“He’s out there living his life, and I’m over here stress-eating jicama.”
I wish you a journey of yellow lights with a bored, smalltown cop riding behind you the entire time. I wish you lactose sensitivities and a gluten allergy at a restaurant that says they have a full gluten-sensitive menu but really only serves two salads. I hope that one of them is your all-time favorite salad and that while you’re enjoying it, a delicious bite goes down the wrong pipe and causes your life to flash before your eyes. I hope that someone in the room learned CPR about three years ago and saves your life, but also cracks a few ribs in the process. The therapist said that I’m not supposed to waste my time wishing you ill so instead, I wish you regularly inconvenienced.
I mean, if God wants to be cool with evil people, that’s his choice, but that’s a dealbreaker for some people. He shouldn’t hide behind Old English and metaphor. He should be upfront about that.
Christians need to be careful when talking about grace and forgiveness because they can have people thinking that God cares more about the reputation of the oppressor over the actual lives of the oppressed.
In my recurring nightmare, I am actually moving. I am running as fast as I can. But, despite my best efforts, everyone is passing me.
Good God, signing up for a 5k might have been a huge mistake. It feels like the equivalent of purposely going onstage and attempting to perform a piece that quit rehearsing weeks ago or jumping out a window because I once had a dream that I could fall far better than I could fly.
You eat the macaroni and cheese you think you deserve. This is not a judgment against people who choose boxed over baked, but I do believe that they could learn to love themselves a little more.
But this is a job issue and that makes it a money issue, which is precisely the type of thing I could take to the God of the prosperity gospel.