writer, artist of the soul, & infinite dreamer


A strange name, I thought, for a disease that stretches on for so many weeks.

But it is solitary. Isolating. Isolated.

The fear of infecting someone else. The lack of energy to interact for more than five minutes at a time.

My days are mostly spent trying to sleep. And breathe. Tonsils and lymph nodes swollen, each swallow lingers like a deep cut on the back of my throat. Dehydrated from the pain of trying to drink, breathing through my mouth for too long leaves it sandpaper raw. But my nose is no help at all. Plugged continually. Never more than one nostril in use, I beg for oxygen with each inhale.

Maybe that’s why I’m so tired. Maybe that’s why I’ve become coarse and mean and hopeless most days. I can do nothing more than lay here and ask for help. The feeling is void, less than human, useless.

I’m told that eventually this will end. I should be on the upswing in another month, even though one has already been taken from me. I hope I can hold on.


Anxiety and Expectation

Three more days until the deep dive of the semester.

I am library-bound. Psyching myself up to face how much Hebrew I’ve forgotten over the past year (with no one but myself to blame). I feel the darkness of the wings closing in as the curtain of the semester threatens to pull back. The most satisfying classes are the ones that ask the most of me. I see that on the horizon for all of them.

My thoughts are jumbled with hope and tension. There is undeniable past Faithfulness to lean on, yet in my weakness I am as short-sighted as ever. I doubt my weakness and struggle to move not by my own strength. That daily miracle of sustaining Power is a mystery clouded to me like the February skies.

Sugar and Spice

Our days are peppered with possibilities, seasoned with the suggestion that we will see certain individuals in the places we’ve grown accustomed to. Call us “creatures of habit,” but there are goods to be found in routines. By virtue of them, we foster unexpected connections. Sometimes a friend of convenience can even become one of your closest confidants.

New student orientation is tomorrow, and I am curious to see how new souls will integrate into the atmosphere here once again. I am excited for the unexpected blessings that will come from seeing those who are at a beginning, when I am caught up in the middle (in some respects).

In other respects, I too am at a beginning. My routine is no longer limited to sphere of myself, but my newly married husband bobs and weaves in and out of place and moment in our tiny (but big for us!) apartment on cold mornings. I hear the sound of dishes in the other room as I dress for the day. But they aren’t merely the sounds of another preparing for their day in the same space, irrespective of my plans. The dishes sound because there are two and we will have breakfast together–a deep breath before we dive into the day.

I am thankful that what were once my routines are steadily becoming ours. There is such a comfort in the daily simplicities that foster our connection. I’m growing accustomed finding him next to me each morning. To the spontaneously choreographed dance of preparing meals together in the kitchen. To seeing him at his desk as we check off our list of ‘to dos.’

Right now, I wait for another routine. For lunch, when our bodies rise in symphony and bring us together over microwaved lunchbox meals. I wait for his voice, his smile, and his eyes. I wait for my Beloved and what this day holds for us.

Breakfast (sc)Rambler

The day has gotten off to a slow start. Two more exams left to go. I’ve finally made it to the library, coffee in hand, seated at the table in the corner by the Babylonian Talmud and Midrash Rabbah.

My mind is tired, but willing to keep on–even if that be at a slower pace than my younger self would approve. Then again, I often feel like I’m letting my younger self down. But in all fairness my younger self had unrealistic expectations for what real life would look like played out in the day to day.

This morning I acknowledge that I know far less than I think I do. I don’t have it figured out, but mom always said you can accomplish anything with the right tools. This past year has involved the acquisition of more tools for the task set before me.

More will be revealed in time. Today I will set my mind on the task before me. Tomorrow can worry about itself.


“Just a little bit longer.”
“One more big push.”

The end of the semester comes in stages. The crest of paper deadlines ushers in the next wave: finals imminent against the horizon. Once you’ve expended your last vestiges of strength, dig deep into the dregs and complete the journey with excellence.

Fatigue has me floundering today as I face my screen and a semester’s worth of notes and outlines (four-fold). I am hoping for joy in the reflection that finals studying provides, but visions of soft blankets and warm drinks lull my resolve with their intoxicating promises. I will disregard their suggestive siren call. There is more to do before we rest.

“One more week.”
“Just another month longer.”

Spirit Wrought

The amber sun streams on autumn
mornings transforming tree’s leaves until


The coffee, mixed with personal luxuries of
hazelnut and cream, remains underneath


The text of greeting comes with a regularity
of tradition–vibration. smile. response. Set on


The prayers we speak together are infused with
words not my own. A vocabulary cultivated from
past days not un-like this. Sufficient, Merciful,
Compassionate, Ever-present, Thankful, Prince of


In the morning I will rise

Some mornings rising poses more of a challenge than others. These mornings it is not chiefly a physical fatigue, but rather the internal exhaustion of my mental, emotional, and spiritual capacities.

Yesterday I found myself falling, fearful of the inevitable end. To hit the floor and shatter my porcelain self into a million little pieces. I still feel fragmentary–half of me stuck in free fall, the other half swept neatly into a tray waiting to be repaired.

It’s hard to quantify the struggles that come. This might be the hardest thing I’ve yet faced, but I have more tools than I did ten years ago. Or maybe I’m the same person I was back then, but as a result of seminary and Scripture my sin has been laid bare. An ever-present thorn lest I should boast in myself or my works. I see no way out on my own. A broken vase cannot self-repair. I wait for the hands of Another to find my pieces and paste me toward perfection.