This election feels so much more high stakes, but every election feels like the end of the world. In a sense, every election is the end of a world, especially elections without an incumbent. A way of life is ending. Change comes, whether I like it or not.
But, little actually changes. Promises are issued. Some are broken. Bills are passed. And yet, few significant changes happen in my life because of this turnover. Maybe this time things will be different.
But, likely not.
I’m no longer afraid. God is bigger than this election.
Still, grief visits. Anger lurks not far behind. Continue reading
This post is a two-fer. First, I celebrate a personal progress milestone in the infertility story. Second, I offer some small talk tips in the event that I made you more socially anxious about conversations with strangers due to my story in part one.
Chatting with J about this infertility blog series, I started talking about how it hurts to feel like an outsider when others start swapping pregnancy stories. I feel like I’m watching a scene from behind a glass: eagerly gazing out, nose smushed up on the window, and longing to get outside. But, the door is locked to me.
I thought the stories of protesting and young men killed by police happened in other cities. I read of Ferguson and Baltimore and smugly thought to myself that those were problems for other cities. Thank you, Jesus, that that isn’t our problem.
And then, this week, it is. Early on Sunday, November 15, a young African-American man, Jamar Clark, was shot by the police (See the Atlantic’s story here or MPR’s story here.) and died a day later after he was taken off life support. Witnesses and the police have different accounts of the story. Witnesses say Jamar was handcuffed when he was shot in the head, while the police union says he was not and that his hand was gripping an officer’s gun.
In the wake of this tension between stories, North Minneapolis is filled with protesters. Conflicts here and there have broken out between police and protesters, as demonstrated in the tweet showing police holding a gun pointed toward Congressman Keith Ellison’s son, who was holding his hands up.
God met me this weekend. Last week as I was preparing to speak with my pastor for the first time, I was highly nervous. Part of that was a struggle to discern what God had to say to me in the topic. So, I asked a few friends to pray that God would show me what the message was for me.
Well, God delivered. Not what I expected. Not anything related to the topic I was speaking on. But, over the past two days, I’ve had one of the most powerful God moments of my life. I’m overwhelmed. I even started writing poetry again for the first time in ten years (Meme, if you’re reading this, you’ll probably be thrilled about that, though the poem itself is rusty and clunky. Further, no, I’m not showing it to anyone at this point, possibly ever.).
It all began with communion Sunday morning.
When life happens, I default to writing about it. Well, life happened this week. So here goes another blog post.
My friend Mark passed away this last week after a year and a half long battle with brain cancer. Yesterday, J and I went to the funeral. Today, I am sad. In the midst of the sadness, I also have profound gratitude for the legacy Mark left in my life.