Our lives are punctuated by storms. The sudden and the difficult. The merely inconvenient and the Maria’s. And while I do think we learn a great deal about ourselves while the storm rages, there’s actually something to be said for how we behave when the tempest approaches.
Cause you crazy. Cause you don’t love your momma. Cause you don’t love nobody.
We don’t have to love the nature of all things, but we must know that all things have a nature. Selah.
And Ya’ll. That really got me to thinking about how we make all of these excuses not to listen to other people, even the people we say we love. I started considering all the misunderstandings we have with those around us who speak the same language. And I started wondering, are we truly listening? Are we trying to hear?
Ya’ll. Full disclosure. I don’t pray that much anymore. It’s kind of a long story, but you’d be lucky to catch me blessing my food at dinner. Things aren’t spiritually bad, just different. I’m more like, “Okay, God. You good? I’m good. Alright, hmu.” Or something like that. Anyway. My point here is that because
I am in between houses. I am, as they say, about that hotel life. I’ve read in books and short stories that this is supposed to be “the life”: living out of suitcases, walking under city lights, staying up until dawn. The reality is far less glamorous. At my age, I feel deeply the discomfort of
I was talking to Janeen the other day about a matter completely unrelated to this post, and she told me–with all of her Janeen-like kindness that honestly makes me crazy sometimes–that I don’t need to be so hard on myself. Of all the nerve. I mean really, what kind of empathetic and compassionate person looks
They say you can never go home again. Which is kind of messed up, if you think about it. So much of our lives, so much of who we are is connected to the GPS of our hearts. Final destination: home. After a long day of work, after a fun adventure, you want for familiarity,