Second Sunday of Advent

Verse: Mark 1:1-8, Isaiah 40:1-11

A voice says, “Cry out!” 
And I said, “What Shall I cry?”
Lift up your voice, lift it up, do not fear, say to the cities, 
“Here is your God.” 

And so out you cried
Knowing who you are
Knowing what you must do 
To prepare the way for the Lord
To make straight His paths
Fueled by Holy Spirit
locusts, wild honey
and divine purpose
John, Baptizer.

What a lonely task, to be the messenger
Did you choose this role 
or did it choose you? 

To be the messenger, 
To stand alone, 
To be the single voice, crying out in the wilderness.

A leader alone in solitude, 
perhaps the mockery of many, 
Did the Creator reveal the divine plan
or was all concealed, except your role? 
Were you merely cast as the lonely prophet and commanded to, 
“Cry out!”

You, who could not, would not be like the others, 
Did you always desire to be different
or did it grow on you
like camel hair?
Did you ever wonder, 
why must I play this part? 

No glory of resurrection, 
No religion in your name, 
The insect-eating, baptizing, crazy prophet-cousin
Your only fame.

And yet, you played this part
No paths made straight,
If not for the voice, 
Crying out, 
In the wilderness. 

Righteousness will go before him, and will make a path for his steps.

Cousin John, did you know? 
There are no small roles,
Only small actors.
Playing it small never suited you. 

Is this why you were chosen
For this singular, essential role?  

Crying out. Water. Wilderness. Locusts. Alone. Prophet. Baptizer. Beheaded. No cross. No glory. No religion in your name. No other role. 

No one but you 
to deliver these lines,

“The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

It had to be you. 

The Voice said, “cry out!”
No hesitation, 
“What shall I cry?” 

Blessed be the Messenger
Who comes to prepare the way.

Recommended Hymns: Prepare Ye, How Lovely are the Messengers, Down to the River to Pray

First Sunday of Advent

Verses: Isaiah 64:1-9, Mark 13:24-37

Advent. Adventus. Coming.

What Holy humor to enter a season of waiting, amid a season of waiting. 
O Creator, have you not seen that your people are weary of waiting?
We wait for signs of safety. 
We wait for brighter days. 
We wait for test results. 
We wait for a vaccine. 
We wait to embrace ones held dear.
We wait. 

We wait for news of budget cuts and furloughs. 
We wait for bad news on television, twitter, politicians, go figure,  
We wait for more news of black lives lynched. 
We wait for death at our doorstep. 
We wait six feet apart in grocery store lines. 
We wait. 

We wait, but we do not watch. 
Fear has narrowed our vision.

We wait, but we do not hope. 
Anxiety mutinies imagination
making way for derision. 

Yet You call us to wait, 
O Creator, might this call be for a different kind of waiting? 

You call us to wait, 
Can you not see that we have already been waiting?
How long, how long, HOW LONG? 
Oh that you would tear open the heavens and come down, 
So that the mountains would quake at your presence,
So that the nations might tremble at your presence
So that our enemies would crumple in your presence,
(Oh no, our inequities made clear in the previous line. 
We have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth. We all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away.)

This waiting, Creator, we have waited so long, 
We long to wait no longer, 
But might this waiting be of a different kind?

Creator, you have done awesome things that we did not expect.
You came down and the mountains quaked at your presence.
From ages past no one has heard, 
No ear has perceived, 
No eye has seen any God besides you. 

O Creator, we long to see you, 
Be among us again.
We cannot wait to see you.
O Creator, might this waiting be of a different kind?

Fear blinds us, narrows our vision. 
We wait for bad news,
We wait for a vaccine, 
We wait but do not see, do not watch. 

But you have said, 
“Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. 
It is like a man going on a journey…”

Oh how we long to journey with you.

In these days of suffering,
The sun is darkened, 
The moon does not give light, 
The stars appear to be falling from heaven,
But even the four winds tell of the coming of the Son of Man. 

We wait.
We open our eyes —
begin to watch. 

O Creator, might this waiting be of a different kind?

Give us eyes to watch,
As we wait six feet apart in grocery store lines, 
As we wait for a vaccine, 
As we wait for politicians to surprise us with goodness,
As we wait and see that the unhoused find shelter.

Even in these days, O Creator 
we are the clay
and you are the potter.
Reshape us, transform our inequities.
Mold us and hold us.
Make us anew.

