Interesting. I guess this is it.

So I guess...this is it.

I came to Italy with so many questions and I've been here 2 months, almost, and have not gotten the answers I sought.

Instead, true to my Savior's form, I have gotten other answers, and a resounding reminder of who is God. Newsflash: it's not me.

This is my list of questions, I believe, that I previously enumerated:

1. Why I’m even in Italy.
2. Why I’m in law school—when I hate it.
3. What You’re doing with my life.
4. And God, that You haven’t forgotten about me.

And this is the list of answers I've gotten:

1. I AM.
2. I AM.
3. I AM.
4. I AM.
5. AND THAT IS ENOUGH.

Ouch. But...wow. 

I knew that there was a possibility that God was allowing me to come here to answer this question that I've had since I was 18 years old of "am I supposed to be in Italy?" And I knew that there was the distinct possibility that the answer to that question may be: NO.

So I guess...this is it. I guess, I don't know, maybe I will be back but I guess this summer was not supposed to be about me getting all of my little head's dreams fulfilled, but rather my heart getting re-centered and reminded of WHO is God and that I am actually created for satisfaction in Him, not for the realization of my dreams.

When did I get so off track? I don't really know.

I gaze at these few words and I'm amazed at how many thoughts, emotions, tears, and prayers fill in the lines and spaces between everyone of these characters and words. There's so much more to what I'm saying right now, but I don't feel like I can write about it on here. I guess there are still some things that are too personal right now.

But that's okay, because the point is that I know who is God. The point is that I know what He has done in me...and I think that's what I ultimately came to Italy for.

He had given me the word "intimacy" for this year, and that's what He's doing--and that's what I'm going to keep praying for. Deeper still, and more intimacy with Him.

I mean, if I'm really, really searching for that "thing" I'm created for then--this is it, right?

Make it so, Lord. And then take me home, and may I be satisfied that this is, apparently, not the place I'm supposed to be. 

But thank You, for knowing your daughter well enough to know that she had to GO to get that question's sound response.

Thank you.

If You're going to Kill: Kill Systemic Hate

My heart bleeds for my country when, I learn from my friends overseas that we are known for this: making war. We are good at this--and now we're destroying ourselves and the democratic institution that we also killed to build. They shake their heads and ask me if I've seen what's going on and if I can explain: I can't.

I'm speechless.

There's no logic to all of this. My nation is also known for getting involved in other peoples' conflict worldwide and we think that we are promoting an ideal of "freedom" in places that need it...but a house divided cannot stand. America has vowed to fight terrorism, but we're terrorizing ourselves.

I'm pro-LIFE, I'm pro-DUE PROCESS. I'm pro-COP, and pro-BLACK. I'm pro-TRUTH. 

And I'm pro-JUSTICE. Make no mistake, justice and law are two different things. The law is merely a (often inadequate) means to arrive at some semblance of justice--but the only way to fill in the blank between law and justice is the only thing that can effectively see the grey and nuances of every situation: love.

Please go shoot some of that back into this bleeding world and go have the courage to gaze someone in the eyes and know that a soul like yours exists in them, regardless of what color they are or wear.

...

When terror claims where peace should reign
Despair finds company there.

Where "hope" seems but a hollowed out sign
with no significance to spare

The hard faced question drills its way
then, back into position:

Is there horizon and what does it mean
for sight seems a sole solution.

If the senses cannot process this,
or verify existence

How can that distant line remain
Mid terror's plaguing instance?

The line called distant is actually there,
By virtue of terrestrial curve

Even if terror's impenetrable night
cannot lucidity serve.

So then is hope, a matter of will,
Or a choice in perspective due,

For somehow horizon always dawns
After nightfall's interminable hue.

Hope exists like earth's round way,
though the senses may not perceive

Hope's purpose or nocturnal mode
of operation wholly unseen.

Force of Law (School)

I think I may have gotten to the bottom of why I hate law school. I'm not going to say for sure, though, because it seems like every time I think I've gotten to the "bottom of something" things somehow get deeper. 

Of all things, though, I don't know why I'm ready to write about this. I guess maybe I need to explain to myself why I hate what I'm doing and try to turn it into something positive (no pun intended). 

