Elinoa. It’s a Hebrew name meaning My God is movement.
Geez. Is that the understatement of the century.
Sometimes He moves in poetry and prose. Sometimes it’s magical.
But sometimes there’s no poetry in the motion. Sometimes it’s just motion, clinical and plodding.

“It is difficult to undo our own damage, and to recall to our presence that which we have asked to leave. It is hard to desecrate a grove and change your mind. The very holy mountains are keeping mum. We doused the burning bush and cannot rekindle it; we are lighting matches in vain under every green tree.” — Annie Dillard, Teaching A Stone To Talk

I'll get straight to it. My theology is not Evangelical. In coming to a faith of my own I found that I feel most at home in Mainline Protestantism, or churches with more ecumenical practices. I feel at home when exploring what Christ's restorative love and power looks like not just within the context of a personal relationship or a physical building, but in the broader scope of the Church in the world, and how we care for, serve, and love the world around us.

You were made to scale the mountains
But you must write.
You were knit together to undo the hearts of humankind
But you must write today the drudgery and details of a thing.

Words fight their way up and out, bending and propelling the body to guide them into daylight. 

They’ve been in here too long; it’s getting cramped.

When no perceivable cohesion is formed, still they come.

I pull up a blanket and cozy into the headboard which, today, serves as my desk chair, the pillow a most comfortable desk.

I stare blankly for what seems an hour. I am frozen in false expectations.

I’ve been told what people read, what is appropriate and what is fussy, what’s helpful and what’s self-serving.