Christmas Presence

This is one of the most beautiful Christmas Seasons I have ever experienced.  I'm still piecing together all the whys, but I know that this year every light seems brighter, and every song more joyful.  Honestly, in many ways it's been a pretty crappy year.  We've had a lot of yucky things thrown at us, and endured a lot of anger and malice.  It has been a year of struggle for right to win, and for love to conquer (but God said it would!).  It's been the teariest year yet, the most difficult in so many ways!

Yet, amidst studying for finals and probably the toughest university courses I've ever taken in my life, I am remarkably happy and ridiculously blessed.  I am married to the most incredible person in the world - I have her by my side, and Christ as our centre.  What could be better?  This Christmas isn't the kind where we'll have a big pile of gifts under the tree - our tree is about a foot tall and I bought it at a thrift store for $2, but it's sweet and I love it.  Our gifts?  A few new clothes we've bought this fall for new jobs and such, and going to Canada for a week.  Christmas day?  It will be spent traipsing through airports and squished into airplanes, but we'll be together.

It's been the most difficult year, and yet also the most blessed.  I married my best friend.  We live simply but we're together.  We are pursuing life - and right now that means college, and minimum wage, and tiny thrift store Christmas trees.  What could be sweeter?  My heart swells every time I see a red bow or a wreath - it's like all the light of Christmas and the blessed Christchild who came is bursting forth out of every decoration.  Christmas isn't about the gifts or even the traditions - for this year is almost entirely without either, but it is about the joy that comes through Jesus Christ, and His work in each life to fulfill His purpose, even if it means going through the yucky stuff in the meantime.

So we are grateful.

Dance of Soul

I need to write so badly.  I don't even know what will come out from my fingers, but the world around me spins ever faster, and sometimes I feel like I'm caught in the eye of the storm, watching but not feeling, and then all at once, all the joy and the pain descends like a great cloud.  I would be lying, however, if I did not say that it was an immensely beautiful cloud, multifaceted, with many colours.

Recently I got the chance to dance.  And if I'm not mistaken, I'll be dancing again very soon.  I've been a musician pretty much all my life, even if I haven't been quite as active in the music world the past few years.  Music still runs in my blood.  Rhythm.  Movement.  Creation.  Newness made from antiquity.

So I danced - at least, I moved.  And then I was moving with another human I had never met.  And we were creating beauty, and I felt, of a sudden, a depth and strength I hadn't felt since the height of my musical 'career.'  I felt a oneness with all of the world around me.

That was when the cloud hit me.  The emotion of the year, the chaos and beauty, the feelings pent up in the souls of those in the room around me, the campus, the nation, the world, all one great painting of soul and colour - all of it was wrapped up in a moment of movement outside of time.

And as find myself slipping in and out of time, giving in to the stresses of the lines and borders of this physical reality, I also see, through a misty blanket, that world of inner movement, the rainbow of the soul, and I realise that my problems pale in comparison to the Life I'm given and the Love that exists.

I can't figure everything out, and I can't solve all the problems.  But I can find the worth in what has meaning and what doesn't.

<3  Love to all.
Sheila

Mental Health and our Spiritual Selves

I am not less spiritual because my mind is broken.  I'm not sure where to begin with this, but it's an observation I've seen over and over, particularly within the Christian community.  As a Christian, it has never crossed my mind that my mental struggles, no matter how they have played out physically, would affect thatat all.  Honestly, my struggles with EDs and depression have caused me to run back to the Lord more than I ever would have, had my life been closer to perfect.

Perhaps the misconception comes from the idea that a mental health disorder has a spiritual root.  This is the concept that a person's lack of spiritual health has lead to their mental demise.  Although prevalent in many circles, this idea has several flaws.

Firstly, what does cause mental health disorders?  What causes eating disorders?  What causes depression?  No two people are the same (hence the term 'individual'); we are all snowflakes.  Yet there are some common threads that run through this huge family of individuals with mental health disorders.  Genetics (yes!) and abuse (of any kind) are two of the most common culprits as roots for these kinds of struggles.  Spiritual deficit is never the root.

Does our spirituality affect our mental health?  Absolutely!  Should we be praying for those who struggle with mental health issues?  Without a doubt. Yet is the connection causative in nature?  No.  There is no more correlation between an eating disorder and our spiritual nature than there is between that nature and cancer.  How the cancer is dealt with from within and in the community surrounding it changes greatly depending on how we cope spiritually.

