no time. what a mess.

I have no time.

No time to sit in the quiet and think. No time to put my head down on my desk and be.

No time for stillness.

So you come to me in the night. When my mind won’t shut down. When the baby is in bed with us. When they are in deep sleep and I am staring at the darkness as they snore.

What I’ve done…

I think, I know, I’ve lost myself. Who I was. The quest for goodness. For holiness. I’ve thrown it aside like a used towel. And I haven’t the desire to look back or pick it up.

So here I am. And here you are.

What you said… What you showed me…

When I wasn’t even asking you to, I wasn’t even praying. Or maybe I was.

Just trying to survive. And I took it into my own hands. And you loved me deeply. And you still do. And I’ll probably make the same decision again and it scares me… but I’m okay about it too.

Why don’t they teach this stuff on Sundays? I’m still loved. You still speak. I hope – I don’t want my heart to grow cold to you. I always thought it was all or nothing but I’m human and today, I can’t give you all. I gave some of myself away to the need that we had because I honestly don’t know how to receive from you. Is there a secret you’re keeping? Or maybe I’ve been taught inaccurately about this too. Expectations and things that I don’t understand.

Disappointed in myself, but not beating myself up. Surviving. Yet, you revealed love and dreams and your presence. I’m confused, but blessed.

I love you.

(I listened to this last night, before you showed up strong. It reminds me of what I’m sharing: http://vimeo.com/18884039)

 

 

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Raising the dead or raising the living?

Some words that have stirred my soul up tonight. From a guy named Peter Rollins.

The poet is one who helps us experience life as inscribed with a rich and sensuous texture. She helps us to call forth, confront and confirm our existence. Inviting us to find the courage that might enable us to say “yes” and “Amen” to life in the midst of its complexity and in spite of our anxiety.

In light of this we might begin to understand how a divine miracle is not something that simply raises the dead but one that is able to raise the living to a place where life is not experienced as death. For without the latter the former would appear to be nothing more than the work of an evil demon.

I guess that is why I was never that interested in gods who raise the dead. The real power lies in raising the living: something that is testified to in the act of love.