I have been wrestling this year (and several before it, really) with finding anchors for hope in a world, a life, a reality in which it feels illogical and unwise to continue hoping. Much of the journey of healing and unbecoming who I had to be just to survive has been freeing and has released tensions in my life. But the difficulty of holding onto hope as the bondage releases seems to have only increased. As Advent brings it to focus, I see more clearly that the untethering from beliefs that are twisted to fit an earthly narrative is a necessary process. However, it is incomplete without intentionally reconnecting who I am finding myself to be deep within, who I was created to be, to the greater truths that have always existed. In an attempt to dive headlong into the longstanding tradition of Advent this year, I woke this morning and began with some reading instead of moving straight into emails and life. The two things I am planning to follow are “Honest Advent” by Scott Erickson
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I didn't expect this week to be what it has been. Honestly, I'm not even sure how to describe it if you asked... but I feel like today should be Friday because I need a day to recover from the last three days. Unfortunately, that's not reality. I woke up early this morning. The change in season and lingering darkness in the morning has made it increasingly difficult to rouse, and at 6 a.m., my brain thought it was still the middle of the night. I had a headache (that has still not let up as of the writing of this), and I was not looking forward to any of what was to come. After too many days of heaviness, I just wanted to wake up feeling rested. It was not to be. But today started anyway. Work... Life... Past... Future... It has all converged today. The clarity with which things are visible is striking, but it is a lot to hold. It is now 5pm on this Wednesday at the end of September. And as quietly as the completion of my course of study for ordination snuck up on me a f
I’ve been watching the changing of seasons closely this year. So much so that I think I noticed the very first day there was a red leaf on the tree in our backyard. Since that day, they have been increasing in number and decreasing in altitude as they fall to the ground below. The tree is still mostly green. If I hadn’t felt the crispness in the air, I might believe it was just a fluke. But the season is definitely changing, a fact that is supported by the looming autumnal equinox. This weekend officially rings in the beginning of my favorite time of year. When the air gets colder and the colors of fall show up in earnest, I feel like I come to life. By the time we shift to winter, I am ready for the freeze… for things to turn white… for the silence to reset things. Last year at this time, I was all the way around the world. I was on a different continent, experiencing a whole new reality, which was an amazing gift. When I got home, the change had occurred, and life had moved on. Being
I didn’t want to write the paper. I don’t want to spend time proving that I have learned to parrot the harmful rhetoric that I am working so hard to undo in my own mind and to overcome in the path forward... and being graded on how well I can do it. The frustration caused by submitting to a problematic process which has repeatedly done damage in my life has brought up some significant anxiety this past week. It made me feel unsafe in current relationships that have proven to be relatively stable. And it brought up old tapes that have been effectively silenced for some time now. I didn’t want to write the paper. It gets exhausting presenting chunks of myself to people who only want me to reflect themselves back to them. My writing means something to me and I hate intentionally setting it in front of people who could not possibly want to read anything less than what I have to say. I didn’t want to write the paper. Because I keep being told to quote more, or don’t quote at all. To me
In a conversation with a friend earlier this week, they expressed the frustration about their lack of ability to know God in this season of their life. As we were talking, an image flashed through my mind of the differences in how I was taught to see God and how I have come to know him. This is the result of that flash. “It is the journey of a lifetime. And it’s like you’re just coming to a place where you can push back the curtains to see the sun rising as the new day dawns. But it’s okay if you’re still resting for a bit before you get up to do that. In the stillness, God is there. In the silence, you can know him. He is big enough to be all there and strong enough to not need to prove it. What comes to mind is laying in a hotel room after sunrise. You know how dark it can be, except for the rays of light that break through the cracks? The church says look at the light and you’ll see God. Which isn’t exactly wrong, maybe, but it’s a controlled perspective of God. It’s a safe de