I think God is smarter than we give him credit for.
We run from failure and pretend to be competent, as if he didn't design life to include guaranteed failure.
We hide our ugly places, as if he never figured out we had them.
We lie to each other, present false versions of ourselves in public, pretending perfection is possible.
We like to fix things and promise to be Saviors when the truth is that we are broken and have not yet been rescued from that.
I talk about God like he's a proposition and forget to talk to him, my closest friend.
I insist on being afraid of things, which is laughable since I know the end of the story.
I tell God I'm waiting for him to write my story. He handed me a crayon and paper at birth, though.
I make excuses for my superiority complex and forget I'm talking to Yahweh Elohim.
God is smarter than we...no, I...give him credit for.
A Wednesday Refrain
It's Wednesday today, the smack-dab-middle of the week; I didn't sleep again last night. Before the sun was up, my spirit was already bent beneath the weight of the day, like the trees under this new snowfall. A silent bearing, a stark remaining. My work is hard. I'm three years in, but there were three years before that, and four before that. Maybe it's not the duration so much as the intensity, the all-of-me that it requires, the vigilance and the attunement and the background-app-refresh of working with complex ideas day in and day out. Being a theologian means pondering the unknowable yet not turning away, almost as if what can't be known urgently must be known. And indeed, it must. Or maybe the hard part is not the work itself, but coming to realize that who I am and what I produce is always going to be at the fringes of my profession. It's a reckoning with loneliness, I suppose. To look around and realize the brightest minds in bioethics are always going...
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