To the left, a hard choice. To the right, its difficult twin. Neither calls to me. Both are heavy.

I keep being led to scripture passages about God doing his own THANG. Chains falling off Peter’s wrists. God lighting a water-drenched altar on fire… and the fire CONSUMING THE WATER IN THE TRENCH AROUND IT.

Immediately after that story, Elijah tells Ahab he hears the sound of rain. At this point, there has been a drought for something like three years. He sends Ahab away, then climbs a mountain, then bows down with his face between his knees. Praying? I don’t know, but I suspect. He asks a servant to go look toward the sea. Servant sees nothing. He tells the servant to go check again ANOTHER SEVEN TIMES. Finally, the servant says, “A little cloud like a man’s hand is rising from the sea.” And it storms.

Point being? I don’t know. Well, maybe I do. There’s so much here that challenges me. The faith to declare the rain is coming long before there is any sign of it. The persistence. The mighty, out-of-the-box works of God. Faced with two choices I am unsure of, I am asking God for a third way, for him to do his own thing. Then asking again. Another seven times.

Not that there is anything magical about that number. I just want to be persistent and expectant, keeping my eyes peeled for a little cloud that will change everything.

• every single message I receive from readers
• alumni returning to campus to visit me
• being asked to sit at the kid table (by the kids)

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,

At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,

When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death,

And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.

It’s April 15th, and so far, we’ve gotten 14 inches of snow in my little neighborhood outside of NE Minneapolis. This weekend, I mean. Not this whole winter. Just since Friday night.

I’m so over it.

That said, I’ve been fairly productive this weekend, stuck inside. In spite of an achy body and head and face, I’ve got a load of laundry rocking, took out all the garbage, applied for an artist residency, and am about to re-work the synopsis of Salt Novel.

Salt Novel. I haven’t talked much about that lately, have I? Know that I am more in love with the characters than ever before, and I’m filled with so many ideas I barely know where to start. I messaged my writing friend Anna last weekend and said I needed some coaching. She invited me over to her house and asked a hundred questions, and then immediately started reading my manuscript and all the notes I’ve got on it. I just need a plan. I love having a plan, and yet, I feel a bit paralyzed in creating one right now. It’s so good to have brilliant friends whose help I can summon.

So I’m sitting in my home office, waiting for the Tylenol to kick in, and then going to try to rearrange the plot of my book into something more powerful. Plot is not my strong point and probably never will be.

Characters are my jam, and it is good to be with these folks.

My book takes place as spring emerges. I guess I’ll take spring any way I can get it.

People are so complicated; I am both child and adult.

I know a handful of things for sure.

My doubts echo out into the universe.

I am Schrödinger’s cat. Best not to open the box.

Forgive me for being vague. It’s out of necessity. Instead of the details, I will share with you the metaphor I used in describing it earlier to a friend.

I said, “Picture me as a prisoner who has been unfairly locked up. I’ve finally reached the day of my release, only to find out that my options are to either return to my cell or else work for the bad guys on the outside responsible for my imprisonment.”

My friend said, “Is there no way out?”

And in that moment, this is what came to mind.

This is describing the God I believe in, people.

So I am going to pray. Watch. Wait for the chains to fall off and the iron gate to open. There are more than just two options when dealing with a God this big.

I keep returning to verse 7 though: getting struck in the side by angel sounds painful.

Not sure if/how that will enter into my metaphor, but I am grateful for the support of the most incredible friends.

Earlier today, during a nap meant to avoid thinking about my situation, I dreamed that my friend Rachel saved me twice– once from a full-on weird undercover operative, once by paying for my Chipotle when I found myself without my purse. Tonight I texted her that I was lonely and I wouldn’t even ask for her to save me except that she already had in my dream.

Rachel’s response: “I’ll grab Chipotle and come sit with you. Text me your order.”

For the most part, I don’t believe in coincidence.