I took a class on the philosophy of law this year (otherwise known as "Jurisprudence"). During this course I ran across, yet again, the name Jacques Derrida. The guy keeps appearing in my life. I wish his stuff weren't so interesting, I want to just forget about him. Curiosity won again and I found myself on a rabbit trail trying to understand the guy, again, and ended up finding the following gem(s) in an article about his work on the law: 


Surprisingly, in "Force of Law;' Derrida comes very close to setting up a full-scale theory of justice and an accompanying account of law....Derrida's ultimate goal is laudable: to set forth a concept of justice that demands a tireless, impossible, and incalculable vigilance to ensure that justice is done to the other....

Several important themes emerge in Derrida's "Force of Law," but the following points are essential: (i) deconstruction is not politically nihilistic-to the contrary, it recognizes an unceasing call to do justice to the other at all costs; (ii) there is a distinction between law and justice, such that justice is not deconstructable, yet law can be deconstructed; (iii) deconstruction reminds us that law can never reach a stage of complete justice, since justice is transcendent and never wholly imminent...

[The author goes on to name a couple of other points]

Justice is deemed an "experience that we are not able to experience" and involves an experience of aporia. Although these comments seem cryptic, Derrida's main point is that justice, properly understood, should not be confused with positive law....[Furthermore, t]he call to justice reveals a responsibility without limit, a sort of bottomless duty to the other. [And, i]n contrast to justice, "law" is a system of determinate rules....

Derrida's understanding of law follows Pascal (who in turn was following Montaigne) in the notion that the legal system is not founded on reason or justice, but upon an act of interpretive violence. Montaigne recognized that law is "nomos" (convention), and hence it derives from custom and cannot be justified on deep moral principles. Of any particular law, it can be asked, "What is the authority for this law?: and then again "What is the authority for this authority?" By tracing the chain of authority backwards, we must eventually acknowledge that the law is not "based" on anything beyond arbitrary custom backed by state violence. Because there is no rational point of origin for the law, it is self-grounding. 

[Here Derrida and I split for a moment:]

...people begin to believe that the law is grounded in a higher order (God, reason, natural law), instead of realizing that the law is largely a fictional creation which self-perpetuates (in the sense that laws get their authority from other laws, in a circular system of self-referencing support). 

[And here I rejoin him:]

So there is a tendency to collapse justice into positive law, which results in a sort of naive legal positivism: the view that there is no justice over and apart from the rights and remedies available on the existing legal system. In order to combat this position, Derrida adamantly insists that justice cannot be collapsed into law. So we can never say, in good conscience, that "the law is [fully] just [emphasis mine]...The mystical foundation lies beyond the parameters of the legal system. Justice is located in this 'beyond,' since justice cannot become fully present in the existing legal system....

In "Force of Law"...Derrida seems to be laying the groundwork for an approach to jurisprudence which insists upon an almost dialectical struggle between law and justice....

But, and here is the main point, the law can be changed so that its foundations more clearly reflect the demands of justice. Justice must be vigilant toward law, it must interrogate and haunt the law. 

All of the above from: Litowitz, Douglas, Derrida on Law and Justice, 8 Can. J. L. & Jurisprudence 325 (1995).

Derrida saw law and justice as two different things, and viewed the construction of law as having a distinct duty to be ever on a trajectory toward the better reflection of justice. Though it may never be fully attained, the duty that law owes justice also demands perpetual perseverance.

I guess I resonate with this because I realize that I have far more of a passion for justice than I do the law. The law is often so ineffective, even if it's necessary. Justice is a mirage on paper and in the courts, and I hate that. 

But here's the thing, Paul totally talks about this--albeit indirectly. He talks about how: "now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known." (I Cor. 13:12). I truly believe that the "justice" we see and even that which we aspire to is only a dim reflection of true justice, we're trying to mirror something that we can't fully imitate without another salient ingredient. And even then, it's not justice at its full potential.

That said, it's not lost on my that this reference to a dim mirror is embedded in the famous "love chapter." I think that (I'm risking sounding like a West Coast hippy here) the only thing that can keep the law moving forward toward that undeconstructible notion of justice is, actually, love. 

Because it's only love that sees each situation individually. The law necessarily can't. You make a law and you exclude--necessarily. But the law is still a necessary structure--and love has to take some form in order to be imparted and, God-willing, well-expressed--because it's like a language.

Which is another reason why I think Derrida may have been more of an authority on the issue than many give him credit for. Most of the man's work was on the linguistic bent--his foray into jurisprudence was slightly out of the norm for him, but I actually think that the relationship that law has to justice is highly analogous to the relationship between meaning (in the broader sense) and language.

