How do you pray for someone if you don’t really believe in God?
How do you pray at all?
I’ve been asking myself this question over and over this week.
I used to pray, with fervor.
I prayed, even though, somewhere in the deepest corners of my heart, I wasn’t sure that God was real or if s/he heard or cared. I prayed because it was what I was taught to do, because it was expected, because I wanted so hard to believe that it made a difference.
I prayed because I wanted to believe that it made a difference.
Now, though, as I work through what my honest beliefs really are, apart from what I was taught, apart from religious dogma, I often wonder where prayer fits in, or if it does at all. Continue reading “Almost Like Praying”
My alarm clock went off at 6:45 this morning, and I cried.
I’m not kidding.
“Not Throwing Away My Shot” started to play on my phone, my brain turned on, my eyes opened, and I literally burst into tears. Continue reading “13 Days. #Lifechange”
Age 11 in the Cincinnati Downtown Public Library. I was too scared to tell anyone because I was 11, and I believed that I’d done something wrong and dirty.
Age 26 by a superior officer, at a work conference in Colorado. I was too scared to tell anyone because I was afraid to lose my job, my rank, and my reputation.
Age 35 behind the bar at a gallery opening in the art studio where I still do pottery. This time, it was witnessed, and even though those who witnessed it kept him away from me for the rest of the night, he wasn’t asked to leave, and I still see him around town all the time. Continue reading “#MeToo”
I wish you could’ve met my dad.
I find myself saying this phrase over and over throughout my life. As I grow older, meet new people, and experience new things, I wish my dad was here to experience them with me. Continue reading “My dad is…I mean, was…..”
I just want to STOP.
Stop running around.
Stop working so hard.
Stop being perpetually behind.
Stop being so anxious.
Stop caring so much.
I want the madness of the world to just STOP.
Stop the shootings.
Stop the racism.
Stop the oppression.
Stop the violence.
Stop the sexism.
Stop the heartbreak.
Stop the madness.
I want to just stop it.
It’s that time of year again.
The most difficult week of the year for me.
The week when the very date on the calendar is enough to make me anxious. Smells set me into flashbacks. Loud noises make me cringe. Planes overhead make my heart skip a beat.
It’s the week of 9/11. Continue reading “When you’ve Come From Away”
Does my life matter?
I try really hard to keep this blog as politics-free as I can. The internet is awash in political overload all the time these days, and I don’t want to just be another voice in the crowd.
Today though, I’m feeling it. Continue reading “Who Matters?”
When I told my sister that I needed to write a reflection for church about the word heretic, she snorted, and then burst into laughter. She laughed so hard she cried. She laughed so hard she couldn’t talk.
I was not amused.
Okay, maybe I was a little amused. Continue reading “Fine. I’m a heretic.”
This piece was written for a Story Slam I’ll be participating in this evening. If you can join us at Create-a-Palooza on High St. in Carlisle at 7 PM, you’ll get to see me perform this live, along with other people sharing their stories about “bosses”.
Continue reading “Moving To Maine”