Ten Minutes in Starbucks

I’m in a Starbucks on the north edge of Minneapolis and I have about ten minutes until I have to leave to pick up the kids from the last day of summer daycamp. Instead of refreshing Twitter in hopes of something other than endless bad news, I decided to take a super basic picture of my cold coffee and write a few words.

I’ve been thinking about anger a lot lately. I see a lot of angry folks, especially coming out of the world of church, and sometimes they apologize for their anger, or their bitterness. This is probably from years of religious conditioning that tells us our anger is a sin, an affront to God, evidence of our wicked human hearts. But I remember my therapist said a few years ago that anger is an appropriate response to when boundaries are violated. So when I see angry folks, or when I feel angry, I try to ask myself: “What a boundary has been violated here?” Turns out, quite a few. Our churches tend to be a bit of dicks about respecting the humanity of the people in the pew, so there’s a lot of anger. And a lot of it is very justified. I could say more about this but my time is half up.

The writing life is full of self doubt and so strong and ever-present is that self doubt it nearly compelled me to erase all these words and click mindlessly around Instagram instead.

“You have nothing to say.”

“Nobody cares.”

“You’re wasting your time.”

The inner critic is cruel and relentless.

And maybe today he’s right; maybe today these words don’t matter because they’re not a grand essay on the human condition or a vulnerable retelling of a treacherous spiritual journey. But the critic doesn’t limit his criticism. Everything is fair game to him, and he is relentless.

Thank you, inner critic, for pushing me to do my best. Also, fuck off.

I don’t know what you believe about the inspiration of Scripture (I’ve come to believe that it’s a God-inspired record of how people have grappled with the understanding of the Divine throughout history, with varying degrees of wrongness)

I don’t know what you believe about the inspiration of Scripture, but it’s funny to imagine the inner critic that plagues writers plaguing God when God was composing the Bible.

God sits at a very old typewriter and begins “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth” and then God is hit by a wave of self-doubt and thinks “This is terrible. Nobody is going to read this shit.”

I’m going to be chuckling about that mental picture for the rest of the afternoon.

Ten Minutes in Starbucks

August 17, 2018 | 2 minute read

starbucks

I’m in a Starbucks on the north edge of Minneapolis and I have about ten minutes until I have to leave to pick up the kids from the last day of summer daycamp. Instead of refreshing Twitter in hopes of something other than endless bad news, I decided to take a super basic picture of my cold coffee and write a few words.

I’ve been thinking about anger a lot lately. I see a lot of angry folks, especially coming out of the world of church, and sometimes they apologize for their anger, or their bitterness. This is probably from years of religious conditioning that tells us our anger is a sin, an affront to God, evidence of our wicked human hearts. But I remember my therapist said a few years ago that anger is an appropriate response to when boundaries are violated. So when I see angry folks, or when I feel angry, I try to ask myself: “What a boundary has been violated here?” Turns out, quite a few. Our churches tend to be a bit of dicks about respecting the humanity of the people in the pew, so there’s a lot of anger. And a lot of it is very justified. I could say more about this but my time is half up.

The writing life is full of self doubt and so strong and ever-present is that self doubt it nearly compelled me to erase all these words and click mindlessly around Instagram instead.

“You have nothing to say.”

“Nobody cares.”

“You’re wasting your time.”

The inner critic is cruel and relentless.

And maybe today he’s right; maybe today these words don’t matter because they’re not a grand essay on the human condition or a vulnerable retelling of a treacherous spiritual journey. But the critic doesn’t limit his criticism. Everything is fair game to him, and he is relentless.

Thank you, inner critic, for pushing me to do my best. Also, fuck off.

I don’t know what you believe about the inspiration of Scripture (I’ve come to believe that it’s a God-inspired record of how people have grappled with the understanding of the Divine throughout history, with varying degrees of wrongness)

I don’t know what you believe about the inspiration of Scripture, but it’s funny to imagine the inner critic that plagues writers plaguing God when God was composing the Bible.

God sits at a very old typewriter and begins “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth” and then God is hit by a wave of self-doubt and thinks “This is terrible. Nobody is going to read this shit.”

I’m going to be chuckling about that mental picture for the rest of the afternoon.

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