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it’s all I can do because I’m dead beat.

Tonight I think I met my heart at Solid Grounds in the form of a 23 year old boy who plays barista and seminary student. It was like talking to myself. Or hearing myself, as he talked to me.

Tonight on the drive home (home!) I listened to Mumford and I cried at the words of The Cave and I shouted at the stars barely seen beyond the dirty cracked windshield: you are freaking awesome! because he is.

Yesterday I hugged Jackie three times and shared a plate of pasta with her and talked about Psalms and prayers while Brett sat by  his amp and twiddled away on the guitar.

Yesterday I sat with Brett and cried and tried to tell him everything I’ve been trying to say for a year. I said we would never date and he didn’t like that, because he never likes it when I pretend to know the future.  But I know this, I said. And we talked about God and Jesus and I said he was looking to be filled in all the wrong places. I said it. But it came out all jumbled and mixed and broken. Just like it has for a year.

Tuesday I drove Colfax and decided I like it. I love the city. I love the country. I love the wide open spaces. But there was something hauntingly beautiful in the world of Colfax. With the black kids and that tacky bouqet of roses. The homeless vets and the gap toothed grinning men at the bus stations. The bizarre mixture of Hair Braiding salons and Adult Movie Stores that litter the sidewalks. The posters and scraps of paper that toss in the wind. With the boy who followed too close so I almost snapped at him: what up loke? just so he’d leave me alone. But in my pencil skirt and black sweater with sassy green scarf I couldn’t say the words of a crip (and with luck he’d be a blood and I’d be in trouble). And I fell in love.

Tuesday I had soup with mum and dad then worked on scholarship applications.

Monday was my first day. I didn’t wear pantyhose because I didn’t have any. I wore them the next day and put my thumb straight through them, high up in the leg where the skirt hides and the nail polish prevents spread. I thought to myself: how do women do this all day, every day?!

Monday was my last day with Daniel and Stacie and it was so sad to leave that.

And tonight I am exhausted. I’m going to bed. I like my job. I finished scholarships and fanangled that FAFSA and even returned an email. I talked with Ghena and confessed and apologized and she smiled and let me raid her closet for work in the morning. And then, in a quick perusal of my blog posts from yester-year, I found this:

After a conversation with Brett:

It was incredible. I had no answers. I couldn’t even text Kristen and ask her to pray because just what I was afraid of happening at my job was taking place not even a week after we’d talked about it. All I could think of was sleeping at Jana’s and our conversation over breakfast while we watched the temperature drop outside amidst the snow flurries. I told her that I was nervous this would happen, Itold her I was afraid of being in the states for a long time and working with suburban-ites. I said that to Jana because I knew she’d understand the sickly horror I feel when I think about staying state-side for too long. But here it was, Brett asking me questions and me wishing I had better answers than the stumbling, disjointed responses I gave to his questions. It was kind of scary.

But it was also kind of cool.

And in the car, on the way home, David Crowder’s “You are Glorious” came on. Oh my word. He doesmake everything glorious–like this stupid job that I don’t even like, and my stumbling, broken mouth that has no answers.

And really, I do only want to be His.

maybe someday, Slayden will too.

I’ll be the persistent widow. I am going to beat down that door. For me. For him. For her. Even if not while I know them, live here, work there. Because I’ve been praying over a year now. And something’s got to change. I can feel it in the air.

and it isn’t just the wind.

because life is getting better and deeper and thicker every day.

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