I confess that I’m praying this morning that things won’t get too bad for the precious folks living on the East Coast. I pray that they will keep faith with one another and make it through together.
I confess that I have been acutely aware lately of how vulnerable we are as human beings. We are so fragile. I confess that I am hurting today for those that I love who are in pain, and whose ship has sailed too close to the rocks. In times like these I am so grateful to be a part of a church that actually allows people the space and freedom to seek understanding and wisdom without cramming certitude down each other’s throats.
I confess that I spend too much time worrying. I confess that worry, at least for me, seems like a shadow or echo of ambition, which is a much more dangerous thing for my soul.
I confess that I am, despite myself, finding myself much more concerned about who and how (the manner in which, the integrity with which), I love, than I am concerned about what exactly I believe – even while I have very strong beliefs. I think that I am finally learned that more than I am holding I am being held, and there is a kind of freedom to that.
I confess that this is going to be a terribly busy week and I’m somewhat dreading it. There are too many things converging in too short of a time – and that I’m not looking forward to how much energy it will take to make it to next Monday. I’m starting to believe that there is no way to get through life with your dignity intact, so you shouldn’t even try.
I confess that I am still only 325 pages into Bethge’s biography of Bonhoeffer… no progress has been made in the last two weeks.
Okay, I made my confession. It’s time for you to make yours:
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