Anyway, this cavernous gap between law and justice, I think, is one of the deeper reasons that I find law school highly unfulfilling. It's hard to read case after case in which the outcome is perfectly--sometimes shockingly--legal and so much of the time a world away from "just." It's hard to not get disillusioned and frankly, it just gets harder to care.

I don't know what I want to do with this degree when I'm done. I don't have any idea what God's doing with my life, and that's become clearer than anything in the last month. But I do know that it's not the law that I'm passionate about, at all. I've always had a passion for justice, truth, understanding...tout ça...so where this is going?

WHO KNOWS?

Socratic Parable

I had some difficult questions posed to me this weekend. Some Divine, some from people, and I’ve continued to think about how Socratic God can be sometimes.

I ask Him a question, and He comes back at me with others that actually point to the heart of the issue. It’s unnerving, and healing. It’s unnerving because it undoes me. It breaks me down and it gets to the very heart of the issue that almost never lingers on the surface but hides and lurks below other questions and ends up being uglier than anything I was prepared to face in the first place. But in this unnerving, undoing somehow it heals.

It looks so cliché when I write that.

Whatever.

I keep finding myself saying, internally (and sometimes externally) “I didn’t sign up for this.” But the fact is, I did. I DID sign up for this.

I keep thinking about a chapter in Tim Keller’s book King’s Cross, wherein he unpacks the story of Jesus healing the bleeding woman—while he’s on his way to another man’s home to heal a little girl.

I get choked up sometimes when I think about it, because Keller’s interpretation goes deep for me. Keller points out that for both persons seeking healing, Jesus ends up asking far more from them than they bargained for, but the truth of each story is that they end up also receiving far more than they asked for.

Here’s how it goes. Mark 5:21-43.

When Jesus had again crossed over by boat to the other side of the lake, a large crowd gathered around him while he was by the lake. Then one of the synagogue leaders, named Jairus, came, and when he saw Jesus, he fell at his feet. He pleaded earnestly with him, “My little daughter is dying. Please come and put your hands on her so that she will be healed and live.” So Jesus went with him. A large crowd followed and pressed around him. 

And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years. She had suffered a great deal under the care of many doctors and had spent all she had, yet instead of getting better she grew worse. When she heard about Jesus, she came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, because she thought, “If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed.” 

Immediately her bleeding stopped and she felt in her body that she was freed from her suffering. At once Jesus realized that power had gone out from him. He turned around in the crowd and asked, “Who touched my clothes?” 

“You see the people crowding against you,” his disciples answered, “and yet you can ask, ‘Who touched me?’ ” But Jesus kept looking around to see who had done it. Then the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell at his feet and, trembling with fear, told him the whole truth. He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.” 
While Jesus was still speaking, some people came from the house of Jairus, the synagogue leader. 

“Your daughter is dead,” they said. “Why bother the teacher anymore?” Overhearing what they said, Jesus told him, “Don’t be afraid; just believe.” 

He did not let anyone follow him except Peter, James and John the brother of James. When they came to the home of the synagogue leader, Jesus saw a commotion, with people crying and wailing loudly. He went in and said to them, “Why all this commotion and wailing? The child is not dead but asleep.” But they laughed at him. 

After he put them all out, he took the child’s father and mother and the disciples who were with him, and went in where the child was. He took her by the hand and said to her, “Talitha koum!” (which means “Little girl, I say to you, get up!”). Immediately the girl stood up and began to walk around (she was twelve years old). 

At this they were completely astonished. He gave strict orders not to let anyone know about this, and told them to give her something to eat.

Keller makes a few points (probably more than I can remember, but here goes).

The man...

This man was high up in the Synagogue. Already, coming to Jesus was going to cost him some reputation, surely. But, his daughter was acutely and immediately sick. His love for his daughter won. The situation was urgent, and he persuaded Jesus, in faith, to come. But then, Jesus seems to get…distracted?!

The woman...

The woman had a chronic, seemingly non-diagnosable disease. Jesus stopped himself en route to treat an emergency situation to enquire as to who had touched him. This is the first shocking point. It seems like he has his priorities mixed up.

The woman, it seems, just wanted, in faith, to tap into Jesus’ power for a moment and then escape--unnoticed. He then calls her out, brings her forward, and asks her to tell her story.

