The Funny One
Making friends, it turns out, meant finding people I didn’t have to be funny around—those I could trust liked me even when I wasn’t confident or cracking jokes
Sunday Mornings for Apostates
“Why weren’t you in church this morning?”
I still haven’t told her.
Bootleg Baby
We’ve since come to realize that there’s no perfect way to feel while pregnant. There’s not an emotional experience you’re supposed to have.
In Search Of Our DNA
The rupture between God and humanity is crystal clear in this one, and as the play careened toward its tragic ending, no one in the theatre was surprised.
On Tattoos
During the hour it took to fill in the shapes of Michigan, Huron, Superior, Erie, and Ontario, I learned a lot about tattoos. Apparently, no design is off-limits, so long as you can find an artist willing to draw it.
Or So I Thought
I thought that I would feel more in touch with nature after. Like I had somehow participated in an older way of living, or taken on some inherited, but forgotten role in the forest. But instead I felt sick.
For my Camp Students: On Losing Races
Paul calls the Corinthians, God calls us, to run to win. Our faith journey should be so committed that we’re willing to do it with half a lung and still come out on top.
It’s About Time
Time isn’t food, money, a place, or a feeling, or an object or a person—it just is. Despite a wealth of idioms, it’s still hard to talk about time and harder still to savor it.
The Institute (of Arts)
And for twenty-five minutes I am warm and more alive
than the seven hours and thirty-five minutes between walls and cabinets three floors above.
Figs
Meanwhile, I am childless, jobless, and directionless. I don’t feel that I’ve wasted my time, and I don’t feel dismayed, but I’m also tired of feeling crushed under the weightlessness of potential and gawking at figs like stars I could never align.
