God picked a hell of a week to show up. Continue reading
I hadn’t really intended for my last post to end on such a sour note. When I began writing, I thought I would be able to wrap things up with a pretty bow. You know; neat and tidy. Looking back, that seems patently ridiculous. Our spiritual lives change. Sometimes they’re verdant forests. Others, dry deserts. Right now, mine is a swamp. That’s not a value judgment– each locale can teach you something different. Forests teach you to forage for truth. Deserts teach you to thrive on very little. And swamps? I haven’t quite figured out what swamps are good for.
Paint has this spirituality that I’m so envious of. She’s in touch with her heart and her body, so she follows them. They whisper truths in her ear and she accepts them humbly and without fanfare. Her feet say “Dear God,” and her hands say “Amen.” She lives inside a song to a God she can’t name.
And then there’s me. I was trained from an early age that God must be sought. You read the books, learn the things, say the words, and if you mean it just the right way, maybe God will show up. Does that sound hard? It is, but don’t worry, we’ll turn the music up really loud during worship service so it’ll totes feel like God is all up in the joint. Jock Jams for Jesus. Continue reading
My life is exactly what I always wanted it to be. Of that I’m proud. Pen and I just spent the holiday weekend at the beach. The trip was a complete whim, beginning with an innocuous text instigated by wanderlust. It’s nice to be able to just pick up and go, a luxury we know has almost neared its expiration as we crawl closer toward the decision to be parents. Continue reading
I think it began when I finally came to the conclusion that God doesn’t answer prayers. I had spent a life time before that learning that God prefers solitude over a good chat. If God doesn’t communicate with us, if he doesn’t have any bearing on the events in our lives… Then what good is he? What does believing in him accomplish? Continue reading