Some Peace for Today

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I think we’re all a bit exhausted from the events of last week. I am tired of thinking about it, writing through it, arguing over it, defending myself, losing myself and dwelling in it– it is turning into a full-time job, really. And although the Bible is a wonderful place to look to in times like these, as you’re packing your bags and heading off into the wilderness to explore the rest of Christianity, I instead rest my head in the story of Maya Angelou. I came across this passage yesterday, and in that moment, I found calmness of heart. In that moment, I felt God drawing near.

 

From the memoir of Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,

 

“One evening after going to bed normally, I awoke to another kind of shaking. In the blunted light through the window shade I saw my mother kneeling by my bed. She brought her face close to my ear.

“Ritie,” she whispered, “Ritie. Come, but be very quiet.” Then she quietly rose and left the room. Dutifully and in a haze of ponderment I followed. Through the half-open kitchen door the light showed Bailey’s pajamaed legs dangling from the covered bathtub. The clock on the dining-room table said 2:30. I had never been up at that hour.

I looked Bailey a question and he returned a sheepish gaze. I knew immediately that there was nothing to fear. Then I ran my mind through the catalogue of important dates. It wasn’t anybody’s birthday or April Fool’s Day or Halloween, but it was something.

Mother closed the kitchen door and told me to sit beside Bailey. She put her hands on her hips and said we had been invited to a party.

Was that enough to wake us up in the middle of the night! Neither of us said anything.

She continued, “I am giving a party and you are my honored and only guests.”

She opened the oven and took out a pan of her crispy brown biscuits and showed us a pot of milk chocolate on the back of the stove. There was nothing for it but to laugh at our beautiful and wild mother. When Bailey and I started laughing, she joined in, except that she kept her finger in front of her mouth to try to quiet us.

We were served formally, and she apologized for having no orchestra to play for us but said she’d sing as a substitute. She sang and did the Time Step and the Snake Hips and the Suzy Q. What child can resist a mother who laughs freely and often, especially if the child’s wit is mature enough to catch the sense of the joke?”

 

Find rest today in the God that shakes you awake in the middle of the night because you’re the honored guest of Her party. Crow along with her, in the songs of freedom and redemption, in the new way she is stomping and the old ways she is still teaching. In the starless night, She is still hard at work. She is listening. She is mourning for the things your mourning for, but also, She is celebrating, and laughing, just because She’s so happy your beloved, treasured self is here, at Her table, at last.

 

Rest in Her and be Blessed today.

When World Vision Drops Me

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I got the news that World Vision had reversed its’ policy on employing gay and lesbians right after I got done with work. I was outside the school where I aid elementary age kids, special needs kids, and though I sometimes struggle with feelings of inadequacy in my job, I am actually a pretty awesome paraprofessional. Turns out, I’m pretty great at caring for kids in need.

 

And I was in my car when I got the news and I sped away, lest any of my little guys climbing the bus would see me, should I start to cry.

 

Before I headed home where I would find my mom, on the phone with another mom of a gay kid, telling her, “We will not respond the way they did. I refuse to be like them. We will be like Jesus, instead.” Before I got the text message from my brother, a very simple and needed, “I Love You.” I pulled over and parked in a vacant lot.

 

I turned off my ignition and I didn’t cry. I just sat there. Breathing. Stunned and struck by betrayal and pain and anger, wave after wave of it, and I couldn’t form a coherent thought or calm my heart. But in the midst of it, a memory came to me of a conversation I once had with Jay Bakker.

 

Jay, if you don’t know of him, was born into Christian Royalty. His parents were televangelists and their faces were amongst the most well-known and adored in Christian culture. Then the scandal. His dad had an affair, resigned, and then went to prison for fraud, leading Christians to banish the Bakker family outright. And for years, Jay would never step foot in a church.

 

Jay and I bonded over coffee in our shared experiences of feeling orphaned by the faith that raised us. And we also bonded over a shared hero, a man who, in a very real way, saved us.

 

That man is Brennan Manning. I will say it today and tomorrow and every day for the rest of my life that no one has left a larger impression on my faith than this man. Besides Jesus, he is the one I am most looking forward to meet in Heaven.

 

Jay was also swept off his feet by the Ragamuffin himself, and when Jay was set to publish his first big book, Son of a Preacher Man, Brennan agreed to write the forward. It was Jay’s dream come true.

