It's been a few months since I've been here, in this space.
Likely because life, and people, and processes, and events have all been seemingly happening at breath-taking speeds with which I couldn't keep up.

Continued racial violence and murders.
Continued gun violence.
Continued persecution of people for merely being themselves.
Continued religious debates that do nothing but fuel hateful, Spirit-less fires.
Continued political debates that turn things like running for POTUS into a joke.
Continued news about the worst refugee crisis since WWII.

I still can't--keep up, that is. Not really. So much pain and confusion and feelings of helplessness and anger and desperation from all sides of every event, every newscast, every community, every pulpit.

I often wonder why at certain times the brokenness of the world seems to build upon itself like a snowball rolling down a never-ending hill in mid December, while simultaneously getting bigger and bigger and bigger...

I will admit that the snowball effect has taken its toll on me lately. Not only am I trying to discern ways of authentically living my life that lessen these terrible things, ways that offer life-giving support to real people in real places all over the world, but I'm getting lost in my questions, frustrations, and heartbroken-ness for these same people and same places.

Where is the hope in the midst of these realities that I largely know nothing about aside from listening to firsthand accounts and reading articles that might or might not be depicting credible depictions of these stories?

It's almost as if all of these thoughts in my head and feelings in my heart were (and still sort of are, I guess) causing my body and spirit to short circuit and disconnect from one another.

My body is tired, but it can't rest--too much over-thinking, worrying, being angry about what's happening in the world. Dreams about drowning refugees occur every time I close my eyes.

My spirit is tired, but it can't rest--too much heartbreak, loneliness, suffering happening in the world. I can't wrap my mind around one event before another one happens for which I should be praying and/or grieving with those who grieve.

I'm slightly numb--in some sort of holding pattern waiting for my body and my spirit to realign.

But today, just for a few hours, I felt it. I felt the pieces slowly gravitate toward one another, slowly move back into their rightful places. The snowball slowed, and my body relaxed, coffee cup in hand, for the first time in a long time. And, miraculously, my spirit decided to show up for this momentous occasion as well.

There we were. Somehow, all of me made it to church this morning--not in compartmentalized fractions, but in fluid yet united wholeness. I was thinking and I was feeling, but in ways that made sense and in ways that eliminated the numbness to which I had resorted.

As the sunshine reached through the stained glass, over our heads, and up toward the altar, I leaned into my chair and listened intently to the piano and organ as they harmonized with one another, to the flute as it movingly piped along, and to the soloist as she offered her angelic renditions of Pie Jesu and The Lord's Prayer. Hot tears streamed down my face as I felt the presence of God meet us in those holy moments.

It seems as though beautiful skylines are always
involved on the days in which I encounter God
most vividly.

I listened to God's word for those gathered in the pews this morning, and the tears continued to fall as if signifying the re-connect of my body and spirit was at long last taking place. We learned about knowing the difference between wisdom and knowledge, the importance of mercy over judgment, the brokenness that we all share, and the gift that we have in Holy Communion--where we can admit the ways we are so desperate for God's grace while recognizing the ways that God's grace in the bread and cup gives us the strength and perseverance to be vessels of God's mercy and love in the world. I guess you could say, it re-connects us--to God, to each other, and to ourselves.

In the hours following worship, the mess of the world threatened to undo the re-connecting that took place earlier this morning. And while the mess continues to haunt me, I'm hoping that the ways God spoke this morning--through presence, music, word, and sacrament--stay at the very forefront of my mind...reminding me to re-connect to the Creator and to all those whom the Creator loves, even the mess that is me.

Thanks for stopping by. May you go in peace knowing you are not alone in your brokenness or the brokenness of this world even though it often feels like it. May you be reassured that it is never too late to re-connect.