All in On Faith

I would like to be free.

My ego would rather I not write tonight, because truthfully, what I most need to say is that I’m feeling tender and weak and a bit untethered. My ego has always hated the idea that someday, I might look in the mirror and feel compassion for the woman staring back at me, so it tries to keep me from ever looking for too long. My ego would rather I bow down to the gods of production and perfection and certainty.

A prayer for 2019 (and please, hold me to it.)

I wake up on the morning of January 1 feeling a bit achy and like I can’t quite take a deep breath. Staring at the ceiling, I realize that I’m walking into a new year with more questions than answers. Each December, I pause to take inventory of the year that is coming to a close. I think about my core desired feelings and the word I chose to meditate on for the year. My word for 2018 was garden.

On daily bread and the labor of liminal space

I wake up much earlier than I want to on a chilly Tuesday morning, swiping to the left to dismiss my alarm and thus begin my morning routine. I grumble as I trip over our suitcase, still full from a long holiday weekend spent eating copious amounts of leftovers and playing games with family, on my way to the bathroom. Startling myself with the flip of the light switch, I brush away my morning breath and forget to brush my hair again, leaving it in the messy bun from the night before. My phone parrots the latest headlines, stopping me in my tracks, adding to the seemingly endless streak of dizzying chaos and rampant heartache.

Make me a refuge: a Sunday prayer.

Lord, even as you breathe, all of creation breathes in sync. As you stretch out your hand, creation reaches to meet you. May I live out my days in a perpetual posture of reaching out to meet you. 

Lord, even as you are a refuge for the seeking, make me a refuge for the seeking. Even as Christ is bread and wine to me, make my life bread and wine to those who hunger and thirst.