 

Not long after, Jay heard from a representative of Brennan that he decided to pull out. He was afraid of the backlash he might receive by associating with the Bakker family. To this day, Jay says that that was the greatest let down, it left him completely disillusioned.

 

Don’t idolize your heroes, he told me. They will inevitably let you down. They’re human, too.

 

Years later, Jay was asked to pen an endorsement of Brennan’s book, and in the years between, they built a relationship based on forgiveness and trust and love. There was restoration. And Jay was brimming over with grace.

 

What Brennan had done was deny the Jesus in Jay. What he did was wrong and unfair and deeply hurtful. He ditched Jay when Jay most needed him, ran straight off the road off the gospel.

 

And yet, at the same time, in the Midwest, a teenager was reading Brennan’s books and his life would never be the same. A teenager would read these words, “God loves you just as you are and not as you should be.” And it would be enough, just that line, to give me the strength to move forward.

 

Though I understand that World Vision essentially had a gun to its head after evangelical leaders incited a mass backlash of dropped funds, it doesn’t make what they did right. Their reversal hurts more than anything I read from the evangelicals ranting. It was the kiss of Judas. And in the end, this was simply wrong and ungodly and deeply defeating.

 

I read Richard Stearns apology to conservatives through gritted teeth, because it is that bad. Richard Stearns, the man I praised the other day, disqualified me in a way against serving alongside him, and begged the forgiveness from those like Graham, Burk, Moore and Piper. And it does really hurt, this abrupt abandonment, this puncture of what was so much hope and pride and encouragement. Suddenly, reversed.

 

But, and not many years ago, it was Richard Stearns who shook up my faith in the best possible way. I read his book The Hole in Our Gospel, twice, and I recommended it to every person I knew. It was and still is one of the best Christian books I have ever read.

 

And who can understand the vehemence of yesterday upon him and his? Who can completely throw out he, Stearns, who left a life of luxury, to serve the world’s poor? Who can deny that World Vision is a rarity in Christianity, a group of folks whose sole purpose is to give the gospel hands and feet, bringing bread and water and mercy? Who can look at those pictures of kids being fed, of kids writing letters, those going to school and becoming kingdom builders themselves and write off an organization that is doing such beautiful work?

 

The truth is, friends, I am sitting in a coffee shop and writing this, and my teeth are still gritted, because I am writing things I am not feeling. But I believe, wholeheartedly, that there will come a day when I will. I know I will.

 

And when it comes to forgiveness, I take something like that very seriously. If it’s not flowing through my veins, then it’s not really there and I refuse to pretend it is. So I’ll say it true, as it is, right now:

 

I am not ready to forgive those that held starving children as ransom because of who I am and I am not ready to forgive Richard Stearns for this profoundly deep betrayal. I am not ready to forgive either of them for the devastating message they have sent to gay children everywhere.

 

But I can do grace. I can reach into the deep pockets of all that I have left and let it be a balm on my heart, let it tend to me until that moment comes when, as Anne Lamott says, “it finally becomes unimportant that you hit back.” I can give and give and give even as I’m pissed off and hurt because although they don’t deserve this, neither do I.

 

And my rage isn’t wrong, because this isn’t right. And so I will channel it all into doing my job here as a blogger, as a believer, loving gay kids and talking about the Jesus that wouldn’t change them for the world.

 

And though a Christian nonprofit embracing me, if just for a moment, is quite an event of subversion, I know in my own little world, the most radical act I can take is to say this: Yes, I love Jesus, too, and you’re my brother, and the Love of God makes us both enough.  It might be offensive to you, infuriating perhaps, it might even tempt you into dropping a kid off the face of the earth and blame it on me, but here’s the truth:

 

My chains are gone. I’ve been set free. My God my savior, has ransomed me.

 

And like a flood, his mercy reigns, unending love, amazing grace. 

When Evangelicals Turn Against Children to Spite Me

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On the Moberg couch this evening, my mom was scrolling through her news app and saw the announcement that World Vision was now hiring gay married people.

 

“That’s so great!” She said.

 

“Pretty brave,” my dad added.

 

And for a moment, I thought, I should write a piece defending the decision, because they might get backlash… but wait, no, evangelicals wouldn’t go there. How could they?

 

And perhaps it was this assumption that left me blindsided by the likes of the Gospel Coalition, Franklin Graham, John Piper, and Russell Moore.

 

This isn’t a carefully edited a post, nor a pretty one. It is a stream of consciousness. My feelings that are erupting out of my heart right now.