In the palm of your hand, 
We finally learn to watch
while we wait.

O Creator, might this waiting be of a different kind?
Come, O Come, Emmanuel. 

Recommended Hymns: O Come, O Come Emmanuel, Wait for the Lord

gratitude, Godspell, and giving it up

Lent begins next Wednesday. I’ve been thinking about what I can do to make this season meaningful

I was raised Christian and grew up observing Lent. It wasn’t quite the same as watching my Catholic friends avoid meat during Lent, but I knew it was an important season. For a long time, I thought it was just about giving something up, but when I was in high school I was introduced to the idea that Lent could also be a time to “take something on.”

For a few years, I began keeping a gratitude journal during Lent, writing down my “good gifts” of every day (James 1:17 and also All Good Gifts from Godspell– being my sources of inspiration for this practice.) That practice has spilled over into other areas of my life outside of Lent and continues to be a practice that Nathan and I share together.

The last few years I’ve gotten into the practice of listening to Godspell at the beginning of the season. If you know me, there’s a good chance you know how much I love this 1970s musical by Stephen Schwartz, not just for its catchy tunes and clown costumes, but because Godpsell is based on the Gospel of Matthew. It’s a powerful way for me to remember the story of Jesus’s life, from John the Baptist crying in the wilderness “Prepare Ye the Way of the Lord,” to the crucifixion and resurrection (though the ending of the play has sparked controversy).

Godspell invites us into this story. Godpsell typically ends after Jesus dies, though some directors will choose to have a reprise “resurrection” scene. Schwartz himself says this to clarify the theological conundrum,

“Over the years, there has been comment from some about the lack of an apparent Resurrection in the show. Some choose to view the curtain call, in which JESUS appears, as symbolic of the resurrection; others point to the moment when the cast raise JESUS above their heads. While either view is valid, both miss the point. GODSPELL is about the formation of a community which carries on JESUS’ teachings after he has gone. In other words, it is the effect JESUS has on the OTHERS which is the story of the show, not whether or not he himself is resurrected. Therefore, it is very important at the end of the show that it be clear that the OTHERS have come through the violence and pain of the crucifixion sequence and leave with a joyful determination to carry on the ideas and feelings they have learned during the course of the show.”

What a call to action, to show that “others have come through the violence and pain… and leave with joyful determination.” As a Christian trying to follow Jesus, this is the kind of compelling call I want to respond to with my life. I believe in the resurrection and believe there are important theological implications for the resurrection of Jesus, but I also love the Schwartz is calling our attention to not only look to Jesus, but to look in the mirror. It’s almost as if he’ssaying “don’t stop at ‘saved by grace,’ keep going. Let your life show that you’ve gone walking with Jesus. (Side-note: Faith vs. works is waaay too big a topic to tackle in this blog. Shout out to my Lutheran friends who know what I’m talking about. I know I’m oversimplifying this, so hold your horses for a later post.)

The disciples in Godspell are depicted as silly, slightly lost, clownish, normal everyday misfit people. If we forget that the Gospels are about God coming to us in human form so that he could be right alongside side us in all of our imperfection, I think we’ve missed the point of the Gospel. I love that Godspell reminds me of this. It helps me reflect on the significance of the story of Jesus’s life and death. When I listen to Godspell, I can hear myself in the story.

So, what is Lent really for? I googled “What is Lent?” and I got the following results.

“While Advent is a celebration and a time of great anticipation, Lent is more frequently seen as a time of solemn observance and preparation for the celebration of the death and resurrection of Jesus at Easter. From its start on Ash Wednesday until its conclusion on Easter Sunday, Lent has been a traditional time for fasting or giving something up or abstinence. Just as we carefully prepare for events in our personal lives… Lent invites us to make our minds and hearts ready for remembering Jesus’ life, death and body resurrection.”– From https://40acts.org.uk/about/what-is-lent/

“For six and one half weeks, Christians around the world will prepare themselves spiritually for the celebration of their highest Holy Day: Easter. Many of them will make personal sacrifices, focusing through these long days on the sacrifices Jesus made as he set his face toward Jerusalem.” – From https://www.ucc.org/into_the_mystic_lent

Why do we give things up? Why do we take things on? I’ve shared a few of my past practices, but what is the real purpose?

