The bush I've beaten around all day long: here it is: on the tip of my tongue: only one person I wanted to talk to all day. Everyone else seems stale, dry, old, useless. And I hate that. I hate that I can ignore everyone else, refuse to engage with their lives, their precious thoughts, their important moments, just like mine, just as 3D and so damn important!
Damn
My pastor said damn last week. I'm so grateful. If he hadn't, I might not have remembered what he was saying: being a leader is damn hard. But just do it. Don't shirk. Don't hide. Just stand, and put your neck out there, even if it's bound to be cut off.
Grateful
Who was it that I read recently, or heard about, that lived in prison for so many years, and there met God. So real was He, that the prisoner learned prayer in prison as he never had before. When he was released, he noted how the Church often neglected gratitude as the foundation of their prayer. How could they do that, when God freely gives so much? And more than all, He offers us Himself: a blood and bone connection to his heart.
Neglected
In my writing class, we do free writes. This is an institution I'm proud of, because every class makes it their own. They find their own way of discovering to write, when I give them the time and try to give them the inspiration for it. And then the hard part: sharing. How do you hang a piece of your soul out the window? But one girl shares often. And more than once, she has shared about the neglect of her very early childhood, before adoption. Each time I hear about it, it shocks me, beats me, leaves me stunned. Then we clap, and move on to another student's writing about basketball, or how they are wishing it were lunchtime, or sometimes a glance into their hearts. And at the end, I'm never quite sure if we did it right.
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