As I struggle with this disorder, as it sometimes eats me up from the inside (both literally and figuratively), I have no choice but to bring the fight before God on a daily basis.  Sometimes it means bringing Him with me into the dark places.  Sometimes it means curling up in the palm of His hand afterward.  Sometimes it means leaning on Him as I struggle to push off the desperate urges within me, begging for mercy this time.

Yet my seeking God for help cannot be done in isolation.  Disorders of this kind, just like cancer or any other ailment, require treatment.  For cancer, we immediately think chemo and radiation.  For an infection, antibiotics.  For a tumor, surgery.  Mental health is no different than the health of the rest of the body.  The mind needs medicine and therapy just like the arms and legs when they are injured.  So I pray and I am prayed for, I lay my weary head in Christ's lap, and I take the steps in the physical world to do my best fighting with God's help.

But I do not have bulimia because I didn't seek God enough.  I am not depressive because of some great sin.  We fight diseases and disorders because something caused it - an event, a genetic influence, a microscopic organism or a traumatic event.  Not because of the absence of spiritual commitment.

A Love Letter

Dear Body,

Hello there!  I don't talk to you very much these days, I know.  I'm sorry.  But look at what you've accomplished!  Look at what you've been through!  Normally when I talk to you, it's bad things, and I don't even want to repeat them here, because this is a love letter.  Today I feel good about you.  No, nothing has changed - you're not more tan or more buff, you're not thinner or stronger and your skin isn't clearer, but you are my body, and the only one I'll have on this earth.  I'm grateful for you.  Shall we reminisce?

See those little poke-holes in your elbow?  That's from when I gave blood over and over and over again - every chance I got!  I gave it because 21 people gave blood for my Mama just after I was born, and because of them, she's alive.  1, 2, 3 on each side, and a couple of them are doubles.  I'm going to keep giving, because her life is worth so much.

Oh, that spot where the hair always grows in!  Ouch, hey?  I know, it's a bugger.  But it always happens, right there, no matter what, and it's just a part of this body, a tiny flaw that makes it this body, special and mine alone.  Remember how every year as a kid I'd pick a 'special' leaf in my big leaf maple tree and visit it every day of the summer?  It was always flawed in some way so it was special and mine.  A tiny hole or misshapen edge made it special!

Oh that line on my legs where my favourite shorts land.  Guess it shows I've been enjoying the summer just for me, not specifically to show off a perfect tan.  You're beautiful even with tan lines, dear body.

There's that little triangular scar on my hand from when I worked at the organic farm when I was 14!  I was cutting beautiful flowers in a hurry, do you remember?  What a beautiful summer that was - and it was my first job!  I learned so much there about food, plants, and the earth.

The two little scars on my face from chicken pox, those are on you from when I was just 4 years old in Switzerland.  Kind of ruined the last couple weeks of vacation, but it made for some pretty cute pictures of a red-spotted little girl in the Swiss Alps with the cows.

And lookie there, the slightly in-turned toe that developed from walking all over campus getting an education.  It was a challenging time, but such a good one, developing amazing relationships and stuffing my head full of incredible facts and learning what I am capable of.

You're beautiful, dear body.

There are the scars, the real ones that show, the ones I keep trying to hide by wearing skirts with my swimsuit.  They weren't there last summer.  I haven't known exactly how to feel about those scars on my leg.  The ones on my shoulder, too.  But body, you carry them well.  They are evidence of pain and conquering, that I didn't give in to the depths, that Jesus held me in the darkest moments.

Funny, not all the things to look at are on the outside, are they, lovely body?  Throughout the day I feel the effects of the challenges you've had to weather with me.  Sometimes my throat burns hours after eating - my tummy just doesn't always stay as shut as it's supposed to, does it?  But the more we practice, the better it gets.  I'm sorry for the headaches you've endured and the bloodshot eyes, and the swollen glands that have come with my eating disorder.  I promise I'm continuing to work on making that happen less and less.

You have bumps and lumps and callouses and moles, soft spots and hard spots, a knee that clicks when it's not supposed to, and arms that flare up in pain after the smallest exertion, but you are mine.  You've carried through good times and bad.  And I'm so grateful that I still have you, and that God has let me live in you, this beautiful, wonderful, perfectly flawed body.