 

I’ve been sitting in a swell of sad for a couple hours, because this is what I’m hearing: No, you aren’t even worthy to serve hungry children. You are so deeply unwanted that I will let a child die if it keeps you away from me. From us. From the body of Christ. I will spare no life if it keeps you far away.

 

I don’t know how to explain how crushing and infuriating this is. Could words describe this night of speaking the truth over myself: God is love, Jesus is love, This I know is true. Can I even express what it feels like to know that my existence is the reason children are losing their livelihoods? Possibly dying? Falling from protection and into the hands of trafficking?

 

No and I shouldn’t have to.

 

I am tired, friends, so tired of being hit. I am tired of being the most galvanizing symbol for evangelical Christians. It is awaking a lot of old demons in me and the stab feels so much deeper when it’s your own faith attacking you. But who am I kidding? It is usually my own faith attacking me. And I am now at a breaking point, as I am sure is true for many others.

 

I’m done with evangelicalism.

 

I am done being patient with Piper.

I am done pretending I can engage with the SBC.

I am done hoping Franklin ends up more like his dad.

I am done listening to Denny Burk and his blowhards at the Gospel Coalition.

I am done with each and every one of the tweeters out there bragging about dropping their sponsorship of a child in need, just because they hate me.

 

I am done fleeing from and returning to this perpetually abusive house of faith. I am stopping the cycle. I am empty of strength.

 

And I am clinging closer to Jesus than ever before.

 

Thank God our God is our God.

 

Often when I am blindsided by blog posts and vicious tweets, a part of me starts to mistake it all for the voice of God. I start panicking, start clutching my heart, and the old lies of you’re a mistake and ya, God hates you come crawling up from their graves. But then the guard of grace wakes up and bats the monsters away. That guard, of course, is Jesus.

 

“As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you.” John 15:9

 

I’ve told you all this so that trusting me, you will be unshakable and assured, deeply at peace. In this godless world you will continue to experience difficulties. But take heart! I’ve conquered the world.” John 16:33 (MSG)

 

“You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.

“You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.

“You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are—no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.

“You’re blessed when you’ve worked up a good appetite for God. He’s food and drink in the best meal you’ll ever eat.

“You’re blessed when you care. At the moment of being ‘care-full,’ you find yourselves cared for.

“You’re blessed when you get your inside world—your mind and heart—put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.

“You’re blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That’s when you discover who you really are, and your place in God’s family.

10 You’re blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God’s kingdom.

11-12 “Not only that—count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens—give a cheer, even!—for though they don’t like it, I do! And all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company. My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble.” Matthew 5:3-12 (MSG)

 

And now Paul comes in like a brother:

 

“None of this fazes us because Jesus loves us. I’m absolutely convinced that nothing—nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable—absolutely nothing can get between us and God’s love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us.” Romans 8:38-39 (MSG)

 

And why not, my favorite passage of scripture:

 

My beloved spoke and said to me,
    “Arise, my darling,
    my beautiful one, come with me.

11 

See! The winter is past;
    the rains are over and gone.

12 

Flowers appear on the earth;
    the season of singing has come,
the cooing of doves
    is heard in our land.

13 

The fig tree forms its early fruit;
    the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.
Arise, come, my darling;
    my beautiful one, come with me.” Song of Songs 2:10-13

 

And of course, let’s let Brennan Manning take the floor too:

 

My life is a witness to vulgar grace- a grace that amazes as it offends. A grace that pays the eager beaver who works all day long the same wages as the grinning drunk who shows up at ten til five. A grace that hikes up the robe and runs breakneck towards the prodigal reeking of sin and wraps him up and decides to throw a party no ifs, ands or buts. A grace that raises bloodshot eyes to a dying thief’s request- “Please, remember me”- and assures him, “You bet!” A grace that is the pleasure of the Father, fleshed out in the carpenter Messiah, Jesus Christ, who left His Father’s side not for heaven’s sake but for our sakes, yours and mine. This vulgar grace is indiscriminate compassion. It works without asking anything of us. It’s not cheap. It’s free, and as such will always be a banana peel for the orthodox foot and a fairy tale for the grown up sensibility. Grace is sufficient even though we huff and puff with all our might to try to find something or someone it cannot cover. Grace is enough. He is enough. Jesus is enough.

