I’ve seen your posts this weekend people. I’ve seen that picture. And I have held my tongue. The “Your God isn’t Allowed in Schools” picture. The one that seems to want to say that if God was still allowed in schools then shootings like this would not happen.
And all I’ve wanted to say was fuck you. Fuck you and your self-righteousness.
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The reason I’m a liberal is because I was brought up a Christian. I’ll repeat that, just incase you’re doing a double-take. The reason I’m a liberal is because I was brought up a Christian.
I taught Sunday school under my Gram’s tutelage, I wrote and delivered children’s sermons in front of packed congregations in my teens. I’ve read the Bible – The reason I’m a liberal, is because I was raised a Christian. Read the rest of this entry
Ten days after I got back to MA, ten day after my dad’s memorial service, the message came that Gram was about to pass. And for eight weeks, I had thought I was going to be okay with that message, that after everything we had gone through – I was going to be okay with that message. But I wasn’t, and ten days after I had been home in MA, I was packing up and heading to CT. Again.
-there about fourteen stories I have to tell you in this one post to get to the ending, so please hold on, I’ll get there.
When Papa was in the hospital – I had a lot of new CT area code numbers in my phone. And one day when I meant to dial my mother – I dialed my grandfather. Read the rest of this entry
Ten days ago, I was dipping my toes in the Mediterranean, and soaking up the sun of Barcelona in an outside cafe, while sipping coffee, in a square a few hundred years old, and watching my students learn to love a new place.
Seven days ago, people on the other line of a cell phone who sounded a million miles away, told me there was only a fifty-fifty shot my father would make it through the night. They told me to come fast.
Six days ago, they told me he would be off the vent in a day.
Three days ago, I held my son while they drew his blood, from his tiny little arms, because the peanut, is getting lighter.
Two days ago, a nurse started being more straight with me than all the nurses before. The pneumonia is menacing, the vent isn’t going anywhere.
Yesterday, I was told my gram might just have days to live.
Today, I was told maybe it might be longer.
And so – Read the rest of this entry
Some days I miss God.
As a child, I had absolute faith. I was raised in the ubiquitous New England, Congregational church. I was confirmed at thirteen, and taught Sunday school along side my grandmother from the time I was twelve. I had my own class by fourteen. For my entire freshman year of high school, I didn’t miss one Sunday of church. I played the Angel Gabriel in the Christmas pageant. I gave children’s sermons in front of full congregations. I was a councilor at an affiliated church camp. I read the Bible, both testaments, word for word. I can still recite the names of books of the New Testament in order, and can tell you just about every parable and bible story. Read the rest of this entry
sunny. melting. temperature at 9pm, 24°
in which she dances
This is joy. This is straight up unabashed joy. This is a picture that in my vainer moments I wouldn’t share, but that an old friend dragged out and posted last week. This is me at 23. I am in-between everything. I’m just eight weeks from moving to Boston. I am 8 weeks beyond graduating college, and just 6 weeks out of a break-up from someone who’d been part of my life since 17. I am three months from a new job, and three years from moving to the valley. I am in the middle. I am soaking music in -I am bathing in it – because the night before, I found out what church is really supposed to sound like.
A childhood/high school/ life buddy led me down to a late-night show at the festival. We were with his brother and his brother’s friend. It was late. It was dark. There were hippies everywhere, the show was in a ski lodge. An insulated ski lodge. In August. There was a film of sweat on everyone. There were few women to be seen – there were boys everywhere – My friend gave me a nod, and a wink, like he was Santa Clause about to fill a stocking. And then- it started. It was the deepest groove, It was the darkest base, it was the guitar on top, it was Funk. There was nothing in that room but a beat and the motion of hundred of bodies finding their groove. I had no choice but to dance, but to work off the testosterone and pheromones in that room. No choice but to find my feet grounded to the floor, my heart attached to the down beat, and find that my ass needed to get down. This is what church is supposed to sound like, feel like, be like. God should be found in the organ, it’s just there should be a film of sweat on everyone, a preacher man with a guitar, and a drummer finding the groove.
Tonight, in a three song radio set, I found a little bit of that joy. Between dinner and the dishes, between bath-time and bedtime. Heavy things were falling down on me, and Ani was reminding me that between the politics and the earthquakes the little plastic castle is a surpise every-time. Sweet boys tucked into bed, and i’m feeling so small against the sky tonight.