Love always (I promise.  Even when I don't show it),
Sheila  <3

Bulimia 2.0

It's time for an eating disorder update.  Most of my posts lately have been rather vague on the recovery front, and that was the whole point of this blog.  So here goes!

I'm actually doing okay right now.  I haven't been counting, but I think I'm at a week or so.  The spring was great, I went a month two or three times.  Being with my love helps me to stay calm and get through it.  We work together on recovery, and we get there.

The summer, being away, tons of stress, everything new, lots of unknowns... yeah it's been hard.  There have been some bad weeks, as evidenced by the puffy-cheeked little picture here a few weeks ago.

It's hard, not binging.  I've managed to not purge on a number of occasions, but stopping the urges, that's painful.  My whole body almost hurts when I have to resist.  It's like a menace that takes over your brain.  But the less I do it, the less I struggle.  So that's good.

Overall, I'm still seeing steps forward.  I'm learning the patterns that create bad cycles.  Now it's just learning when I have to be on guard.  That's a hard thing, and the world is full of triggers.  It's impossible to avoid them all, so I just have to learn how to work around them.  But God is gracious, and sustaining, and I have to rest there.

Lots of love,
Sheila

All the Controversy.

I'm feeling a lot of pain.  My own personal pain, the pain around the world.

I almost don't want to scroll through facebook for all the hurt and struggle that I see.  It's messy.  I'm here, crushed about my own circumstances, wishing they were different, but also hoping for a bright future.  Somehow.

I'm sick of the politics, the two sides, no matter the country.  I'm tired of the leftists dumping their garbage on the right-wing people, and the right-wing-people badmouthing the left-wing people.  It's messy and it's ugly, and it doesn't help anybody.  My view?  Every politician has a streak of ugly in them.  Some also try to make people's lives better.  Leave it at that.

I'm sick of the people gunned down.  I'm tired of gun law debates.  Yeah, I know, sometimes it seems good that someone had one, and other times it is the weapon of mass destruction.  I've heard both sides.  I choose a side that I think will help in most cases, but is it perfect?  Nope.

I'm tired of racism.  It's 2016.  Maybe it's because I grew up on the West Coast of Canada, but it just doesn't seem like it should be a thing!  A person is a person, no matter the colour of their skin or their country of origin.  (Also tiny humans are humans, but hey, another story, right?)  Let's start treating each other like we're all created in the image of God, because we are.

I'm beyond tired of homophobia.  I never really saw it in full force until I came out.  Wow.  It's not just fear, it's prejudice and nasty comments from the people you would least expect.  It's snide remarks about reproduction or my love being worth less.  I love a human, that is all.

I'm really sick of fat-shaming and calorie counting and obsession about steps taken or pounds lost.  I have enough struggles as it is to be faced daily with everyone else's body sagas.  All our bodies are beautiful in their own way.  Again, a masterpiece of God's creation.  THE pinnacle masterpiece in fact!  Keep it healthy, whether big or small, eat quality food, and enjoy life in the body God made for you.  That's it.

Religion.  SO TIRED OF IT.  I'm a Christian, but I'm not going to shove it in your face along with some of the above dogma and expect you to suddenly want to believe like I do. 

So pray like you mean it.  Love like you mean it.  Treat other humans like the In-God's-Image creatures that they are.

The end.

From the Island of Misfits

Hey world,

So I'm queer and I'm a Christian.  For a lot of Christians I know, this seems an oxymoron, and I get questions about it frequently.  Honestly, this post isn't about why I believe that the Bible isn't condemning committed homosexual relationships (Others have already done that, for example, HERE or THIS).  What I'm here to talk about is this:  I know a lot of well-meaning Christians, both gay and straight, who have attempted to include members of the LGBT community in the body of Christ simply by erasing parts of Scripture, choosing to believe that the Bible is flawed, or that maybe some of the writers weren't inspired.  I respect these people and love many of them dearly, but I cannot for one moment agree with that stance.

In the near future, I plan to marry my fiancée, and she will become my wife.  But what will our marriage mean in light of my just-proclaimed belief in the sanctity and innerancy of Scripture?  Not to mention the fact that this is a strongly-held belief my my future wife as well!  Will our marriage be a disgrace to the concept of Christ and the church?  No!  Our marriage still represents the incredible union that is to take place when the Church is wed to Christ, the long-expected fiancé returning from a journey, so-to-speak.  Should we let our oil lamps run out as we run around trying to convince the next lesbian or gay couple, dedicated fully to the Lord, not to serve Christ together?  Should we not instead be putting our energy into filling our lamps and being prepared for the return of Christ when He chooses to come?  Where are our priorities?

