Devotion Is Diligence Without Assurance

My Husband Is Not American. He Was Born In Brazil, Where He Grew Up Under A Filthy, Corrupt Dictatorship. In His Twenties, He Moved To Europe, Where He Lived For A While Under Various Socialist Democracies. He Spent A Few Years On A Kibbutz In Israel, Living Out A Utopian Experiment In Communal Existence.

There Is A Level Of Grief So Deep That It Stops Resembling Grief At All. The Pain Becomes So Severe That The Body Can No Longer Feel It. The Grief Cauterizes Itself, Scars Over, Prevents Inflated Feeling. Such Numbness Is A Kind Of Mercy.

I Have Searched Frantically For Contentment For So Many Years In So Many Ways, And All The Acquisitions And Accomplishments- They Run You Down In The End.

Everything Really Is Going To Be Okay. (and If Not Okay, Then At Least Comic.)

Prayer Is A Relationship; Half The Job Is Mine. If I Want Transformation, But Can't Even Be Bothered To Articulate What, Exactly, I'm Aiming For, How Will It Ever Occur? Half The Benefit Of Prayer Is In The Asking Itself, In The Offering Of A Clearly Posed And Well-considered Intention. If You Don't Have This, All Your Pleas And Desires Are Boneless, Floppy, Inert; They Swirl At Your Feet In A Cold Fog And Never Lift.