Each year, I find that I need to be more honest with myself about the areas of my life that really need attention, and they aren’t the same year to year. Some years I struggle to be grateful. Some years, I struggle with feeling far away from God.

At this moment, I have allowed my life to become too cluttered, full, and too carefully orchestrated. If Jesus came walking into my life, I’d immediately go to my calendar and say, “I can pencil you in in two weeks, Jesus. I have a window next Thursday from 6-7pm. Will that work for you?”

Kinda sad, right?

One of my (many) pastors posted something on social media a few weeks ago. She wrote something to the effect of “Do not mistake sloth for laziness. Sloth doesn’t mean not doing things. Sloth can be the person who is so busy and schedules their life so completely, that they leave no room for thoughtful contemplation and reflection on their own life.”

Yikes. You got me.

If you read my previous post, you may remember that I’ve been struggling with cutting back on my commitments.* Part of this realization came from this pastor sharing an expanded definition of “sloth.” She’s all the way in New Jersey, but thanks to her continued prophetic voice on Facebook, her comment did spark some internal reflection for me. I find that I’m tired at the end of most days. I put so much energy into just project managing my time, that sometimes the most satisfying part of my day is crossing off the day on the calendar. I get a little rush of relief when I realize “Phew. I made it.”

That is no way to live. How can I expect to nurture a spiritual life if my greatest relief comes from just getting through the day? 

I’ve decided that this new season of Lent is the perfect time to try something new: giving up making plans.

I don’t fully know what this will look like. I plan to keep the commitments I’ve made, but not say yes to anything else. I still want to make time for friends and family, but I may not get to everyone. I have a hard time feeling that I am letting people down when I don’t commit, but too often that leads to over commitment for me. That’s why I so often say “yes” when I don’t really have the time, energy, or spiritual grounding to do so.

I anticipate that this will be one of the more ambiguous practices I’ve ever taken on. I think this one might actually upset some people. I can be decisive, but it actually takes a lot of energy for me to live that way. I’m a Type B spirit conditioned to thrive in a Type A world, but those qualities are not native to my soul, who I am, and how I operate (seriously, ask Nathan about my genetic tendency to run late aka “Jeide time” even though it’s really Rouner time/ forget things/ etc.).

For me, there is a direct correlation between how stressed I am and how much I am able to accomplish. It’s not that the doing causes stress, it’s that the stress actually fuels my frantic energy, enabling me to get more things done.

I think it will be close to impossible to not make any plans during Lent, but I am going to try really hard to say “no” so that my “yes” can be full and complete, and my attention can stay where it is most needed, on God, on the Holy Spirit, on Jesus.

While giving up chocolate during Lent is admirable (seriously, it is), I think that what God really desires of us is our attention, especially in a world as over stimulating as ours. If Lent is a time to prepare my heart for contemplation and reflection, then I commit to leaving space open for the Holy Spirit to chime in.

If you observe Lent, whether it is through gratitude, Godspell, or giving it up, I pray that this season can be meaningful for you. I pray that it may be a time of turning inward, so that you can be outward more deeply. I pray that you will “see more clearly, love more dearly, and follow more nearly… day by day.”

If you are taking on or giving up a practice for Lent, I’d also love to hear about it.

*I recognize that being able to participate in activities that add value to my life is a privilege. This is meant to be an honest admission of where I’m at, but I recognize that there are people who are exhausted because they are trying to survive.

 

 

 

 

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A review of “The Overstory” by Richard Powers

A Review and Reflection of The Overstory by Richard Powers

Finishing the end of The Overstory was as bittersweet as maple sap in the fall, and its long narrative dripped at that steady, slow pace throughout, tempting me to believe that the light trickle would continue, and the story would not end. Alas.

Upon my beloved’s recommendation, I sat to read The Overstory, thinking it would be a good end of summer novel, and it did not disappoint (as Nathan’s recommendations rarely do.)

The story is told through fragmented perspectives of nine characters who cycle through hope and despair, deep purpose and empty nothingness. The style seems to place the novel firmly in the ambiguous category of “postmodern,” given the structure. I’m willing to guess that most of the novels you’ve read lately have reflected this multi-character narrative, in which no narrator can truly be considered reliable, yet their disparate narratives seem to provide some kind of whole.