I'll switch gears.  This issue has been swirling around my heart and mind a lot these days and I need to address it from several angles.  Throughout my childhood and teenage years, my personal social, political, and spiritual views shifted drastically every year or two, from far left, to far right.  I'd become more open with myself and who I was, finding joy in pursuing life abundant, and then find myself afraid of the open-mindedness I'd discovered.  I'd quickly switch out my shorts for long skirts, my scoop necks for crews, and my crazy hair for braids.  I'd try to exemplify discipline, early morning walks, and spiritual rigour.  I had to look every bit the part of the Conservative, Homeschooled, 'Good Christian' (all capitalized because they did indeed feel like titles).  I joined causes and read theology books, I witnessed every chance I had, to the shame of Christ's Name in some cases.  At which point I'd often realize that I wasn't honouring God simply by acting the part of something I wasn't.  I was simply trying to fit a mold created my humans in an attempt to sidestep any possibility of sin. Funny, I was still impatient sometimes, and I still disobeyed my parents when I felt like it.  Sin didn't go away because I dressed differently or carried tracts.

So I'd slowly swing left, tanktops and shorts, a different approach to my daily Scripture reading, a more open look at life.  I still sinned.  And that scared me.  So before I knew it, I was trying a different conservative box, maybe wearing a head covering or going to the evening service on Sunday.  So I'd swing left.  A little harder each time, to the point where I actually turned my back on God at one point.  When I arrived at rock bottom and the Lord spun me in a 180 toward Him again, I went from the liberal, Wiccan hippie to a Bob Jones University Boje (read: avid rule-follower and generally annoying person).

- Skirt below the knees.
- Neckline no more than 4 fingers below the collarbone.
- Lights out at 12.
- No headphones.
- No Skype.
- "Hey 'friend'?  They said no headphones."
- No demerits.
- 4.0 GPA
- I'm a good person.
- I must really be honouring God.

But was I?  Or had I simply turned to another form of idolatry, yet again?  Whether it was being determined to follow all the rules (written or unwritten), or freeing my mind to believe whatever felt 'right,' I had a mind that wavered.  It was tossed by the wind (Eph. 4:14).

So here I am, defying unspoken rules, so to speak.  Is this just another leftist shift?  Or, in reality, is this a choice to stand firm, to choose the uncomfortable part, perhaps the better part?  I'm at a place where I'm not taking a popular route.  I'm not the lesbian with a mission to prove that all religions are the same.  They're not.

"I am the way, the truth, and the life.  No one comes to the Father but through Me" - Jesus, John 14:6

But I'm also not heterosexual.  Nor, in many arenas, conservative - Jesus wasn't.

So where does that leave me?  Where does that leave my future marriage?  It leaves me in that painful place where I can't just believe something or act a certain way because it is prescribed or because that's how someone I respect believes or acts.  It leaves us choosing to painstakingly study the Word of God, to seek Him daily (and nightly!) for wisdom and strength through the pain and heartbreak of others not understanding, and remembering that our Lord, too, was misunderstood so often.

So I'm a misfit.  It's nothing new.  But I'm a misfit who loves Jesus, believes unwaveringly in the innerancy of His Word and the importance of spreading it to all who will hear.  I'm a queer, misfit, follower of Christ.

What can I say?  I've got great company.

Rambling thoughts

I just need to write.  I need to create somehow.  I want to play music, but there's no piano.  I want to paint, but while no paints may seem my problem, lack of skill tops that one.  So without any other artistic mediums and not feeling like keeping my thoughts to myself, I turn to my old friend, the blog.

Just the thoughts tumbling forth from my mind.  Such deep thought of late, and I don't even know what it's all saying.  Such profound changes in my life around me, yet a grounding more solid than ever in the created me.  Not the masked me, but the me with a life worth living.  I only really re-found that mask a year ago.  Oh as a teenager I felt it, it crept all over my skin, and, the question-asker that I am, I asked all the questions, and I thought I had all the answers.

Those answers didn't all satisfy, and they led me down some dangerous pathways.  But here I am.  Re-peeling back the sickly covering over my soul.  It's a painful process, that pruning, that stripping away of the safety nets, shields, and walls of steel we place around ourselves.  Those walls that are supposed to keep the bad stuff out?  They end up just hurting.  They don't let the good things in, and they don't let the things inside shine.