As a woman, this story makes me cringe. I can’t imagine having to tell this story in public, even today. I can’t imagine explaining myself in front of a crowd full of people and describing over a decade of bloody discharge from my body and my despair at ever having a normal life.

I can’t imagine what that would be like even now, much less back then. Her body, by law, effectively made her an outcast, and anyone who touched her. I can imagine that the crowd pressed around her and Jesus in this moment promptly recoiling in disgust and self-preservation. Probably a reaction that she had become accustomed to, at least to some degree, but probably not from a whole crowd.

And then Jesus speaks life to her. He calls her a daughter and speaks life and freedom over the rest of her existence: “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.”

I think her suffering didn’t just mean the physical part. I can’t imagine what such a 12 year old ordeal would do to a woman’s psyche and then to deal with the consequences of Jewish law on top of that!

But then, the man again…

So then, there’s dad, looking on to this situation, wondering if Jesus has lost his ever loving MIND, when he daughter is at home urgently ill and DYING. And then the servants come and announce that it’s already happened. She’s gone.

“What’s the use?” They say. She’s gone. But then Jesus looks at this man. And the way I imagine it is a rather piercing gaze. One that somehow reaches to the furthest recesses of the Jarius’ conscient soul and says 5 words: “Don’t be afraid; just believe.” Jarius, I think it’s safe to assume, DID NOT SIGN UP FOR THIS. The audacity of Jesus’ brevity, as well as him stopping in the middle of the street to hear this woman’s 12-year-long story—I can imagine—did everything but make Jarius SNAP in two. “Who is this man?!” I can imagine him thinking/feeling. “I came to him in faith but this is more than faith this is something else—this is…crazy!”

Then the end of the story is even more amazing than what Jarius had signed up for. Jesus didn’t just heal a sickness, he brought the little girl back to life in a moment that undoubtedly solidified forever in Jarius’ mind the Deity of Jesus.

It was way more than he thought he signed up for, indeed.

I came to Italy with questions: “who am I supposed to become, where are You going with my life, am I supposed to be in Italy long-term…?” And He has responded in kind: “I AM. I exist, ponder that. I created you to be satisfied in Me, DO YOU TRUST THAT?”

“Don’t be afraid; just believe.”

Easier said than done.

Law school in the United States is done in the Socratic method. It’s not a series of lectures that teach us about the law, rather, it’s a series of courses designed to help us go find out what it is and apply it to our situations. It’s a serious of:

“This is what happened in the ___ case, according to the logic of the court, what would the outcome be if ___ circumstance were different?”

“What philosophic approach does the court take, and do you agree with it?”

“What if….”

Maybe it’s because I’ve been immersed in this for 2 years now, but I’m starting to see how this consistently happens in my relationship with God:

“God, should I do ____?”

“Well, what are your motives for wanting to do ____?”

“God, why did ____ happen?”

“Well, do you believe I am good?”

“But why does it hurt?”

“Where does it hurt?”

“You know where it hurts.”

“You tell me where it hurts, name it, and maybe we can go from there.”

….tears….

He keeps asking questions until I end up at conclusions that I never would have come to on my own. And you know what? It goes deeper every time He does that. It’s flat out a better education. And a better education comes with far greater reward, and satisfaction. I think Jarius would probably agree. And so would the woman who was given back her health and dignity in the middle of the street after crawling to touch Jesus’ dirty hem.

His ways are beyond me. Good thing they're better than mine too, because at this point I may have already packed my suitcases and headed back to the States by now. Something tells me to wait. I have to admit, it's not fear for me right now it's frustration. When I read this story and put my own circumstances in the narrative I can envision Jesus looking over a crowd of tourists in Rome, straight at me and saying: "I haven't forgotten, don't get frustrated, just believe."

Right now, I'm relating to Jarius in that few minutes walk between when Jesus said that and when they got to the little girl's bedroom. I can just imagine the internal war, the grief in that man's soul and I resonate. There are almost no words that satisfactorily express the disappointment and reverberating WHY. But I love that Keller's admonishment comes back to me: there will be an even more reverberating BECAUSE. The question then remains of how to handle the interim?

Not sure I know. One day at a time. And I'm headed to Naples on Friday--all of this solitude is wonderful, but I want to see some people now. ;)

(By the way, I would just like to take a moment and say, yes, I do realize that God came before Socrates.)

Guilty

A part of me feels guilty for yesterday's post, but not because of its content. Actually, I find that having an outlet for brutal honesty in written form is extremely cathartic and, being that just about no one reads this this venue seems a harmless and appropriate place to let that honesty be expressed.

