beliefs.

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Everything is just, happening.

I feel like the days zoom by and I am the roadside jetsam and flotsam, getting picked up in the current of a passing 18-wheeler.

Up and down, left and right.
I’m thinking it’s a pace I’m going to have to get used to.

I am in a comparing season of my life. I suppose we all are, at many times in our lives. Meaning, I’m comparing myself with other things. Like cooking. I’m thinking I could do better and that I am better, or I’m thinking I’ll never be that good.

I’m comparing myself to my friends who are uncles, and I’m thinking I’m not a great uncle because I’m always late on giving gifts.

I feel a bit on edge at times. Dodgy and picky and stubborn.
I feel apologetic.

For my generation. For me, really. My inability to not check my phone every five to ten minutes. My fear to choose in a world of choices. My need to feel authentic but to not stick out.

I feel sad for our recent losses. I think there is a gaping wound there. It hit us again. We are knee jerking and moving forward quickly and it’s just a lot. I’m okay with everything, but really, it’s not about me or what I think is right.

I used to really want my beliefs. I wanted my certainties. They made me feel important and unique. Edgy.

That’s what I want to come back to, each day. How much this world is not about me.

I am in a luxurious, though sometimes lonely, season in life where I have so many freedoms. It is addictive. It is so fun. I’m not sure how healthy it is to have it all, but I’m close to feeling content with where I am at.

That is okay. I am still removing the ideals of being a gypsy of some sort. Some of that still resonates within me. The idea that the world is meant to be traveled and understood by me.

But I am not so much that guy anymore.

I am the guy conflicted and pulled by gravity.

18-wheeler-truck-accident-may2011-austin-man-killed-in-oregon

The guy who is scared that the Bible is not quite making its way back into my world like I thought it would, being back in the South. That is not to say that I think it is stupid or unintellectual. It is just not a framework that I live my life through anymore, and haven’t for quite some time. I think that is scary, sometimes. I wish I had faith like my friends and family.

Deep down, where the waters are still, I find it there. A small glow, but a glow indeed. My peace. My ability to show grace and absorb pain.

But nearing the surface — that is where the waters are tumultuous. Pulled in by the moon and sent crashing into rocks as though it is in my nature to break and form back together.

So while I do my comparing and floating and crashing, I am still drawn to whatever it is that gives me peace every day. At least for a moment, and then I go on surviving and bumping into people and colliding with their thoughts and their own wars.

Luckily grace exists outside of the Bible. As does love and mercy and forgiveness. All of which I learned from Jesus, but I also learned from my momma, and Mother Teresa, and my chef.

Today, I will be carrying everyone with me.

saved.

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When I was a kid, my dad was Jesus.

Not in the way you might think.

He was actually Jesus.
For the Easter Cantata at church.

He could sing pretty well. I think that’s why, and he generally had a knack for theatrics.
In fact, the church used my Indiana Jones whip to push him down our red carpeted aisles. Fake blood and wounds lined his back.

I saw him there, hanging on the cross, too.
He was hanging between a hippie computer technician and another man.
I’m not sure what he did.

I saw him hang his head.
He was put into a tomb and he came back alive.
(Two’ish days compiled into two’ish minutes.)

I don’t remember feeling very sad. Because I knew my dad was really alive.
Other things made me sad.

Hendrick_ter_Brugghen_-_Christ_Crowned_with_Thorns_-_Google_Art_Project

I always say it is unusual to process your childhood as an adult.
Adults seemed more like adults back then and you realize now that your parents were actually trying to do the best they could with what they had.

Mostly, because I watch my friends and family with kids and see how books and articles will never actually describe or explain to them what it will be like to be a parent.

I am a person who recognizes how difficult things will be. That’s not to say that I find the path of least resistance. But knowing things will be hard, at least in my own head, lessens the blow.

A lot of people in my world are going through some really icky shit.

There is no other way to describe it only that it is like accidentally sticking your hands in pine tar.
You’re in it for the long haul.

And this is what it is like, after all. To be human. To feed yourself. To conflict with other peoples’ well beings. To maybe leave them and this place better than when you found it.

Sometimes, you see your actual father hanging on a cross and it makes you think.

Maybe not when you were nine years old.

But maybe 20 years later when you’re frying eggs on the line,

and you pause and remember,

all of the things,

that have saved you.