Call me naïve, but I really thought that when I became Jewish, people would understand what that meant. Continue reading
Three weeks, one day.
These days, I measure the passage of time based on my father’s passing. In these subsequent 22 days since his death, grief has taken its place in my life like a shadow. My only real reprieve is for a few hours of work each day when I’m so immersed in the crazy world of employee relations that I can compartmentalize my pain.
I’m five weeks into my “official” study of Judaism (official because I’m under the tutelage of a rabbi) and every single week, I learn something new or discover something about myself and my own beliefs that tells me I’m on the right path.
My biggest realization, thus far, is two-fold: 1) I’m completely falling in love with Shabbat; and, 2) Shabbat preparation is challenging.
This post is hard for me to write, but it’s a long time coming.
I’ve spent the last several years on a spiritual journey, and I’ve ended up in a lot of dark corners, dead ends, and places that feel suspiciously like Knockturn Alley (from the Harry Potter universe.) I always enter a new part of my journey hoping with a sincere heart that, this time, I might find the answers I seek. So far, though, I only end up with more questions or, as I’m facing now, total disgust in the journey itself.
I’ve made many posts about my spiritual journey (here, here, here, and here just to select a few) so I’m not going to rehash all of it. To boil where I’ve been so far down to a single sentence, let me just say that I’ve been from one end of Christianity to another and, through all of it, I have continued to try to be a good Christian because that’s what’s expected of me. I’m from the Midwest, where conversations about Jesus flow as frequently as discussions on corn prices and the state of the summer crops. Being a Christian is expected. Asking someone where they go to church is as normal as asking about the weather. However, the reality is that I’ve reached the end of the line now and it’s time to make some changes. To put it simply: I’m out.
As I walked into the grocery store this morning, I noticed that I was following a uniquely-dressed older woman. She had on a long, loose cotton dress, which was slightly cinched at the waist and accented with simple white shoes. Her grey hair was artfully twisted and secured into a bun with several shiny barrettes. Continue reading
I’m not in the greatest head space while I write this, but I’m going to write it anyway.
A few years ago, I was a really crappy friend to someone I’ll call Summer. She and I met back when we were taking college classes at Indiana Tech and we became fast friends. Even after I moved away, we maintained a friendship. This wasn’t a surface-level friendship, either. We confided in each other about our struggles as wives and working women and we were always telling one another how thankful we were to have the other in our lives.
And then it all changed.
Had I not turned off my alarm at 6:30a and then accidentally slept until 9:08a, this would have been the most perfect of Sundays. Despite my proclivity of alarm avoidance (third time this long holiday weekend), I managed to have the kind of Sunday that truly prepares me to deal with commuting and general ridiculousness on Monday. Continue reading