 

And thank God for Richard Stearns, a man whose book, the Hole in Our Gospel, dramatically, beautifully, reassembled my faith. Thank God for this man who, when the gatekeepers deny, thrusts open the door and pulls up a chair. Who walks in the love of Jesus in all spheres of life.

 

Thank God. Thank God. Thank God.

 

Thank God for the constancy of the sun and the fleetingness of the storm.

 

Amen.

Understanding My “Call”

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At the YMCA, I am on the third mile. It’s a Thursday night and way too cold outside, not that I ever run outdoors. I much prefer it in here- I can read and the hum of thumping feet provides it’s own kind of quiet. Typically, I pick a treadmill that is isolated, away from any neighboring runners, because it makes me feel more comfortable and relaxed, less cramped by others’ breathing and odor, their occasional spray of sweat.

 

I’m on the final mile when out of the corner of my left eye, I see him, stepping onto the treadmill, carrying the same hefty weight and cheap glasses. And it’s not like I can pretend I don’t see him.

 

He’s the dad of a close friend from high school. He was the parent other parents resented. He was, plain and simple, the worst.

 

In high school, he bought us all beer, fed us cigarettes, and made sure to look away whenever someone pulled out a joint. Most nights, he just sat around the bonfire spitting slurs at each of us, boozing himself into oblivion. Dad of the YEAR. 

 

When we first trade glances, we both let out overly loud laughs and begin the how are ya?, and then small talk, chatting and chatting, until he gets to the Standard Operating Question:

 

So what have YOU been DOING these past few years?

 

Wandering, I say. Randomly, I think.

 

I vaguely explain my months in Kosovo where I chased a dream and became a cynic. How I came home, took a job as a paraprofessional at a local high school and then grew restless. In defiance of mediocrity, I packed my bags and sped across the country to DC, boomeranging back three months later.

 

He nods absentmindedly and starts telling me about my friend, his son, who was just promoted at work and is now taking in six digits- a corner office as a perk! He adds without eye contact, you’ll figure it out soon enough. I smile not even surprised.

 

It’s a quintessential question of life, Calling. Where are you going? Where have you gone? What are you building with your degree, with your intellect, with your hunger for life. How are you becoming the man you were always meant to be?

 

It’s a loaded question pointed with high expectations. And I feel incapable of answering it these days. Unsure of where to start.

 ~ ~ ~

When I was kindergarten, I have a colorful memory of telling Mrs. Robertson that when I grew up, I wanted to be an Owl. A year later, it was a Vet. And then a Journalist. A Scientist. A Pediatrician. A Sports Agent. And just about every other card in the Game of Life, until I turned twelve and my world shifted beneath me. Aware of my brokenness, my unloveliness, my sole purpose in life centered on my own healing. On becoming Straight. Being Changed.

 

I saw the Happy Ever After being told as a great redemption story. A boy is broken, but then fixed, made whole, and then, at long last, Loved, by God and by everyone.

 

My identity wrapped tightly around being changed, so much so that when that didn’t happen, I went ahead with the call anyway. I let myself fall and shatter that I might put myself back together again. A bizarre sort of psychology that I’m sure has no name.

 

I took up smoking in high school so that I could quit. I drank and drank and drank, shoplifted, rolled joints, as a way of writing my own story. Sketching a before I could speak about, an after I could feel. A way I could fit in with all the other believers turning away from themselves and up to the Lord.

 

In college, I declared Political Science my major and making Public Policy my dream. I wanted to take down and fix the broken things of our world: Starvation, Poverty, Prison Reform and, my greatest love, “The Energy Crisis.” I wanted to be a fixer, a doer, a world changer. I wanted to be significant.

 

Or at least, that’s what I thought that was.

 

I actually needed to change the world because I could not change myself. I could not pray away the gay. I was so wired for change that I took up smoking so I could stop and I took up politics so I could win. And then I grew defensive and distant. I became a lightening rod. I stared out at everyone in judgment while I quietly built my case, throwing out a hundred prickly opinions that burst like claymores should anyone try to get close. That they might look only at my anger or not look at me at all.

 

It was a platinum-made, perfectly constructed closet.

 

But then, in October 2011, I came out to my family and it was like the world unwrapped new. I felt a lifted weight and the world seemed foreign, and in the following months, nothing made much sense anymore.

 

I tried throwing myself back into the change passions, but they felt wrong somehow. I traveled to Kosovo to fix the nation’s electric grid, only to find out I hated research, and Energy Policy. I then fled to DC, my haven, only to find out I actually wanted no part in the political games. Both times, when I came home, I sunk deep into a fog of uncertainty.

