but for the record i’m interested in orthodoxy, monasticism, mysticism, feminism/womanism, eschatology, reason and faith, existentialism, and that slow-wafting smell of the spirit’s touch aka the kingdom of God.

a ton of anonymous messages in my inbox essentially about my reads and theology and i’m all like haha suckers i’m going to portland this weekend and camping under the stars with my besties and drinking beer and dancing the night away at a wedding on saturday ain’t nobody got time for that

"When Jesus first appeared, he appeared to two women, during a time when female testimony was illegitimate, and he asked them to testify to his return. That’s huge – the biggest news in the universe, and two women, whose word was not considered trustworthy, were instructed to carry the news. That, to me, is the most important vision of equality that Christians can have – that is the affirmation that women are equals, that we are valued in the eyes of Christ, that we are necessary to the Gospel story. And that is the lens through which I interpret everything else, as that is the eschatological tale I believe God is weaving."
Dianna Anderson, Ask a Feminist (via yesdarlingido)
vancrafted:

Eggs, bacon, and coffee have become our morning ritual.  A routine that includes relaxation, conversation, and many new ideas.  We treasure each morning like this, each over-burnt bacon strip, each kind-of-dirty plate, because breakfast was not always like this.  Breakfast was not in the thesaurus of life’s pleasantries, nor classified as the day’s most important meal.
A little over one year ago, my mornings habits of consumption involved a granola bar being stuffed into my bag as I stumbled out the door of my Brooklyn apartment.  As I walked, spare shoes would topple out and my phone would rhythmically buzz with alerts of new emails.  Exiting the building to the sidewalk, trucks and cars would speed by and their momentary presence would disperse the garbage smells up to my nose.  It was as though a giant hand would aggressively waft the aromas in my direction at steady intervals.  From door to street corner, the emails would persist, and my eyes would flicker from screen to surroundings in practiced staccatos, looking up just long enough to avoid obstacles as I walked at an almost-run.  The granola bar sat in my bag pocket.  Maybe I could eat it on the subway.  The G train platform generally smelled like pee, so that wasn’t always optimal.  If the car wasn’t too crowded, and if I had managed to not touch too many surfaces, it could sometimes could be gobbled then.  But more often than not, the train was packed sardine-style and the bar would remain uneaten and unloved.  At the connecting stop, I would awkwardly walk-run a half mile to the platform where my next magic pumpkin awaited.  Every manner of frazzled, annoyed, bag-laden, under-the-gun person congregated there.  A full-body cast did not deem you exempt from the violent shoving match that ensued each and every morning.  Push by push, the bar got slightly more squished as my hands were needed for the more pressing task of preventing my death-by-trampling.  After three more stops and two flights of stairs, I would sometimes chow down on my 11-block power walk to the office-building’s giant foyer.  Because that’s healthy, right?  At my peak, I was estimating about 1 email read every two blocks which did not always leave time for snacking.  It would have to wait until I reached my desk…
There comes a point in those hungry moments when your legs go weak, and your mind can’t stop formulating to-do lists and the email notifications are coming in faster than you can even delete them.  It’s a point where you’re perpetually late and the clouds of your brain clear for a second to think…there must be another way.  There must be a way to sit down with the person I love for just a few minutes in the morning and see how they’re doing and maybe, just maybe, hear that sizzle of bacon grease.  
It’s that moment of hunger - when you still have one mile, three stops, and 16 floors left until your day officially begins - that the mind starts to think new thoughts.  
I don’t have to do this.  I chose this and I can choose something else.
And that’s what happened. I chose something else. These tin plates of love-doused food would not have been cooked over a camp fire in the Sawtooth Mountains of Idaho by my boyfriend before a breathtaking hike in the middle of a 5-month road trip had I not decided a year ago that I no longer wanted granola bars and emails for breakfast.

vancrafted:

Eggs, bacon, and coffee have become our morning ritual.  A routine that includes relaxation, conversation, and many new ideas.  We treasure each morning like this, each over-burnt bacon strip, each kind-of-dirty plate, because breakfast was not always like this.  Breakfast was not in the thesaurus of life’s pleasantries, nor classified as the day’s most important meal.