No, actually the guilt comes from the fact that I kind of feel like I only complain on here and as this is a place to get out my frustrations and thoughts on things, this blog ends up becoming a sometimes rather negative forum. And that's not me--or at least the whole of me. Like I said, I'm glad for the dearth of readers, and this is one of the reasons why!

Anyway, yesterday was an extremely low point. I've been in Italy for about 10 days now and it hasn't all been tears (though there has been no lack of them). Actually, there has been plenty of smiles and interesting incidents, and humorous attempts at Italian. Which, by the way, still leaves much to be desired.

So, I thought today I'd post something more positive, and maybe get out of my head in on a more constructive note. Even if it's not about Rome. ;) So here goes.

I've undertaken the task of memorizing James right now. I'm still on chapter 1, even if it's been weeks. ;) I've done Beth Moore's study on this book twice, and it's a powerful one. In the first chapter of James he talks about a mirror, and about how one who hears the Word and doesn't do it is like someone who forgets what he actually looks like in the mirror. The choice of a mirror in this passage fascinates me, and I've always kind of felt that there's something deeper to the fact that James chooses a mirror here and not some other metaphor. He makes savvy use of metaphor throughout the book of James, so I've always thought that this one must have some significance as he didn't choose to use something else.

So, as I've been thinking about it while memorizing (which, by the way, brings a world of new perspective to the Bible, you see things in memorizing that you wouldn't in just reading!), this is what I've come up with:

James 1:22-25
But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks intently at his natural face in a mirror. For he looks at himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like. But the one who looks into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and perseveres, being no hearer who forgets but a doer who acts, he will be blessed in his doing.

The "Word" is like a mirror because it describes us, it describes us how we were made to be as humans. It describes us as we are, as fallen beings, and it describes us how we are meant to be. It's not prescriptive law, it's descriptive law.

Prescriptive law is, for example, legislation that demands a certain kind of behavior, or proscribes a certain kind of behavior: "thou shalt not.."

Descriptive law is law that eventually becomes enacted and written down because it describes a practice or principle that is already in place and established otherwise. This is what the Word is, it's God saying "hey, I made you, I know what you're supposed to be, and if you want to get there, let be describe it to you."

This is what is "the perfect law, the law of liberty," because it at last liberates us to become what we were originally intended to be. So, when one hears (reads) the Word and doesn't do it, it's like looking at what you are and forgetting it--like, denying reality and "deceiving yourselves." So, the one to does and doesn't just hear will be blessed. Why? Because that's the way it was set up in the first place, and the Word just describes the system.

That's what I've come up with so far. Still chewing on it. There's so much in this chapter, and it's a weird feeling when it starts becomes become a part of you and integrate into your theology and worldview. I guess that's what James means when he says "receive the implanted word, which is able to save your souls" in verse 21.

So, there's a more positive post, for all 2 of you who read this. ;) Now, I'm going to be super weird and go watch a French movie with Italian subtitles at the French cultural center here in Rome...very strange I know, but I'm hoping that it will help me with my Italian, as I often have to translate in my head from French instead of English. We'll see.

A presto.

I don't even know what to call this....

I’ve heard it said that God is a crutch, that organized religion is for the weak, etc.

I guess a part of me agrees with the “organized” part of that phrase, because in my experience—to human sensibilities, at least—God often feels anything but organized. And this faith thing? It feels like anything but a crutch.

Actually, it feels more like God continually kicking out the crutches from underneath my arms and telling me to walk. That I can walk. And then somehow standing by while I figure out how and what "walking" even means.

Sure, there may be huge comfort in faith. But if anyone thinks that it’s easier, they haven’t done it—or haven’t done it right. Make no mistake, I’m not trying to praise the way I do faith. Frankly, right now, I have my good days and my bad days and this one is one of the latter.

I’ve been here before. I’ve been in this place of “I don’t know what the f*** I’m doing here or why and I just want to go home” and where I’m on my face in tears most mornings wondering what, just WHAT God is thinking (?*&(*Y*&^&$). And there is, oddly, a sense of comfort in that. It’s so weird. It’s like, at least I know where to go. It's not easier, though, it's just deeper. I'm not sure I can even put it into words, so I'm just going to leave it at that.

