Idle and Blessed

She is just as needy as I am. She is just as hungry as I am. She is just as helpless as I am. So, she’s my kitten. That’s that. She’s also the person I used to be. She lives with excitement in her eyes. She’s also everyone I can’t love because they are too much for me. She smothers me. She’s needy. She needs everything from me at all hours of the day. She knows no boundaries. And should she? She’s a baby. She sees no separation yet between herself and me. I can’t accept people like that. It’s very hard for me to extend compassion and patience to those who don’t allow me my independence. Very hard for me to care for someone who smothers. And yet, I’m her mother. We make it, day by day. It’s a spiritual exercise for me in not killing the things that make me angry. Not pushing away the things that are needy toward me. Not choosing when to give love and when to withhold it. It is therapy to take care of something so helpless when you’re helpless y...

I hope you find what you're looking for someday.

"She's a real good cat, loves to play!" I was kneeling, my body inches from the concrete, looking up at her as I tried my best to operate an air compressor. Jenny was leaving for St. Louis and we were filling her tires with air, preoccupied with PSI numbers and the man who tried to come to our rescue but knew less about tire pressure than I did. "Oh...where'd you find her?" I keep filling the tire. 30 PSI to go. "I didn't find her, I had her since she was born. But I can't keep her no more..." And we're at a gas station, no less. I forget about the tire and stand up, crossing the six foot gap between us. A half second later I'm standing with a gray fur ball in my hands. Not sure how that happened, but somehow I knew it was already too late. "I have to leave her here, can't take her with me. You want her?" the lady mumbles. "Um, ok, well...I guess I can take her. I mean, I want her, sure....

I cry hard, laugh loud. I'm humble, I stand proud. I hold onto my faith with all my heart. I'm careful, I'm brave. I'm still, but don't stay in any one place for too long. I remember God's grace, I give more than I take. I let love break my heart. And all of this, I wish for you. {lyrics: Jessica Andrews}

I don't understand how God works. I sit on the asphalt under a streetlight and Sarah holds me together, picking up the pieces. I drive my car slow, with the windows down to feel the 35 degree air. I lay down with my kitten next to me and she sleeps the day away. It's not my job to understand. I skip some classes and drink coffee, thanking God the sun exists. I take more time than usual to talk to good friends in quiet voices. I do what I need to do, then I run a few miles or eight.  I cannot reconcile ultimate things. I check twitter a thousand times each day. I don't wait for God to speak from the sky; I notice the hidden things. I burn incense and walk dogs in the rain, and I speak when I have something to say. The trees are red and the sky is blue and sometimes the windows fog up at night. Winter is coming. It's Jesus' job to reconcile. I am a new creature every day yet also the same. I feel everything and know nothing. Experien...

The storm is coming but I don't mind People are dying, I close my blinds All that I know is I'm breathing now I want to change the world Instead I sleep I want to believe in more than you and me But all that I know is I'm breathing All I can do is keep breathing All we can do is keep breathing now All that I know is I'm breathing All I can do is keep breathing. All we can do is keep breathing  All we can do is keep breathing All we can do is keep breathing All we can do is keep breathing All we can do is keep breathing All we can do is keep breathing now -Ingrid Michaelson

The great Paul Tillich is not my best friend. I don't read his theology much for fun. But the words below move me, and for once I walk away from Tillich refreshed... Grace strikes us when we are in great pain and restlessness. It strikes us when we walk through the dark valley of a meaningless and empty life. It strikes us when we feel that our separation is deeper than usual, because we have violated another life, a life which we loved, or from which we were estranged. It strikes us when our disgust for our own being, our indifference, our weakness, our hostility, and our lack of direction and composure have become intolerable to us. It strikes us when, year after year, the longed-for perfection of life does not appear, when the old compulsions reign within us as they have for decades, when despair destroys all joy and courage. Sometimes at that moment a wave of light breaks into our darkness, and it is as though a voice were saying: “You are accepted. You are accepted, acc...

Fall is the best time of year. I won't listen to any objections about this; it just is. It's sunny and crisp and revitalized and cozy. Driving long distances seems more like a hobby than drudgery, with the windows cracked and new music on the radio and the peaceful feeling of knowing things are slowing down for the winter. In the fall I am much more aware of beauty, but I can't explain why. The smells of cinnamon and pumpkin, the sight of candles burning, the feel of soft sweaters and the still-slightly-warm sun...everything catches my attention in a way that's so different from other times of year. But the thing that grabs me most often in autumn is the colors on the trees. The yellow ones. You know, the ones you just stare at because you can't believe they're that yellow? I run by them and under them. And I look up into them and almost can't take it in, because when I look away again I never remember quite how yellow they are. And so every tree ha...

There are types of weather and types of places and certain musical genres that lend themselves to creativity, and I've been around none of them lately. But when I settle into my chair by the window in room 400, where we sometimes go for Psychology of Religion class, and Dr. Curtis starts to read his poems for the day, I close my eyes and remember I was made to create. I write. It's not the primary thing I do, but I write. And I've had plenty of blog posts stirring in me this semester that haven't made their way into my fingers simply because the primary things have been demanding. Work at the studio. Homework for sociology. Reading entire books in a day for Colloquium. Translating the book of Jonah. On to Job. Applying to 5 Divinity Schools. Visiting McAfee with Mom and interviewing for a merit scholarship with THE David Gushee. Running races. Training for next season. Writing a couple papers per week. You get the picture. But then there's the moments of cla...