I don't do well with stress.  It eats me up on the inside, and it makes it so much easier to act out.  It makes it easier to not take my meds.  It makes it easier to just hide.  But even that, I'm learning.  I'm learning how to deal with it.  I'm learning to open up.  To actually open up, not just with the safe things.  I'm learning who's truly safe.  I'm learning what it means to be listened to, completely, and I'm learning what it means to really listen.

Oh I don't know.  I'm trying.  I'm trying to be positive.  I'm trying to thrive.  There are moments when I'm totally thriving.  I'm succeeding, I'm fighting hard, I'm doing well.  In those moments it's easy to praise God.  It's easy to rejoice in the Lord!  Yet in the moments when I just can't bear it anymore, it's hard.  Finding voice to say "Oh Jesus, help!"  takes so much more effort than I ever knew possible.

But we're surviving, and there are such great things ahead!  I'm counting on that.  On the promises.

Even if you're fat, is calorie counting healthy?

Trigger warning:  Weight and calories

Hello world, here's another controversial post for you!  Hear me out though.

I know, I used the word 'fat' in the subject line.  That was to get your attention.  Also because it's the excuse used.

"Oh I know counting calories isn't healthy for you because you have an eating disorder, but I'm fat, so it's okay."

I beg to differ.  Two days ago, Michelle Obama (for whom I normally have great respect) unveiled the FDA's newest updates to the ubiquitous nutrition label, as described here (trigger warning for calories).  I'm seriously disturbed.  The one line that is the most highly triggering for millions of people, is now practically doubled in size.  I've trained myself to avoid looking at nutrition labels like the plague, because when I do, my mind spirals.  And I know others.

But is triggering the disordered really the main problem?  No, it isn't.  I recognize that even though there are a lot of us who have battled eating disorders past and present, we're still a minority.  We are still not the 'typical' population at large.  (Oh but there's an interesting discussion right there - minority visibility for the eating disordered!)

Still, as I've seen, even for those with significant weight to lose in order to be healthy, counting the numbers of stuff entering your body is not the healthiest way to get healthy.  Not by far.  Perhaps the concept of just eating healthy is a distant memory for many, but it a person gently reduces the processed foods and sugars they are consuming, weight comes off.  Calories in, calories out, is a horrible way to live.  So quickly it becomes an obsession, as I've seen in the daily lives of my fitbit-ing friends.

Get a dog and walk it.  Eat more salad.  Do your own baking.  Make treats a special occasion.  Live life fully, not enslaved to some step counter, bite counter, stair counter, life counter.  You are the only one with the job of living your life.  Don't let some machine buckled to your wrist or program of numbers destroy your spontaneity!

Besides - have you ever heard of diets turning into eating disorders?  Oh yes, it's far more common than you think.  I was a normal human with a normal relationship to food, and then I dieted.  And look at me now.  Years of recovery and fighting!

Your overweight friend might just be fighting that big, bold number on the new-and-improved nutrition label, and you don't even know it.  For goodness sake, buy big, bad, stickers, and cover up all that crap on your boxes.  Even better, don't buy boxed food.  Eat fresh.  Live active.  Buy local.

Just be responsible for your own life and don't let some government-issued label run your life.

Breaking the Silence

Shattering the noise.  Cracking the ice-cover.  Thawing the frost.  Opening my heart again.

It's been a particularly shadowy part of the mosaic, a deep and dark-ish time to wade through.  There has been, through it all, immense joy and relief, and peace in the chaos, but overall, it's been hellish.

Yet still, God is faithful.  He upholds.  He sustains.  He has given me the most incredible gift of love.  His love, and the love He created for us to pursue.

My eating disorder still invades my mind sometimes, creates a hardened shell around every wise thought, so I cannot think.  Yet that has become more rare.  I'd average maybe 2-4 times per month.  Which is far better, I'd say, than last summer!

So I'm working on it, just like all of us.  And I'm grateful to everyone.  And I'm processing, I'm learning, I'm growing - we all are.

Let's journey on.

Spring and Peace

Today is spring and my mind is marvelously clear.  Flowers are springing from the ground, the trees are tossing petals from the tips of their branches.  I'm late to things, but I'm not concerned.  I've eaten well today (and enjoyed it), and it's alright.  I'm listening to fingers tickling keyboards as if it's the same trilling of the birds I heard this morning. My bare toes touch the classroom floor and my mind is transported to the sweet softness of fresh grass bending beneath my feet.

