Some days are better than others. Not every day is rose colored. I am learning in my diversity class that discomfort is a place we can grow in. I don’t always need to feel comfortable. This is one space I use to try and make sense of my discomfort.

Recently the doors closed at a church I love. It was at that final service I heard one of many songs I love, but was unable to sing all the words. They ring so true, that every time I attempted to sing them I choked up. The following of God requires trust and faith that I don’t always seem to have. Not in a moment when I realize this church family won’t be gathered together like this again. That this closure is permanent.


At the same moment these folks will scatter, a friend is diagnosed with cancer. A father, a son, a man who is showing no signs of sickness. And so I want to gather the church and insist they stay open or that we continue to gather because we will need each other in this next season to hold each other up.

I don’t feel like the words on my shelf:


It is what I want, but not how I feel.

And yesterday I sat in my car, barely able to crack this book open that I love and read twice already. I can’t get past the first word in the title, let alone the pages contained within. It is my essential prayer: Help.


Even as I walk the campus of the elementary school I taught for the first time since leaving (yesterday). Happy to see old faces and missing the children more than I thought I could. Wondering if I made the right choice. Joking about coming back as a substitute. I feel lost. I am wandering.

I remember Jim’s prayer a couple weeks back. I feel like those who wandered in the desert. I know that some days we blindly trust, we question, we experience discomfort, and the unseen promises are kept.

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