{  {3 weeks ago}  }

Today, I begin seminary.

I sit in the classroom, alone. In half an hour it will be full of other students and a professor; all our stories, and all our fears and hopes thick in the air. But right now, in this quiet moment, I remember to breathe. Remember that this moment is new, just like every other moment.
Inhale, exhale. New breath, new life.

A dozen people have asked me this weekend how I am feeling about starting classes. My honest answer has been: expectant… and terrified. Not only because new beginnings always have some element of unknowing to them. It is the specific knowing of what kinds of things this program is meant to engage combined with the unknowing of how that will play out.

I chose this program specifically because it calls you out on your shit.
It helps you move through, work through things that have held you captive, as you dive deep into Love.

Maybe it’s the “when” that terrifies me. Today, will the professor invite us to introduce ourselves, along with our deepest and darkest secrets? Or will that be next semester? Or halfway through the fall? Or never? Maybe it’s not as dramatic as I imagine it to be. But every time I sit down to think about this new space I am entering, I am afraid. Afraid of what it will mean for my heart, for my family, for my place in the church, with God. Afraid that it will be too hard, or that I will be too successful at putting up walls, and the transformation won’t be allowed in at all. That I am too weak or too hardened. That I am too dark or too bright. All the “I am too”s, and also the “I’m not enough”s. You know those, right? We get stuck there sometimes, disbelieving our own incredible worth, our own place in our story, in the story.

{  {today}  }

Begin again.

This morning, I woke depressed, last night heavy on my soul. Then I hit the snooze button.

Begin again.

This morning, I woke energized by the thought that I had a free morning, and that I could go for a run after dropping my son off at kindergarten.

I have made it through four mondays of seminary now.  Long, lovely, grueling days of class; hours of reading and praying and one-page reports. There have been dozens of ideas I’ve engaged, processed, questioned, wrestled with in that time.

And I haven’t written.

I need to write.

Last December, I remember feeling so very alive, and have always noted with that memory that I was writing a poem every day as part of a collective with The Story Unfolding. What I never realized until tonight is that I also wrote (almost) every day of October (31 Days of Thrashing) and November (NaNoWriMo).

It has been at least three months since I have been writing consistently - or at all, really.

And I feel it.

Tomorrow begins a new month, and with it a new series in this space:

{ {31 days of spiritual formation} }

where I will process some of what has been coming down the proverbial firehose in my seminary classes.

I hope that runoff can become life-giving water to seeds that have been held in dark places long enough.


{  {now}  }

begin again.

linking up with  The Nester  and her "31 days of" crew for the month of October

linking up with The Nester and her "31 days of" crew for the month of October

AuthorJamie Bonilla