frustrating.

I feel like I have pieces of something–I don’t know what kind of something–rattling around in my brainspace, and they want to be put together. But it’s like they came shipped to me without the instructions and no picture on the box, and I have to figure out how they all fit together.

Something about liturgy, and how it carves us into different shapes than a lot of other things do–how it’s more like practicing an instrument than it is giving a three-year-old crayons and a piece of paper and letting them go nuts. Something about time and memory and routine and being punctuated with big, grandiose moments, but how the ordinary breathing days are good and necessary for our well-being as well. How we need quiet and sound, motion and stillness, giving and receiving. How our culture trains us to want excitement all the time, which isn’t sustainable.

Something like that. I just don’t know what all those pieces want to be.

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