Words are wild, violent slippery things; you never know when they might go flying out of control. But if anything, this essay is about losing control, about leaning into the chaos of hope.
Literally just thirteen screenshots of stuff I texted to people this year, presented in no particular order for your amusement and delight.
Then God spoke into the darkness and said “Let there be light.” And not a damn thing happened.
There is space in the big wide world for every piece of you. You deserve the space you take up in this world. Please stay.
This is my tired advent prayer. Fuck this shit indeed. Amen. Which, being translated, means: How long oh Lord?
I still long for SOMETHING to be the Kingdom of God here on earth, but I’m tired of hoping that any sort of thing labeled “Church” will actually be that thing.
did you think this wouldn’t happen? or did you think you could vote for a man who consistently appealed to hatred, xenophobia, and fear mongering and then wash your hands of the results?
I’m still trying to keep my head above the grey here in Minnesota, and there’s a lot of grey.
There are days when it seems like the story of our lives, and of humanity as a whole, lives on a razor’s edge between hope and meaningless annihilation.
I don’t have to be happy every day. Some days it is enough to be simply here.