When I pray, in my mind’s eye I’m usually in the Holy of Holies in the Tabernacle. I’m not sure why the Tabernacle and not the Temple, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that the Tabernacle was mobile. And in a desert…. Anyway, there’s a very special and unique sense of home for me in this place in my mind’s eye. It’s a place where I sit at God’s feet and He doesn’t care what a mess I am, He just wants me to be honest about who I am and where I am.

I wish I didn’t cry so easily. I hate it. People think I’m crazy or emotionally fragile…and maybe I am crazy but actually, the tears have so far been my only way of getting up again, moving forward, catharsis. I might be emotional, but I don't think it's a weakness really. If I didn't know where to go with it, I think it would be. But the Tabernacle floor in my minds eye is swept and wiped clean by the liquid produced by my emotional life, I know where to go with it. And I'm not apologizing for it, I'm sick of apologizing for being emotional.

I’m rambling. But whatever. I just don’t care. Today, I’m ready to throw in the towel. I’m ready to go home.

There. I said it.

I’m not okay today. I don’t want to be here, it hurts, it’s expensive, and it just seems like the last two times I’ve been here in Italy God has asked some very difficult things of me.

Last time, I followed through. But I’m not going to lie, there’s a part of me that regrets it. It just hurt and never got resolved. What was that?! This time I’m actually (and honest to God), not sure I can do this. I am not being dramatic when I say I actually don’t know if I have it in me to stay and have faith that I’m here for a reason and that this is going to be good. I hate admitting that, because it feels weak, but again I kind of don't care. To be honest, if I hadn’t promised that I’d be at a wedding on July 1st, I might actually get on a plane home. I’m done. I don’t want to do this. It’s too hard. God, you win. I’m out.

I’m sorry if that’s too honest. But I can’t be something I’m not. I know I’m being a brat, I do. But this is how I feel:

• God, I went to law school for You. I hate it. The only part of it that I’m passionate about is International law, which opportunity to practice has been ripped out from underneath me and I’m thousands of miles away from home wondering how I’m going to pay my rent.
• God, last summer you asked me to do something hard. I did it. The result was such a terrible misunderstanding that I’ve spent every day of the last year wondering why the h*** you sent me into the Lion’s Den like that. I had no idea what I was getting in to.
• God, I’ve followed You all over the world and done what You’ve asked, even when it seems crazy. And the result is a really impressive passport, interesting stories, and ZERO narrative. I’m wondering who You even are. And I hate that I’m even saying that because on the other hand, You’re everything to me. I’m so sorry.
• God, my questions right now are about so much more than a job in a foreign country. I’m 32 years old and I’m tired. I’m feeling so jerked around that I don’t know if I want to get out of bed in the morning. Except I know if I don’t I’ll get a headache from not having coffee…How lame is that?
• God, You say to pray for wisdom, and not doubt. But if I doubt, I can’t help it. I don’t even know what to do with that. I DON’T WANT TO DOUBT BUT HERE I AM AND I DO. I hate this, and I suck. Yes, I’m fully aware of that.
• God, I’m sick of people telling me that I’m “amazing” that I have so much faith and blah, blah, blah…or that I need to stop thinking and asking questions of You and just live. I swear that if I hear that one more time I’m going to freak out. If you created me to ask questions THEN I’M GOING TO. I know You can handle this and I know that at some point I’m going to probably be mortified that I was ever at this point and didn’t trust You. But here I am, in exactly that place. And this is what I’m banking on: that You can’t do your best work until I’m honest, vulnerable, and, well, on my face. Literally.
• God, that said, here it is: I NEED SOMETHING, SOME KIND OF CLARITY. I honestly can say that I’m not just saying this because I want it, I’m saying it because I need it. I need some kind of indication of:
• Why I’m even in Italy.
• Why I’m in law school—when I hate it.
• What You’re doing with my life.
• And God, that You haven’t forgotten about me.

This might be too honest for some readers, and so I'm glad that there are very, very few of you. ;)  I’m taking measures to get my name off this blog. Anyway, I’ll make it. I always do. But this is where I’m at right now. I’m an unemployed hot mess in Rome, Italy wondering if I’ve been forgotten and WTF is going on.

Back to the crutch thing, I just have to say that faith is anything BUT that. Again, it’s God telling me to walk, and somehow—no matter how many temper tantrums later—I always do. It's just: hard.

It’s a good thing God’s an Artist. Because I’m a mess, and I’m not exactly low maintenance for Him either.