* not with ink

When September started, I found myself singing along with Green Day : Summer has come and passed. The innocent can never last wake me up when September ends... Not exactly a cheery song. But here we are! September has ended! I have survived! And not only that, but I had some fantastic moments. I'm learning exciting things at school, taking all kinds of scary personal steps, and re-establishing a rhythm to my life. There are things to look forward to in my immanent future: I'm the unofficial officiant at my cousin's wedding this weekend, then making an extra-long weekend around Thanksgiving to visit Vancouver for another wedding (and, of course, to see many of my delightful friends from back in the day). Then it's Reading Week. Then November arrives, and I'll be part of a panel on sexuality at this conference for ladies in Christian ministry (or those thinking about being a lady in Christian ministry). I did not anticipate such an outcome when I start

It was April 2012, and I was having trouble breathing. I sat at my desk, staring blankly at the computer screen, reminding myself to breathe in and then out again, and slowly. And then I was okay for a day or two, because some little thing would buoy my spirits or make me think this panic was gone for good, and then it would wash over me again, and I would breath again and push down this anxiety so I could keep living and trying to walk forward. I told one of my friends how I was feeling,  and she commented that anxiety and fear often come into our lives when we are not believing the gospel, and maybe was there something off in my relationship with Jesus? I thought about this. Then I wondered,  "How would I even know? I don't remember what he sounds like." It occurred to me that if Jesus was trying to tell me something, I wouldn't have been able to hear it anyway. And the author of a memoir I was reading at the time mentioned her spiritual direct