God provides for everything according to the capacity of its nature.
-- St. Thomas Aquinas, Question 1, Article 9 of the Prima Pars
- becoming a contributor at Deeper Story
- admitting my ineffable weakness
- root beer, tears, and presuppositions
- late nights, somewhat disappointing movies, and laughter
- graduate students who are not, by the grace of God, the worst (but some of them are)
- reminding myself that I am more hedged-in, protected, and loved than I like to think
- the chorus at Evening Prayer for the Feast of St. Michael and all Angels
- The clarity with which Chris Gibson writes out her heart has long given me joy. Her words are a harmonic of a longing soul. "We’re not Boy Scouts learning slip knots; we’re disciples learning Jesus."
- What I appreciate about Alise is her consistent ability to speak honestly of herself with a generous hand of grace. She knows where her salvation comes from and that it is not from herself. Reading her helps me read me, helps me remember my need for grace, helps me try less to be my own Saviour. And in this post, we are kindred: "I want attention, but I cower if I actually get it. I want praise, but deflect it when it happens. I want grace, but would rather wallow in my guilt."
- I cannot comment on these words from Lauren except to say that they are poetry. That is all. That is enough. "Today I sit in front of Jesus and hand him a list of every man's name that I've slept with and kissed - and a face sketched for the names I don't remember. Today I sit at Jesus' feet with an entire book filled with every lie I've ever told and every hateful comment I've ever made."
- Sarah's words have been pooling in my spirit these past few days. I have found myself again and again fighting with God about nearly everything from future to the brand of toilet paper I should buy. In the midst of being overwhelmed, I needed to recall that "But God" is a full and complete prayer. I cannot add any more to what she has said here, save a resounding sob of thanks.
- Do we fail our art, do we fail our Saviour when we censor what must not be censored? Stephanie raises a provocative question worthy of rumination and care: "We all have our forbidden art forms. How many times have we been told: you can’t tell that part of your story." I wrestle with this often, here in this space especially. Join her question, her conversation, and see if there is something poetic to be gained from our wonderings as we wander together.