A little over one year ago, my mornings habits of consumption involved a granola bar being stuffed into my bag as I stumbled out the door of my Brooklyn apartment.  As I walked, spare shoes would topple out and my phone would rhythmically buzz with alerts of new emails.  Exiting the building to the sidewalk, trucks and cars would speed by and their momentary presence would disperse the garbage smells up to my nose.  It was as though a giant hand would aggressively waft the aromas in my direction at steady intervals.  From door to street corner, the emails would persist, and my eyes would flicker from screen to surroundings in practiced staccatos, looking up just long enough to avoid obstacles as I walked at an almost-run.  The granola bar sat in my bag pocket.  Maybe I could eat it on the subway.  The G train platform generally smelled like pee, so that wasn’t always optimal.  If the car wasn’t too crowded, and if I had managed to not touch too many surfaces, it could sometimes could be gobbled then.  But more often than not, the train was packed sardine-style and the bar would remain uneaten and unloved.  At the connecting stop, I would awkwardly walk-run a half mile to the platform where my next magic pumpkin awaited.  Every manner of frazzled, annoyed, bag-laden, under-the-gun person congregated there.  A full-body cast did not deem you exempt from the violent shoving match that ensued each and every morning.  Push by push, the bar got slightly more squished as my hands were needed for the more pressing task of preventing my death-by-trampling.  After three more stops and two flights of stairs, I would sometimes chow down on my 11-block power walk to the office-building’s giant foyer.  Because that’s healthy, right?  At my peak, I was estimating about 1 email read every two blocks which did not always leave time for snacking.  It would have to wait until I reached my desk…

There comes a point in those hungry moments when your legs go weak, and your mind can’t stop formulating to-do lists and the email notifications are coming in faster than you can even delete them.  It’s a point where you’re perpetually late and the clouds of your brain clear for a second to think…there must be another way.  There must be a way to sit down with the person I love for just a few minutes in the morning and see how they’re doing and maybe, just maybe, hear that sizzle of bacon grease.  

It’s that moment of hunger - when you still have one mile, three stops, and 16 floors left until your day officially begins - that the mind starts to think new thoughts.  

I don’t have to do this.  I chose this and I can choose something else.

And that’s what happened. I chose something else. These tin plates of love-doused food would not have been cooked over a camp fire in the Sawtooth Mountains of Idaho by my boyfriend before a breathtaking hike in the middle of a 5-month road trip had I not decided a year ago that I no longer wanted granola bars and emails for breakfast.

"I like cancelled plans. And empty bookstores. I like rainy days and thunderstorms. And quiet coffee shops. I like messy beds and over-worn pajamas. Most of all, I like the small joys that a simple life brings."
note to self (via kwnyvl)

social anxiety is heightened in the aftermath of trauma. if you or someone you know has gone through a traumatic, life-altering experience, for god’s sake be a human about their anxieties and fears. do not shame them. 

many of my social relationships in the past two years have been constituted by guilt that i’m not doing enough, saying enough, or being “happy” enough for those i found and find myself around. this, this i feel constantly from my Christian friends. 

just because you cannot see a wound, doesn’t mean you should pour metaphorical salt on it.

i implore you, take seriously the mental anxieties, stresses, and disorders of those around you, and do not belittle another’s pain simply because you do not understand it and do not like the way it manifests itself. consider how your understanding of the Gospel, what is socialized as “normal,” and how those healing from trauma may view these understandings as blocks between them and the only Healer. speak less and listen more. listen to the silence of those around you whose silence says more than they ever could. 

and, if the traumatized is you: find solidarity in the few who quiet themselves to sit with you in your pain. you will find that you have met Jesus.

thefolkpunkpen:

I can only imagine that tumblr is incredibly useful (to me) for the following two reasons:

1. To write

2. To bitch into the abyss

Being human means having to learn and live in the shitty in order to enjoy the good. 

