Time and Tiem

When I’m not trying to be the best optician in the world I am here.

Usually when I get to write a blog I’m alone and surrounded in quiet. Now I’m listening to the TV in the background, my mother yawn, and I feel my own yawn start to form in the back of my throat.

Like, who really goes to spell the word “time” and spells “tiem” instead?

That’s where I’ve been.

I found myself crying in the bathroom stall at your friendly Folsom Walmart earlier today with the only gratitude inside of me being that I was alone in there.

I am in love.

Say more–no.

I will start and end there.



It seems that every day is a spill-coffee-on-yourself kind of day. At least, that’s how it’s been since I┬ámoved.

I’m no good at change. I want so much for IT to happen whatever IT is and then when IT does, well. What then?

I’m living with my mom again and I realize, on some nights like tonight, that I’m so miserable waiting for her to just get home. I don’t know how miserable I am until I see her–and then it hits me. There’s the one. There’s the one I can talk to.

I’ve been spilling my coffee on myself a lot lately. Getting into the car, getting out of the car. I’m anxious, I’m afraid, I’m upset. I should call on the name of Jesus–you don’t have to tell me. So I do. Then I spill coffee on myself again.

On the subject of coffee I’ve also come to realize this. That you can be irrevocably in love with a man, and yet, he has no idea how you take your coffee. Man, how does that work, Lord?

Sometimes I’ll be in the kitchen. Ok, let me start over. I’m always in the kitchen. If you’re not in there, man, I’m in there. I’ll get to thinking. There isn’t anyone alive who can cook eggs or make turkey and rice like my dad can. And he’s not here in Folsom with me.

I’m always realizing realizations. I don’t know yet if that’s a sign of maturity or a sign that I’m not learning anything, if I have to keep realizing.

There’s just a lot that goes into loving somebody and disliking your Bible study and missing your dad and kinda sorta hating yourself and starting over again and again and again with so many damn clean slates that you start to wonder if they’re even clean any more.

Peace. Peace I leave with you.

He says.


The Street Where She Lives

I’ve been thinking a lot about this misconception we have as Christians, that like, if were good little girls and boys God will give us a treat. Kind of like….I don’t know. Like, if I don’t misbehave then I will have everything I could hope for. If I eat my peas at dinner time and don’t talk back to my father when we disagree, then I’ll get a little extra something when the time comes.

It’s just crap. I mean, I’m not sure where that came from, but it is. And it has to be said. There’s a lot of things that we don’t talk about within this realm of Christianity and the church, I mean, if we still call ourselves that. It’s like, can’t we just talk? I’m not saying, “if you feel it, say it, go ahead–proclaim it” but I am saying who are we to say–if I do this, God will do this? That’s pure speculation.

I moved to Folsom a couple weeks ago. The night I got here I left the airport and drove home and the street where I live was totally empty. During the day time it’s normally bustling with life and activity but on this night, a couple days before Christmas, it was just so crystal clear out. I was by myself and I just felt this wave of relief come over me. That this thing that had been chasing me lost my scent and couldn’t find me any more.

There’s a song I truly love that no one seems to know about, from the movie My Fair Lady. Me and God have a thing for this song, so I’m just kinda gonna leave it….here.

I kind of feel like this is how God feels when we meet Him where He is. I wonder if He was singing this song, when I got here.

I’ve had a lot of anxiety and turmoil in my heart off and on, of course, a lot of it of my own making. However, there is nothing no not one thing that is not in the hands of my God.

This should relieve me, this knowing, that though I throw the dice He will decide where they fall.

Yet I am not relieved.

But He sings to me, on the street where I live.