Showing posts from October, 2010

Mealplans and Denial and Prayer

Today my Sunday school class was talking about prayer. We do this every week this semester, an hour on Sunday mornings after we've all worshipped together, all of us in a room to talk and listen and to pray. And today I was thinking about two things as we discussed the Lord's Prayer and why we don't pray as we ought to, why we don't ask for our daily bread and why we don't beg Him for His Kingdom to come. About why I don't. Mealplans. Denial. First, mealplans. This summer almost every weekend I stayed somewhere different. Every place I went was good, but every place was strange and different. Different families. A different bed. A different road to get there. A different church. A different way back to the next week of work, the next week of camp. I like routine. I like knowing my schedule, and being able to move within it as I please, to disappear when I want and return when I want, to know the lay of the land and where to run into certain people. I like


These days, I'm thinking about grace. I'm working on developing a character named Gras Chwerthin -- grace-to-laugh. I'm praying for more grace in my life, because I'll often say words fast and sarcastic, or unthinkingly, and not make sure that they all point to him. I love songs that speak of grace. Right now, especially Lifehouse's Breathing . Last year I had them hung on a wall in my room. This year they just echo in my head. I'm finding my way back to sanity, again Though I don't really know what I am gonna do when I get there Take a breath and hold on tight Spin around one more time And gracefully fall back in the arms of grace I am hanging on every word you say And even if you don't want to speak tonight That's alright, alright with me 'Cause I want nothing more than to sit Outside Heaven's door and listen to you breathing Is where I want to be I am looking past the shadows Of my mind into the truth and I'm trying to identify The

Older Sisters

It's almost three hours we've been talking for now, three hours that stretched long and hard, me silenced and unsure of what to say. The hours stretched over two days, over a table with benches and a bridge that we dangled feet and shoes off of, a pavilion and a bench and now a bench in a shelter, watching rain come down, or the possibility of it coming. I don't remember which it was, now. It seems like it should be raining and grey. The stories are all broken and weary, and I look at her face when I dare and marvel at the wrongness of it. She's barely the age of my youngest brother, and this all hurts for so many reasons, but her face and her voice say that she doesn't let it hurt, not any more. I guess that I wouldn't either. I still wonder how we connected, why she decided that I'd be the one she'd talk to there. Because when I thought back on it, I realized that she had been my small shadow even in the days before I especially noticed her. And

Why I Do What I Do.

We slammed our bodies into seats, backpacks onto the floor, all in a rush of exchanging last minute greetings and reminders before our test in Augustine today. Hey! How're you doing? and Epistemic authority is someone who knows what they're talking about, moral authority is one that lives it out -- to be a good authority you have to be both. And I got teasing about not being at the Reformed Campus Ministry presentation last night -- yes, I hung signs for it, yes, I ran into some of the guys coming out from it, and yes, I was doing something else. Keith turned to shut up both me and Matt as we semi-argued about it. "I know how to get her there, how to make sure that she comes." "No, you don't," I said. "Yes, I do," he insisted. "Nuhuh." He grinned. "I'll get Professor Miller to come speak..." There was a second while my brain thought of our humanities professor -- who I loved -- but it's hardly failsafe. Then

Not-Real and Real

Lately I've been listening to a lot of music by Sandra McCracken. At first listen, her music does not always have the most polished sound. Or something. I'm sort of an atrocious music critic, because what sells me is the same thing that sells me on a movie: the story. And her songs have story. I've especially been appreciating her song Lock and Key . You can hold your world inside You can scream out loud Or you can fight these enemies And kid fears tonight if you want to You can drive your car out to L.A. You can lose yourself just to make your way You can change your mind Or change your name if you want to But you're under lock and key All by yourself And sometimes you just need somebody else I cannot read your complex mind I can't understand All the reasons why But if you let me in, I can try if you want me to And I can say I'm sorry if you wanna hear it It might be too little too late, my dear I can't take back the pain of all those years, but I want