 

The old dreams of significance, of making up for, of being enough, no longer fit this Out man who now knows he was loved all along. He was wholly enough. His value was set by nails on a cross. Inside a promise of never leaving nor forsaking.

 

Today, I work in a job that drains me, and I live with my parents. I am unsure of my calling and I am constantly feeling inadequate to my bankrolling peers. But grace is abounding and a balm to my journey. My start was complicated, perhaps unfair, sure, but I am learning about the God of do-overs. The God that doesn’t always point out the direction, but says go anyway. Jump. Fall. Crash. Climb. Walk, and I’ll make a way.

 

At church, Pastor Pagitt asks us all, in the spirit of Lent, to grab our own wrists in each hand, like their shackles. He says, “Quietly, to yourself, give up what you need to be free from. And then let go.”

 

Down to my dog-tired heart, I whisper, you are free of this. I unbind you from expectation, from financial success, from the life you’ve always thought you were supposed to live. You are free, go.

 

And so I go.

My Cause For Hope (the next generation)

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If you have an issue, as I do, with being pressed down by the prevalence of pain in the world, and the hopelessness of it, then you know about the shadow over our schools. Teachers have been laid off and budgets slashed. Free and reduced lunches have been gutted, test scores are in the can, along with the morale, which is barely there. And that’s nothing to say of the guns. The fear. Of the kids turned into killers. The uncertainty of the security system. Of invasions from strangers out of sickness or political radicalism or the faceless force we’ve simply called Evil.

 

It is scary and difficult and too much for me to dwell over. Ironically, this is also where I work.

 

In the Christian culture that raised me, I was often told that the plight of our schools was the effect of secularism. I have heard the evangelical leaders talk of how violence came in when prayer was taken out, along with the Bible, and creationism studies. And that’s because, they say, God left. His hand of protection, lifted. His attention, turned elsewhere. He’s gone, because He will not go where he is not wanted. He’s gone, and it’s all our fault.

 

I admit, I’ve resonated with their feelings, that God isn’t here. Not the causes of it, which are despicably political. But sometimes, I just look at the lives of these kids and it just feels so aimless and random, devoid of a great purpose tying it altogether. Like they’re really on their own. And we are on our own. And you can’t help but wonder where the Great Redeemer is when it keeps collapsing over and over like this. I always do.

 

But then in a in a fourth grade classroom, he showed up, and the moment lit me with hope.

 

I’ve long known, and been deeply proud of, our school’s commitment to combat bullying. Covering the hallway walls are posters, made by staff and students, with messages like, “let’s keep this a Bully-Free-Zone” along with others calling for kindness and unity and the Golden Rule. Rainbows and corner suns and stick figures shaking hands.

 

Over the past few years, there has been a change rippling across the playground culture of our country. We know that shame is trauma and it lasts forever. I’ve met adult men and women who can still hear the hoots and taunts, the hits and humiliation, the way it took only one slur to their still small hearts to leave them limping well into their thirties.

 

And knowing what I know from those stories and the animal wild that is school, I wondered how well our students were receiving these messages. Whether they had any effect at all.

 

In a fourth grade classroom, the teacher dives into the topic of bullying. She opens up the conversation to the class and arms nearly leap out their sockets. Excited. Unashamed. Passionate.

 

“I was bullied and it was hard and I had to talk to my mom and my teacher and we figured out how to make it stop. And things have gotten so much better!”

 

“I don’t know why kids are so mean. When I see someone hurting someone else, I always say something.”

 

“My little brother paints his nails sometimes and he gets picked on for it.”

 

“Heck- I do that sometimes! Who cares!”

 

I sat in the classroom because I am an aide to a boy with special needs. We sit together everyday at lunch and whenever we do this, I remember so clearly when I was his age. I remember seeing the special ed kids sitting lonely, being snickered about in the atmosphere that is the cafeteria.

 

But when him and I sit down, I am nearly edged off the end of the bench. I watch. I see kids that speak to my kid gently, without belittling him- which is so very rare- especially for fourth graders. They understand that he sometimes needs to be explained to a little more slowly, with more general words, a straighter tone, but they never talk to him like he’s a baby. They don’t coddle him like he’s a pet.

 

They want to be his friend because he’s funny and he’s nice and above all else, human.