The Overstory is as much a beautiful, scientifically rooted exposition of the miraculous nature of, well, nature, which simultaneously offering an honest, at times unsatisfying, disappointing (but, accurate) depiction of human nature, and humans’ interaction with nature. (Should humans and nature be treated as separate subjects? Good question. Read the book!)

For anyone looking for a contemporary read, filled with crafted prose as well as a plot as crooked as the arms of an oak, this is the novel for you.

It would be difficult to say much more beyond this without revealing the plot.

It is about trees.

It is about people.

It is about people who start off in the world innocent, curious, and connected, and then things happen along the way which both shatter and reconstruct their internal selves, even as the natural world which provides such healing is destroyed and preserved.

Who are these beings that share one quarter of our DNA?

What is the difference really between chlorophyll and hemoglobin?

What are all of the extraordinary signals that our verbal languages fail to express or hear?

Though that all may sound like a bunch of hippy-dippy, beatnick, wanderlust-filled pondering, what I appreciate about the novel is the surprisingly unique backgrounds of each of the characters- none of whom really fit the “treehugger” trope, except for their minor character counterparts (because what’s a novel about environmentalism without at least one Mother Nature, right?)

At the end, I wasn’t sure if I felt hope or despair, relief that the agony was over, or burdened and anxious that so much is left unresolved. Why does the author leave off at the present moment, after tracing a novel for more than 100 years? Powers is not so subtly begging his audience to pay attention, but offers no obvious call to action, or even reassurance that any devised action would make a lick of difference.

But perhaps that is not really the author’s intent. I think it would be too nihilistic and too simple to say that Powers crafted such an intricate, winding story of forests only to say “Well, that’s it. Now you know how humanity screwed the planet.”

For me, The Overstory reminded me of a little girl who pressed and dried amber and sapphire leaves together, to hold on to autumn for just a moment longer before the hibernation set in. A little girl who buried grass beneath the slide at the park each fall, only to dredge it up in the spring, just to know that some beautiful things could be preserved. I blessed that grass each year with a prayer for returning seasons. My own little ritual. One of my first essays in fifth grade (after the one about death), was an argumentative essay on why the ownership of trees is a ludicrous concept. Why?

The Overstory reminded me of an adolescent who felt The Creator’s presence most purely when cradled in the branches of a relative whose quiet rustling heard my every prayer, and whose towering limbs always afforded the greatest vantage point, the one that recognized the insignificance of activity below. What a beautiful release that was and is. I too, was a swinger of birches, and long to be again.

The greatest gift of The Overstory, for me, is the reawakening of the childhood wonder and wisdom in me that knows who my community is.

Read more reviews about The Overstory at http://www.richardpowers.net/the-overstory/

First day of school

It’s back to school season. My Facebook newsfeed is flooded with pictures of children off to their first day, ready and eager with smiles and backpacks. It reminds me of the thrill (and anxiety) that I used to feel as a kid on the first day of school. I remember in elementary school, desperately wanting to know if any of my friends would be in my class. I cried the very first day of kindergarten because I was so terrified, and my mom sent me with my favorite stuffed animal so I would at least have some company.

As I got older, it became less about my friends and more about the classes. By my senior year of high school, I had the perfect combination of AP psychology, AP literature, Wind Ensemble and Introduction to Theatre- actually a pretty useful combination for the girl who, a year later, would find herself blooming into a young woman at a small liberal arts school in Iowa, pursuing majors in English literature and Spanish and singing in choir (with plenty of contemplation and indecision along the way).

I’ve always loved learning. I was reminded of this when one of my favorite professors posted a photo of himself in his favorite classroom, announcing that he is ready for the molding of young minds once more. I was overjoyed and then instantly a little saddened, and very overcome with nostalgia.

They don’t know how lucky they are to sit in a classroom with such brilliance and learn.

What leisure to just take the time to explore new concepts, grapple with the greater meaning, and delve into deep discussion with peers. That kind of conversation isn’t fostered or facilitated in the same way outside of the classroom, and I find that I miss it dearly.

I’m not going back to school this fall. But, this marks the beginning of the third year after graduating college that I will not go back to school.

But, this is a new year in a very important way.

Just last night I came back from my honeymoon, after a week in Costa Rica with the love of my life, where we celebrated the beginning of our new year, our new identities, the new possibilities of what we will become together as a married couple.

