Morning. 6:45 AM. The alarm goes off, and Pitbull is insisting this is the time of my life. Not the best voice to wake up to, but he gets the job done. Hit snooze until 7:10 AM and I really need to shower.
Eff. God, just give me the strength to get through today. The same routine. The daily grind. Really God? To be quiet and work diligently is the best we can do to change the world? Show me a powerful Israel, not this incremental heaven!
I went from trying to be a history maker in college to a behind the scenes worker drone in adulthood, if that’s even what you can call this. Where is your glory here? Where is your power here? In my cubicle? In my commute?
If you are the same no matter what the circumstances, be the same God I knew before. Let today be worth living.
Lunch break. Can’t eat too much or that food coma’s going to make sitting at my desk pretty painful for the next few hours. Chatting with a friend over leftover Italian, but I’m zoning out.
I think he was Christian at some point. What happened? He still uses the lingo, but doesn’t believe a word of it. It seems all my closest friends chose to walk away from you.
God, why did you let that happen? Will you let me go too? You got me? But why hold onto me and not him? He’s more like you than I am.
On the car ride home. Down the same side streets to avoid rush hour traffic. Turn the radio dial to 95.5 and thankfully, the song’s an oldie but goodie, because God knows, some of what’s playing these days shouldn’t be considered music. Singing along, but some of the words catch in the back of my throat.
Am I crying because I believe or because I want to believe? I thought saying yes would be enough, but these tears are betraying me.
Watching the news in roomy pj’s and there’s nothing good happening in the world. There’s less mention of the Black Lives Matter Movement after the media storm came and went, leaving behind bewildered looks on peoples’ faces when they realize not a lot has changed.
If God is all powerful and good, why do I fear for the young, black 8th-grader who already looks like a man? What does it mean to love my queer friends when I don’t know if being queer separates them from God? What is it about faith that I can face the questions I do not yet understand and accept God’s mystery as opposed to pondering God’s absence? I feel my thoughts turn to repetitive reminders: God is only good. God is merciful. God is just. More tears stream down as I want this — I need this — to be true. Believing is draining. Life gets louder than truth at times.
We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies.
For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.