Seeking a gifted theologian

Yes, I'd be in seminary right now debating my right not to be bishop, and coming to terms with that somehow. Easily, because I'm skilled at surrender, but I keep being tempted, you know, to blame all the Christians? I can barely help it at all.

See, their logic is to just convert everyone to the right savior, as if that momentary seeking alone provides every answer. Probably a fallacy somehow. And protecting unborn life at all costs, as if we'd quickly forget that all life REALLY MATTERS. Blind to the murderous men that surround us on just about every "potentially Christian" border.

Not quite seamless, somehow too far from salvation. Ignoring the teaching potential of grief, and loss, that happens in ALL stages of a woman's life. Stubborn male's resistance to balance, to trust... deciding the weight we ladies carry, whether we agree to it or not.

At least, I'd like to reconsider my price.

Typing

Not so far out of the loop as I had thought, wow, the military's efficient! I figured it was enough to just be glad to have some writing space in my basement, and the desire to reinvigorate my passion for word roots. So grateful, for all the possiblities available through technology.

That being said, I'm suffering from writers block. May be a permanent condition, I'm just sensing it now. Never knew it was something I'd be prone to, or something I'd decide to spend a whole Thanksgiving weekend contemplating...but of course I will.

Until then, I have just twenty minutes left to wonder what's standing in my way. Probably something silly and inventive. Usually how it works.

Vanilla and Coconut

Would never normally drink something that reminds me of cheap incense, but the dark-skinned Africans happened by in that moment, and I felt I had to choose. Won't dare tell you which teas I'm partial to, until I figure out the actual value difference between 2% of $800,000 versus 2% of $8,000,000. Both involving the number 16 somehow, I'd presume having already calculated it.

The first having to do with Sarah Palin's pivot, the second with slippery shoes guaranteed to increase the odds of head injury by merely entertaining the thought. Ooh, I hate voodoo (not really). Wonder when I can book that trip to Haiti, gonna wake all the zombies single-handedly. God knows I love the Caribbean!

My lust-filled weekend will never arrive if I keep rambling on like this, c'mon Jess, pray! Do you lay out all the reasons why Tyra and Gabbie have no place pretending to be cultured, no matter if one is the richest televisionista, and the other capable of inspiring young girls everywhere to run marathons for Build-a-Bear Workshop's good causes? Hmm, I just can't decide to know.

I was thrown for a loop

Mainly, I was surprised at how I anticipated her tears before they even came. Realized that I wasn't so afraid of telling her while crying, as disappointed that I couldn't maintain my "strong friend" composure. It's what people always seem to like.

I really hate disappointing everyone I know by being weak, not having perfection all together. It's not a task I assigned myself, I PROMISE YOU, it's something that just falls upon your shoulders when you buck the status quo your whole life. Suddenly you're some leader.

At the Disney-rips-off-our-small-town commercial event on Saturday, I had to come to terms with the fact that young mothers can be hurt if they don't have a reliable vision of strong others. I let everyone I know down by having this imperfect child, I didn't mean to.

It's okay, I can handle walking that road, and I do it with pride. But it's such a stark contrast between "ooh, everything she says carries the weight of gold" to can't even look at her anymore straight in the eyes. It's lonely, but expected.

Oh yeah, Jen...where was I? I sensed that I was going to destroy her to the core with my news. Not that she keeps me on the same pedestal as the others, but she loves children and God and me as much as I do. We were injured together.

I told her to sit down, and to brace herself, although I didn't want to. Some angel must have whispered, "be gentle, this Catholic's breakable". My friend, my friend, was all she kept sighing as it registered. Finally I gathered enough sense to be a respectable host, and grabbed some Kleenex. Actually, it was Target brand. Or wait...was it?

I can't remember.