My youngest son wakes up either real grumpy or real silly. We thank the Lord that today he is silly. He is making his favorite breakfast- peanut butter and jelly on a flour tortilla. From the kitchen I hear, "The jelly is impossible to open."

My prayer is, "Guard the door of my lips." Speaking is my problem. If I would shut up then life would be better. I envy people who are slow to speak, slow to anger, slow to action. I see them as smarter. I see them as better. Are you a recovering talker? How did you stop? I wish I knew how to do it. 

Crisis of character? Yes. Existential crisis? Pretty much. Feeling a bit lost? You betcha.

"You could give me the moon and I would squander its shine."  Yes. Yes I would.

I went on a run this morning. The sun was beautiful, the sky was blue, the high schoolers were lapping me on the track. 

I've been thinking about writing a love song. They aren't easy. They are made even harder when you question whether love is really love if it's practiced by a broken person like myself. I'm only capable of shadow love. I'm capable of a poor replica of the real thing and is that really love if you can't get it right? It's like little kids playing house. They pretend and so do we. What do you call that? Which thing wins out? The love or the brokenness? Part of me thinks that broken people only ever experience broken things and then sometimes we get a vision of something true and real and good...and then our own humanity comes along and kicks it in the nuts. 

I do that. I kick myself, my neighbor, my family and my friends. I do it all the time. I don't have a gun. I don't raise my fists, but I might as well be the shooter because I'm definitely not the victim. And you gotta choose one of those, right?

So I lower my standards and I pray, "Come quickly, Lord Jesus." 

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