Sometimes, when I want to get better perspective, I find it helpful to think of the word in its spacial sense. How big is this thing, really? How close is it? Am I about to get run over by a freight train or a hamster?
I'm starting to notice that there are a lot of inflatable freight trains in life. Things that look massive, but just because they've been filled with a bunch of hot air (some of it mine, some of it other people's).
It's become commonplace for people to wear their busy-ness, overwhelmed-ness, and struggles as a badge of honor. If we're overwhelmed, it's because we're indispensable for so many people. What we're doing is very, very important. Bah. Centuries of people have done important things with equanimity. Centuries of blusterers have passed into dust and anonymity.
My word of blessing today: You are precious, but you are not important. God is. May you rejoice in those relative sizes.
I've written a lot of condolence letters lately, two just this week for women whose mothers have died. My prayers are with all who grieve the death of a loved one, and this week they are especially with V and B.
This week, Holy Week, is spring break at my seminary. I'm sure that all the second and third year students doing field ed are especially glad not to juggle classes and multiple services, but I'm grateful for the break, too. I'm trying to chip away at the Things I'll Do When There's Nothing Due list, and I haven't gotten very far. Instead, I'm quilting, and watching Inside the Actor's Studio.
It's been the right thing to do. I love my classes (no, really-- reading and writing are a curiously good time to me), but lately I've been asking, "why am I here?" The Actor's Studio reminds me-- I'm here for the stories, and for the honesty. There is almost nothing in the world that I love more than hearing about what really matters to people. We as seminarians don't seem great with that honesty piece. There are frequent shows that disguise truth more than reveal it. Thank God for actors. I've been reading, too-- and thanking God for the honesty of fiction, and of poetry.
And, because I've always wanted to play, here are my interview answers: