Currently.

Yesterday morning, the sun finally came out of hiding after what felt like 84 years of rainy blur. I volunteer to lead our little church’s peace passing rhythm, sharing what has been growing in me over the last few weeks: the beautiful truth that we who have been marked by Jesus may live freely and without accusation. I remember the story of a son who comes home and a dad who has been waiting for him, and I try to remember that this freedom is for me, too.

Currently.

We meet on a cold and rainy Saturday, praying through liturgy and psalms and inviting Father, Son, and Holy Spirit to have their way in our hearts and minds. We laugh together, and we cry together, and I try to scribble down all the beautiful, holy moments, but there are too many. We are living the mystery together, and it is not lost on my heart how very far I’ve come to arrive at this moment. It is not lost on my heart how very far I still have to go.

The truth & beauty of staying in the process.

Towards the end of 2018, I heard many people saying that the year had actually felt like five. I found myself nodding, thinking about the roads that my dear friends and I have traveled over the last several months. Some of us still feel neck deep in uncertain waters, circumstances we would not have chosen if life had bothered to ask. There are so many situations where I wish I could snap my fingers or wave a magic wand and set things right side up again.

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.

Goals + nongoals for 2019.

Last year, I did something a little crazy and took a page from Erin Loechner’s blog, Design for Mankind. For the past handful of years, rather than sharing traditional resolutions for the upcoming year, she shared a list of things that she was proud of in the current year and didn’t have any plans to change. Needless to say, I fell head over heels in love with that idea and made my own list last year. Now, I’m continuing the tradition for 2018.

Currently.

On the heels of a busy week that left me feeling like a jumbled mess of contradictions, I meet my friend Julie for breakfast and honesty. We’ve been talking about spiritual gifts recently, something that, despite growing up in a church tradition that holds the Holy Spirit in high esteem, I’ve never had much education on. Julie is curious and kind and will stop at nothing to encourage and affirm what is good and true. I tell her that I’ve been trying to remember that God would not have made me with all of this empathy and introversion and sensitivity and hunger for justice if he couldn’t connect with me this way, and she wholeheartedly agrees.

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.