Exploring what it means to be human.
Writings
In The Bleak: Advent 2023
This is In The Bleak, an advent practice for those in middling spaces.
Falling Apart, Falling Together
I watch the leaves fall, hues of red and yellow littering the ground in fiery glory. They mingle amongst the grass, a dance of sorts, as the wind blows to and fro. I know that, soon, they will be gone for another year. Winter will usher in its chilly barrenness, then spring will burst forth with its pink hues. Summer will come with warmth and glow, and then the leaves will fall again.
Our world is forever becoming and un-becoming.
And so are we.
Ten Reminders for the Writer*
*or any creative, probably.
Writing involves brutal honesty. This is daunting, and it is normal to feel afraid of facing the page for, when you do, you end up facing the hidden parts of yourself.
Book Corner: Craving Lightness
There’s something about a good, heavy, thought-provoking read. But there’s also something about a light read. One that doesn’t rob your emotional capacity, or doesn’t feel too heavy to read before bed, but still manages to hit those meaningful themes with tenderness and care. One that makes you laugh, whether through the dialogue or the character quirks. I think it might actually be a more literary feat to write a light read that still manages to be complex and, this year, I’ve been on a hunt for books that get this balance just right.
Here are a handful of my favourite light-but-not-fluffy reads I’ve devoured this year. Happy reading!
A Liturgy for Thoughts of Suicide
September is suicide awareness month. For those of us experiencing suicidal thoughts, those of us walking with loved ones who are, or those of us who have lost a loved one to suicide, we are all too aware. This liturgy is an offering, meant to provide a framework of prayer for an experience so desperate words often fail it.
My lungs are collapsed, as am I
Weary, burdened, and downcast
Aching soul, despairing bones,
I am clothed in shame and mourning
The Price of Freedom
I’ve been struck with a thought lately. It pops into my head often. “What was here, before I was here?” I thought about it on our drive to Whistler last week. I’ve thought about it during worship at our church building. I’ve thought about it in my classes at UBC. What history does the land where I stand hold? If I could rewind time, what would I see?
A Liturgy for Entering a Triggering Environment
How shameful it is that I do not fear only evil,
But I fear my own body
The way it responds to innocuous stimuli
The way it flings me to the past
To previous, dreadful places
Creator of this body,
May I not flee from myself
Or look on this body in shame
But may I offer it compassion
For the stories it has faithfully held
In Praise of Poets
Science explains us, as best as it can, but poetry expresses us. Poetry takes one look at the shiny gem of existence and expresses it, one single facet at a time. It is the poets who make you notice the wonder of being alive.
The Greatest Lie and The Truest Truth
The lie of trauma is that you are alone.
The truth of God is that you are never alone.
Sometimes the latter is a healing balm, a comfort to the soul.
At others, it is a grotesque thorn in the flesh, one that leads to the loneliest of questions:
How come God let the bitterness of trauma take root in my bones?
Holy Saturday and Heavenly Interruptions
Today is known as Holy Saturday. It is considered holy, not for the pain or the grief or the uncertainty that waged war in the disciples’ spirits, but because of what came next - Jesus’ resurrection.
It was never about their pain, but about the person who redeemed it.
So it is holy.