion that I was standing in the company of a host of people who'd agree with me, I declared that Kate had been that for us. A friend.
Our "souls were lifted a trifle", just like Wilbur's. Just like Charlotte's.
And so I simply spoke the honest to God truth in that vast arena about my raw experience.
I trusted that God would land in the hearts of each of the truths we needed to hear from the gift that Kate had been to us.

Her tears flowed again.
The crowd cheered.
Not really sure what they were cheering about, but I'd like to think it was because I was speaking their mind to her.
I was just being a messenger for all of them... acting on the Lord's guiding to fill the world with beautiful.

I had to rush out to get to an audition, so I grabbed my things to go as soon as I spoke my last word.
The emotion was overwhelming. From me to Kate.
From me to the audience. Maybe from the audience to me. Maybe from Kate to me. I'm not sure. It was just one of those slices of time I will always treasure.
A piece of heaven for all of us.

And here I am.
Back in my house folding laundry, sorting through papers, dreaming about what's next, and living gracefully in what is. And in all of it, my soul is swollen with joy because I kid you not, "it grew two sizes that day".