We're all together here.  So many stories thrown together in one room - an intensity of experience that we could never all handle alone.  I'm glad to breathe in the air that flutters past my face from the window across the room.  It's brushed by the branches outside and moved those little green leaves I see.

Life is not perfect.  There are multitudes of injustices all around me.  Discriminations.  Hurts.  Betrayal.  Abuse.  But somehow God allows me peace sometimes.

So I'll just rest there today.

Triggers

What are triggers and why does it matter?

Life is good, the day is beautiful.  The sun is shining.

Then the mention of weights, of highest and lowest body weights in a room, numbers are thrown around, numbers I recognize, and suddenly, my entire being is swirling in fear.  Not explainable, not shaken off with a mere thought or prayer.  Not passing after a moment's breath.  This is palpable, deep-seated, lung-collapsing fear.  My breath gone, my body quivering, I try to focus on the current task, head down, panic-stricken.  All the material seems suddenly 10x harder, deeper, more confusing.  Because my brain has captured those numbers, and try as I might, they won't go away.  They are a plague.

So how can we be mindful of triggers?  We can recognize our audience: a room in which 90% of the people are young women? In a conservative environment?  Weight is a bad idea.  Should I be speaking of waist size or the number on the scale or abuse statistics?   Can we not refrain from talk of obsessions and beauty?  Of our perfections and imperfections?

Because statistically, I was not the only one affected.

What other things should we be aware of?  How can we protect those around us, those we love, with our choice of words, of topics, of examples?

You tell me.

A Bulimia Update

Trigger Warning - ED behaviours.

So I've been thoughtful and vague for a while, and I do enjoy writing that way, but I think it's high time that I write a true recovery update, to face where I'm at and what's happening on the journey.

I'm still bulimic.

Working on recovery, yes.  Every week looks different.  Every day, actually.  Has progress been made?  Certainly!  Just a few months ago I couldn't see to the time I'd be able to go 4 days purge-free, and now that's common.  There have even been a few times where I went a week or two.

Some days I don't have any desire to binge, nor purge, and everything seems almost easy.  The next day might be fraught with all sorts of urges and yet, somehow, the will to fight.  Yet other days go by in a mist of depressive thoughts and yet bulimia does not rule my day.  Other days are bright and beautiful and yet I find myself full to bursting, and the eventual forthcoming of said food.  Completely blindsided.  Sometimes you just don't know it's coming.

Or perhaps some brief yet stressful season passes through - tests, conflicts, quizzes, projects, worries - and the healthy coping strategies fail me.  There is no intellectual desire to binge or purge, yet it happens, sometimes again and again, unstoppable, painful, horrifying, humiliating.

So slowly, tearfully, when the numbness wears off, I get back up, brush off the dust, run to Christ for the strength to keep struggling, to keep trying, to keep working hard to put this behind me.

Yeah, I'm making progress.  Yes, there is hope.  It is possible to overcome.  But it's a journey, it's not just a single step.

Pressing on.

Published!

Too exciting not to share:  I'm officially published on NEDA's www.proud2bme.org. 

I Will Not Remain Silent - Post on Proud2BMe.org

Activism!  Yes!

- Sheila

Breathing

We all start out so small, so insignificant to the world, yet so hopelessly important to two people.  This irony of existence, beginning before we begin ourselves, it calls for a mind far greater than mine, yet here I am, trying to explain it.  Before I was, I existed in a heart, a mind, a thought.

And now the entirety of my existence, of yours, hangs on the experiences we have had, on the heartaches we have born, on the creations of moments that hang suspended in my soul, and in yours.  We watch painfully, as the days float by, waiting for the place where we can breathe again.

When I breathe, I find myself shocked at the life-giving force in the air which rushes through my being.  Is it just air I'm breathing, or am I breathing in life?  Am I breathing in spirit, renewing my mind by the transforming grace of the God I live for?

Perhaps that's the majesty of the moment, of existence itself, that it's not about dealing with the moment, about the problems we face, or the chaos of current events.  It's the grace for existence, that we are all still here, still breathing, still alive, and we barely even chose it.

So we write love.  We hope life.  We create stories by breathing.

Are you breathing?