This is the beginning of my third year in DC. Wow, just seeing that spelled out is hard to believe. It’s like I’m beginning junior year of adult life. Junior is how I feel- confident in having made it through the underling years, but still uncertain of my next step, and grateful to have one more year before I make any big decisions.

I may not be in school, but I have learned so much about myself that I didn’t know before. I’ve actually accomplished exactly what I set out to do after graduation- which was to work with Latino immigrants in my own country. I spent on year as a Case Worker working directly with the immigrant community and I learned A TON about healthcare in the U.S. and public health and how broken our immigration and healthcare systems are for everybody.

My second year, I continued learning. I stepped up into an administrative role as the Development and Communications Coordinator- again changing fields- no longer doing direct service, I’ve been trained in fundraising and communications. I’ve learned so much about how non-profit organizations function at an organizational level, to provide the necessary services to our community. And, (check this out mom and dad) I am employing BOTH of my majors at the same time through the written communications I produce and the Spanish I speak with my coworkers every day. How about that as a pitch for a liberal arts education?

So, what will this year bring? That remains to be seen. I anticipate it will be a year of change, or refining some of what I’ve learned, much as you do in your junior year.

Maybe I’ll start taking those exams that will lead to further education. Maybe it’s time to start grad school visits, or pursue another stint abroad with my husband.

I don’t quite yet know what this year will bring, but I feel that it is important for me to treat this year just like I would any new school year- with eager joy, and a little anxiety is okay.

Just because I’m not a student, doesn’t mean I can’t set new goals, new intentions, learn new things. Forget New Year’s. It’s always seemed strange to me that we set goals halfway through the year in the dead of winter when we’re not motivated to do anything (at least in this hemisphere).

(Below: Me on my “first day of school” aka first day at work after honeymoon, early September, year 3 of non-student life)

Here are a few things I want to accomplish this school year

1- Spend more time with myself, something I haven’t been very good about doing since I graduated, which both my self-esteem and weight have indicated. I often joke with myself that I feel like I went from being a big fish in a small pond to a small fish in a big pond. This year I’m going to love myself better, stop comparing, and stop complaining about what I don’t have.

2-Live into this new life with my husband. I wanna enjoy newlywed bliss darn-it and no amount of stress in life is gonna stop me! I will dedicate more time to spend with Nathan in meaningful ways, support him in his endeavors, and spend time dreaming about how we craft our life together. And probably plan some more amazing globe-trotting trips (did I mention we had a PERFECT honeymoon in Costa Rica?)

3- Spend more time with God in prayer about what comes next for me. I keep doing this thing where I think that if I just spin my self in circles enough times and consider all the possibilities from every single angle at every hour of the day, that I’ll find clarity about what I’m supposed to do next. LOL- spinning yourself in circles is a great way to get dizzy and stress everyone else out as they watch you work yourself into a tizzy. Yikes.

This year, I’m going to spend more time in the quiet with the Holy Spirit, long enough so I can hear her whisper sweetness to me. Probably won’t get a straight answer, but hey, giving it up to God is great.

I’m already on to a few new things. I’m going to start volunteering with a new organization, choir starts again, and I’ve been thinking about getting my TEOFL certification. There are some good things going on!

So, what about you? Whether you are going back to school, as a student or a teacher, or (like me) neither, what is this new year going to be about for you? What new intentions are you going to set? How are you going to grow? A year from now, what do you want to look back on and say “Yep. I did that. I came, I saw. I achieved.”

Even though I miss the classroom, I’m grateful for the lesson of life that even if we are a student, we never stop learning.

Here’s to you and wherever you are, in this autumn month as the light lessens and the seasons begin to change, may you find new change and growth reflected in you.

As nature brings her harvest forth, may you as well be filled with the abundance of your being and all that the Creator has made and is making you to be.

(Second) First blog post

This is my second, first post. The first entry for this blog was written over a year ago in March 2017. I wrote that post so full of new energy. I was really going to start this time. I was going to dedicate myself to reclaiming my creativity again. I was going to start in media res, in the middle of my year in DC.. in the middle of not knowing where I was going or what was coming next.

It seems both funny and depressing to find myself, almost exactly a year later, feeling like I am in the same spot, ready to commit, ready to reclaim my creativity… because I have spent months feeling lost, unsure of the ground beneath my feet, and just trying to make it through each week. I can’t decide whether this is reassuring or humiliating. Have I made any progress? Have I come any closer to what I was seeking a year ago?