"When I was a little girl they told me I could be whatever I wanted.
They forgot to tell me that people would ask my husband about his job, and me about the kids,
forgot to tell me that the company for which I work
will have more rights that I will,
forgot to tell me that my body will be up for debate in
political circles, internet forums, the comment sections
by people who cannot name the parts of woman
that make a child,
but will tell you the cells inside a womb
are more important than those around them.

They didn’t mention that if I tried to be
a career woman and a mother
that people would ask how?

That trying to have it all
would earn criticism
instead of praise.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

I am going to be a woman,
but I’d like to be a human, too."
Terms and Conditions - Meghan Lynn  (via yesdarlingido)
"The planet does not need more successful people. The planet desperately needs more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers and lovers of all kinds"
Dalai Lama 
"Intimacy takes work, trust, wounds, hurts, sculpting in the dark: and that takes time. It takes more than a single chance. Of course we can close the doors, at any second, when we know it just won’t work. But there are many opportunities if we had trusted a little longer, reset the tempo, and spoke up louder: it would’ve been okay. Bridges would be built. New stories are made. You find your hand closing around theirs. They begin to traverse the folds of your heart with ease, and they learn to say those things which give life, which give freedom, which grow dreams. Intimacy is formed out of stumbling, but further down the path: there is so much light, so much laughter, so many steps to the horizon together."
J.S. 

jesus jesus,

my hanging head

betalars:

friend-zoning guys is horrible. it is disgusting. funzone them instead. send them to a small childs park so they can cry with the other babies when they dont get what they want.

"The problem is that white people see racism as conscious hate, when racism is bigger than that. Racism is a complex system of social and political levers and pulleys set up generations ago to continue working on the behalf of whites at other people’s expense, whether whites know/like it or not. Racism is an insidious cultural disease. It is so insidious that it doesn’t care if you are a white person who likes black people; it’s still going to find a way to infect how you deal with people who don’t look like you. Yes, racism looks like hate, but hate is just one manifestation. Privilege is another. Access is another. Ignorance is another. Apathy is another. And so on. So while I agree with people who say no one is born racist, it remains a powerful system that we’re immediately born into. It’s like being born into air: you take it in as soon as you breathe. It’s not a cold that you can get over. There is no anti-racist certification class. It’s a set of socioeconomic traps and cultural values that are fired up every time we interact with the world. It is a thing you have to keep scooping out of the boat of your life to keep from drowning in it. I know it’s hard work, but it’s the price you pay for owning everything."
Scott Woods 
"

In fact a mature person does not fall in love, he rises in love. The word ’fall’ is not right. Only immature people fall; they stumble and fall down in love. Somehow they were managing and standing. They cannot manage and they cannot stand – they find a woman and they are gone, they find a man and they are gone. They were always ready to fall on the ground and to creep. They don’t have the backbone, the spine; they don’t have that integrity to stand alone.

A mature person has the integrity to be alone. And when a mature person gives love, he gives without any strings attached to it: he simply gives. And when a mature person gives love, he feels grateful that you have accepted his love, not vice versa. He does not expect you to be thankful for it – no, not at all, he does not even need your thanks. He thanks you for accepting his love. And when two mature persons are in love, one of the greatest paradoxes of life happens, one of the most beautiful phenomena: they are together and yet tremendously alone; they are together so much so that they are almost one. But their oneness does not destroy their individuality, in fact, it enhances it: they become more individual.


Two mature persons in love help each other to become more free. There is no politics involved, no diplomacy, no effort to dominate. How can you dominate the person you love? Just think over it. Domination is a sort of hatred, anger, enmity. How can you think of dominating a person you love? You would love to see the person totally free, independent; you will give him more individuality. That’s why I call it the greatest paradox: they are together so much so that they are almost one, but still in that oneness they are individuals. Their individualities are not effaced – they have become more enhanced. The other has enriched them as far as their freedom is concerned.


Immature people falling in love destroy each other’s freedom, create a bondage, make a prison. Mature persons in love help each other to be free; they help each other to destroy all sorts of bondages. And when love flows with freedom there is beauty. When love flows with dependence there is ugliness.

"

Osho  (via thatkindofwoman)

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