a break might be nice.

Sara, a co-worker and friend of both Claire and me, came over for our apartment's "French" dinner a couple of nights ago. The quotes are to signify how very Italian our meal was at the core--what with the pizza and bread and such. The French spin came in with the French bread, brie, and goat cheese. Oh, and the French wine. But anyway, the most significant part of the meal for me was how great Sara's company was. She carried conversation--shared about herself and inquired about the strangers sitting across from her at the table. I like the way she talks and the topics she chooses to discuss. Earlier today I told Claire what a "good person" I perceive Sara to be. Sara claims to be a Christian but also confesses she is not a "good one." I imagine she's just as confused about what a "good" Christian should look like as I am.

That's when I basked in a bite of solidarity. And when I discovered how much I am slipping.

Discovered may be the wrong word. I've noticed. I'm not that dense after the infamous hell that was last fall. Somehow it doesn't work to say that Jesus fixes these things. That's where I am right now. I'm in that place where I can open my Bible to read it, but I may as well be one of my religion professors searching for another academic gem that will add to some long-standing thesis I've been developing. They're just curious and they go into Scripture for a very specific thing they want.

I hate that, and I hate it when I do that. I hate the idea of *using* the Bible to fix my quick tiffs and woes. It can be so difficult for me to reach the deepest depths of despair that I have ever experienced (as shallow as they actually are) and fully yearn for Jesus to be the Savior out of that. I read about how God's grace is sufficient. I believe that. But in that moment--cynicism capsizing reason--it don't work. I don't have that faith. I see it in my roommates and in several other friends, and I hear them discuss it right in my presence. All I can do is sit there like a doofus and stare off into space wondering what the first step is in the right direction besides a desperate, faithless prayer. And then I type about it and toss it out there for vultures and Samaritans alike to take what they want out of this circumstance I'm in. I'd like to know what God is doing here, but I don't.