I think the answer is both “yes” and “no.” I am not in the exact same place I was. Much has changed and happened since March 2017.

• I decided to stay in DC
• I accepted a full time job where I get to tell stories as part of my work
• I moved into a new house and made home with new people
• My best friend asked me to spend the rest of my life with him, and I said “yes”

And yet…

• I still find myself missing “home”.. in some ways, the distance from Luther, from Minnesota, has created room for me to admit that, despite my grumblings, I actually am nostalgaic for Midwest life
• I am working at the same organization as I was a year ago
• I live in the same neighborhood
• I sing in the same choir
• I attend the same church
• I still feel like something is missing

 

One other thing is different, that gives me hope that my creative pursuits haven’t been an entire failure.

Some of you were involved in a collaborative blogging effort called “Project Twelve.” As this project comes to a close, I have gone back and read the posts that so many shared, created. My motivation for inviting others to this project may have been very selfish. I needed to hear other voices, to know that you all were out there. A common theme through some of the posts was that we are all wandering around, unsure of what we are doing. I take great reassurance that I am not the only one suffering from a creative block, self-doubt, fear of the future, uncertainty of who I am and where I belong.

Maybe I needed to know that I wasn’t alone. Maybe I needed to know that before I could give this another try.

When I was in high school, I played clarinet in band. There was another kid in class who was autistic. He took to repeating certain phrases. We must have been playing horribly that day, because a few phrases into the peace our conductor would cut us off and bark, “Beginning Again!” It was a command. No time to think about what had gone wrong. Just a second to recalibrate and begin the phrase again.

“Beginning Again!” our conductor would bark.

“beginning again,” would come the echo from my classmate. Not a bark, but a joyful chirp. As if beginning again were not a condemnation of failure to perform, but an exciting opportunity.

I have heard “Beginning Again,” in the tone of an unforgiving conductor (who himself was a great teacher, by no means a mean man) inside of myself, the critic who says, “start over, you messed up again,” rather than the voice of the child in me who delights to hear, “beginning again,”… we get to begin again… a new start… a clean slate.. the story hasn’t been written yet. It doesn’t matter if we start in the middle. What matters is that we start, and pick up the pen, and “begin again.”

Isaiah 43:19
 Behold, I am doing a new thing;
    now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
I will make a way in the wilderness
    and rivers in the desert.

Introduction- letters from a seeker

Welcome to the first entry of “letters from a seeker.”

You are reading the first attempt at a new blog, coming after two failed attempts to document my experiences abroad. After failing to keep up with the blogs I created when I studied abroad in Norway and Ecuador, I put blogging aside as being “not my thing.” There are some people who are creative, who are writers. Blogging is their “thing.”

So why start anew?

Because I’m restless. Because I am now 23 years old, living in a new city, recently graduated, and although I have built some new relationships, I still feel mostly surrounded by strangers. In all of that, I feel that I have become a bit of a stranger to myself. Who was that bright, young, confident girl I was a year ago? Re-reading my first blog has helped me to remember (you can read it here ajeide.wordpress.com) who I was, where I came from, where I went, and who I cared about.

Reader, you may be asking, why is any of this worth sharing?

In my experience of wandering and feeling uprooted, I have crossed paths with so many others who feel equally uprooted, disconnected, unsure, at times, aimless. I’ve never really considered myself a “wanderer.” I am a deeply rooted person. I know who my tribe is. They know me by name and by need. But for the first time in life, I am distant from all of those connections and people who taught me who I was. In this new chapter of life, I seek to know myself again and to know myself in new contexts and communities. And, dear reader, I know that you are a seeker too.

As a pastor’s kid who is loosely affiliated with a few Protestant denominations, I make some attempt to create a spiritual discipline for Lent each year. It seems strange to start a blog when I am not beginning a new chapter of life, but rather find myself in the middle of one. Then again, some of the best stories I know start in media res. So, this blog will start, not at the beginning of a chapter, but right in the middle, shaped by the season of Lent.

I invite you to join me here, you other seekers. This is the place that I will share my questions, reflections, doubts, hopes, and other raw thoughts and feelings about everything.  I am seeking. I hope you’ll join me.

Sincerely,

a seeker