This is my Camino. Welcome.

Le update

Once I went to this church-talk by this dewd I know who is really cool and also happens to be in seminarian for bonus-cool points.

He was telling us some stories about his life, and one was that he went to this high-security prison to minister to the inmates and what not. Anyway, this one guy started berating him and was getting all worked up and high-strung, and my friend was praying the good ol’ fashioned, “Oh Jesus, Oh Sweet Jesus, help me help me help me” prayer (classic. One of my favs) and he said to the guy, “What do you think Jesus might be telling you right now?”

And my friend said the guy quieted down and started crying and saying, “I think he’s telling me to slow down.”


I liked this when I heard it and everything.
Take a quick aside. I maintain this blog. I try. I really do. I know some weeks (COUGH LAST WEEK COUGH) things kind of fall behind, but that’s because I walk a fine, fine line of not being 100% private (i.e. people who read my blog know me in real-life, real-time, too) and trying to respect privacy and the privacy of my community and, even, how to work through things on my own and in my own time.

Last week was my last week at my job. I have another job lined up, mind you, so don’t worry too much. But, last week was huge and weird because, frankly, people are people and places are never perfect so there was just a lot for me to work through. It was my first-ever and (to this point) only professional full-time job. Read: all I’ve known, all that is comfortable–walking away from that. There were (and are) a ton of wonderful people whose ministries I respect and admire to the highest of highs. Read: contacts and faces and stories I love, ones I will miss. So, yeah, those things.

But, also, again, places aren’t perfect, and there were things that were far from perfect in the situation, and I had to work through those, too. (Not divulging info…not divulging info). Pray for me.

I gave myself two weeks, though, of time between this last job and the next. I know I need time to revamp and recoup and, honestly, heal a lot. Ministry is a challenging situation. Again, pray for me.

So, then. I set aside these two weeks. And my plan was to have time for prayer and contemplation…and ART and CIRCUS and BIKING and DANCINGGGGGGGGG and one million other things. One million, guys. I’m not here to mess around.

Friday was my last day. (SO. MANY. FEELS.) (And not all of them pleasant.) (Frankly.)

Saturday I went to play in this “non-competitive soccer league” I play in (but the guys are all pretttty competitive), and I was playing defense. At one point some dewd socked the ball in my direction, and I blocked it with my body and my hand was across my body for protection and, after the ball ka-bammed my hand/ body…my hand really hurt.

A few hours later: hurt and swollen and moving funny to boot.

So then: emergency room.

They tell me (after a few hours) that it’s not broken (yay) but I can’t do anything for a few weeks (whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat) and I need to wear this brace-thing (kind of helpful/ kind of uncomfortable) and keep it elevated (I’m like an all-star at this) and ice it (I didn’t do this at all because my BLOOD IS MADE OF ICE and I thought that that would suffice. Please, trust me with all of your medical decisions).

Keep in mind that this is my right hand and I’m right-handed.

Did you ever think about all of the things you do with your dominant hand? You do a lot of things.

Everything takes slower and weirder with my left-hand. Washing my hair? Meh. I hope it’s mostly-clean. Brushing my teeth? Yeah, my depth-perception and gentle-ness are totes off.


I doubt I can go. And that hurts me deeply, like sharp dagger right through my heart-ventricles.

And I wanted to go dancing on Friday…all the leads dance with right-hand guides.

And I have one million arts I want to work on…and a sincere but lacking left hand to do them with.


And, I know that this registers as kind of a non-problem on the problem-scale where you have things like starvation and, I don’t know, ingrown hairs also making the cut but send me your pity, I’ll take it. (Also, excuse any typos. They seem to run rampant-er).

But, I remembered that one story as I drove back from the library today. The one about “maybe he’s just telling me to slow down.”

I won’t say I was happy about it.

But I remembered it.

Pray for me.

Note my swollen fangers.
Note my swollen fangers. Excuse my typo-ed words.

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