Writing the Body

The title isn't original, it was stuck in my brain and jumped up, volunteering, when I started typing.   I was craving writing, probably due to the nudging of the oh so lovely Christy from Seeds and Weeds.  If you don't know her you might wanna fix that.

Tonight I celebrate with my dear friends at One Wheaton.   I can't help but think about last year.

The sign, since you probably can't read it, says "Rooted in Baptism".   Under that sign are we, students past and present, of Christian colleges and universities who gave years of our lives and large chunks of money because we believed learning who God is was worth both our years and our money.

I took this picture because I knew that where I was then was not where I would always be.

You can see the bandaid just under my hem.  This is what it covered.

Actually it was worse that night.

This is the outside view of what the inside felt like -- turning the inside pain of rejection, of questioning, of people rewriting my story into outward pain.  Outward pain is easier.  That spot between your ribs, just above your stomach --  it is so much harder to hold the pain there.

That night was cool sweet love on my burns, the inside ones.  More importantly than anything else in the world, I wasn't alone.

One year ago we sat under that sign, rooted in baptism.





This is now.

This is now.

This is now.

You don't have to change a thing.