The Last Minute

This is a placeholder for an upcoming blog post that is taking me a really long time to write. These are the core ideas of what I have learned in my first totally full semester of studying social work, and how that relates to my degree studying theology. Figured I'd share so it motivates me to finish the other one. 1. This country founded on the very principles of a privileged few and we can do so much better. It is fraught with inequality and our policies consistently represent selfishness and individualism. This is the opposite of everything I understand to be of a Christian ethic. 2. There a lot of people who want to change things and are willing to put in the hard work to do it. Some of those are definitely white, privileged, and Christian. 3. I'm still not totally sure how the church fits in this, but I'm working through that. I think the term "building relationships" as a solution is mostly an excuse to not deal with serious institutionally systemic is

All I have to go on for this is my own experience, my own story that is still being scratched across history as we speak, bleating and wailing and ripping at the corners of me to get out. I don't know who reads this, or if anyone will. But more than anything I know it needs it's own space outside of me.  I don't mean to undermine the realities of an eating disorder but dealing with language is a bulimic experience for me. When I read, it is with a voracious appetite; I consume quickly and without stopping. I become only a mouth that gobbles character development and plot lines and chomps desperately at everything within my line of vision. When I write, it is always a purge; it comes out in gasps and furious fingers that can't keep up. Writing is the experience of spilling out over and over until I'm empty. This pattern is compulsive. It's how I've always been, however, from the time I learned to read and sneaked chapter books under the classroom table an

Prologue: I'm not very good at waiting. When I want something it burns and itches and scratches on my mind much like an STI: an infection on my psyche. I have to give in, be distracted by something else, or ride it out. A wave crashing against the shores of my head, I pray that eventually I will come up for air. Sometimes I drown. I let everything else fall to the wayside and become hyper-obsessed with possessing, doing, or being whatever it is. I get all-consumed by controlling this one variable, if you will, and stop breathing life into anything else. Then, when I've satisfied the itch and cooled the burn, I move on. It is often a battle with myself to finish the things I start after that fire goes out. I frantically blow on the coals trying to light it again, sometimes I'm successful, other times I become so exhausted I collapse in on myself. You should see the drafts of half-finished blog posts sitting in my cue and unfinished poems on my hard-drive. After heari