"It did not feel like 'renewal' then. It felt like disaster, like loss, like like liberation, like life gone wild. And it felt like all of them at once."
-Sister Joan Chittister, "The Wary We Were: A Story of Conversion and Renewal"


Our stories twist and turn and intertwine, until our hearts are all sewn together, red string stretching across mountains and oceans. My heart feels too much- too much rending for the cracked bride, too much pain for the hatred and isolation between disciples and Jews and Moslems. And I'm broken for my dear friend Geofrey turning 20 today- homeless Geofrey and his new baby daughter... and I'm indignant for him, and I'm righteously angry- and, yet I'm full of pride. I'm angry at all the fascism material I read for CPI this week- I'm revolted at all the Christian Identity movement and other such horrible groups I researched... I'm furious that some have the audacity to use Y's name. I don't even want to write it here. And I'm saddened that the Enemy is such a liar- that he has lied to so, so many people, that he lies to me continually and I believe him.

I'm horrified that 60 million in the 20th century alone have been killed in war or genocide, and that's not even including soldiers.

I'm broken that one of my old, favorite profs is caught up in a huge sex scandal- I'm confused at our justice system and I'm trying not to make judgment calls, because I am not the Judge. I wish I could tell his sweet family that it will turn out, that he'll be able to teach again, that he won't be convicted, that this will all blow over. I hurt for my friend Liz and her epic love story- I wish I could tell her it'll all be ok, it'll all turn out well.

But maybe things turn out really shitty. Maybe "justice" looks really fucked-up. Because this week, Lisa's cousin really did die, really did leave 4 kids and a husband behind. And my mom's coworker really did get in an accident, losing her husband and daughter in a head-on collision that left her and her son severely injured.

I just don't know anymore.

I listen to In Rainbows and think of my friends Amanda and Russ, and how they finally got together, after years of pain and confusion and beauty and friendship. I think of the redemption in this.

I think of watching Jane Eyre on stage last night, and how Jane held on. I think of holding on. And maybe holding on isn't what we think it is. Maybe holding on is pressing our palms up against each other's thudding hearts and writing bad poetry and singing some verses together and crying into our tea mugs. Maybe holding on is thanking him for his goodness in light of and spite of everything, then crying in distress with outstretched hands. As my friend Liz says, we must first bless him because he so loves us. Adonai, thank you for your patience. We're all growing cold, but we want to stay alive.

Yesterday I read Volpone for British Lit, and there was a sidenote that said patience originally meant "enduring blows." And I think, if I'm ripped up at all this injustice, how much more so is he, the Judge and the Just Himself?

How long, O G-d? It's growing cold...