 

This is a generation with an emotional maturity beyond their years. It comes so natural to them, as if it is all the way down in the bars of their DNA: Seek kindness, be an advocate, give a blessing to the world.

 

And if you stay with them long enough, listen to them, you can hear God shuffling his way through. You know he never left. You know he’s been here all along.

 

God doesn’t go where he’s wanted, 

he goes where he’s needed. 

 

Jesus said: Let the children come to me, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven. And so it makes sense that I am recovering my faith in the locales of the little ones. In hearts that beat a little softer than my own. In cafeterias where no one worries who they’ll eat with. Where bullying is a kind of weakness. Where kindness is a sort of success. And it looks dramatically different than the school of my youth or the world of adults, it is unlike anything I’ve seen before.

 

It is the deepest truth of all:

 

We belong to each other.

 

And I am faint with hope.

What I’m Into [February 2014]

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A couple weeks into this month, winter excited us by warming up into the thirties and forties, melting the snow, streaming water into the roads, revealing pockets of smudged grass, and persuading all the people to go coatless. And then things turned perverse. Out of seemingly nowhere, a Polar Vortex collapsed onto the state freezing all that water, suspending everything. The roads turned into 2 inch deep ice slides and life expectancy fell to about ten minutes. Nothing has changed!

 

And now I’m done. Let’s talk about Books:

 

Remember my seventy books in a year challenge? It’s going okay. I partially blame the return of TV Shows.

 

I read Wild by Cheryl Strayed, because it’s being made into a movie with Reese Witherspoon. It was between good and great. I liked it. Loved the scenery and Strayed unmatchable gift as a storyteller, but sometimes I was just so sick of being on the PCT (Pacific Crest Trail). My head kept spinning over where she was and who she was meeting, it was hard to keep up with her.

 

I read And the Mountains Echoed, by Khaled Hosseini, which is perhaps his greatest work yet. Couldn’t recommend it enough.

 

I read Ocean of the End of the Lane (at the beginning of January) and finished it in one sitting. I love Neil Gaiman and I loved this book. His imagination and style make me want to write fiction.

 

I also went on an Anne Lamott kick and read Traveling Mercies and Plan B, and reread Bird By Bird. When people ask about my faith lately, I’m telling them I am an Anne Lamott Christian. She somehow manages to not eliminate the complexity of faith, but instead make it beautiful, and funny. She’s like my new Brennan Manning.

 

I’m also in the middle of a bunch of books that I am determined to finish. Some of them I am almost done with and others I have been more sluggish on.

 

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou

The Liars Club, Mary Karr

Gifts of Imperfection, Brene Brown

Bible, Gender and Sexuality, Jim Brownson

The Things They Carried, Tim O’Brien

Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger

On the Road, Jack Kerouac

Their Eyes Were Watching God, Zora Neale Hurston

 

TV

 

Parenthood– It’s the only show on TV that moves the human heart. It breaks mine, mends mine, and stabs it with a pair of scissors, sits with it for awhile, it’s an emotional roller coaster. And it is so good. As a writer, I think the script is exquisite. It’s not easy to make normal conversation, normal events, this rich and intense and funny and meaningful.

I mean…

 

 

See?

 

Scandal– I have loved it since it’s inception, except the most recent episode, which I admit I had high expectations for. I have Pope fatigue. She’s great and all, but, eh, when the plot is moving slow, and sometimes shallowly, her Pope intensity falls a little flat. I don’t know. Still sorting out my feelings.


The Walking Dead– I have heard plenty of criticisms about how wrong the second half of this season has started, with all its’ diverging storylines, and I could not disagree with them more. I’ve loved this season so far and think the different narratives are an exciting change.

[BIG SPOILERS/CLOSE YOUR EYES]

[Warned you]

Baby Judith LIVES!

Which might be for nothing since Girl on the Left wants to kill her.

 

A year ago, after my free one-month trial with Netflix was up, I cancelled my subscription. Turns out, you get a free month every year! So I signed up again to continue the House of Cards saga (an easy favorite, a fantastic second season)

and, since I have a couple more weeks left, I have started watching Orange is the New Black. Which makes me laugh a lot. Sometimes cringe. Overall, it’s a good show.

 

Posts

My most read post this month was A Closet Comes Undone, where I talk about life on the other side of secrets. It has been an exhilarating and exhausting month because of everyone knowing, but as we move into March, I am feeling weathered and strong because of it.

 

And that’s it! Linking up with Leigh Kramer today- Go check out some of the other posts!