I read to fall asleep.

Not that I have trouble falling asleep, but laying my head down on my pillow in any state other than total exhaustion feels like I'm wasting time. Which may sound like a mild emotion, but for me wasting time is a five alarm fire. Not having something for my brain to chew on when I'm awake feels like my mind is being held against a cheese grater. My brain calls for all hands on deck and really scares the rest of me into submission: if my feet, arms, and eyes don't work together to get ahold of something, anything to think about, to digest — a cereal box, a sugar packet, a cookbook — then my the ribbony mass of my brain will unspool, and I'll melt into a Salvador Dali painting.

And I can't lie to myself about being exhausted while reading, the way I can when I'm watching a movie or on my phone.

I never asked to join the "All Who Wander" club.

A few months ago I had what was not so much a breakdown as simply running out of gas. Or this: I put away my map for just fifteen minutes, and I lost, entirely, my way.

I was standing on the back porch, talking with my brother-in-law about his life, his career, not mine. We talked about he didn't know what was next, about how he was going to take time to focus and his wife (my sister!) and family (my nephew!).

At the very end of the conversation I briefly mentioned that he had given me something to think about, just as casually as someone sneezing after visiting a relative recovering from the flu.

Stories

Stories aren't written. They only grow, like a mold.

Be kind to the writers you know; their job is to sit and watch mold grow and to, from that, draw justification and a sense of accomplishment.

Everyday, Every Day

The difference between "every day" and "everyday" is that the first refers to a daily event ("We're open for business from 9pm to 5pm every day!") and the second denotes something common ("Correcting people on their grammar is an everyday occurrence for jerks like him").

Break Fast

I'm taking a Lent-fuled pseudo-fast from social media, and I have decided blogging doesn't count against it.

Lent-fuled because I have become dimly aware that I have very little control over the come-hither gaze of Tumblr, Twitter, and Pinterest. A fast because the people I most admire exercise at least some measure of control over their lives -- a trait I will never have, but can reach for for the rest of my life if I like.

A pseudo-fast because, I suppose, I need now to handle with rubber gloves and a measured gate a swath of religious terms and I ideas with which, in my childhood, I would run freely around the house, barehanded and open-hearted. Like taking a bubble bath in the Arc of the Covenant. Now thirty and gun-shy, I run a tighter spiritual ship, less given to attributing  to God, say, good parking spaces and recoveries from colds and more inclined to spend time crying in movie theaters and freaking out over rainbows. Which causes worry and grief in some (church friends, family, and my fellow drivers just after the sun drives away a heavy rain) and relief in others (me).

And blogging doesn't count because even mediocre posts like this require a measure of discipline my Tumblr-cruising self couldn't summon even if offered the totality of the Internet's Catherine Deneuve gifs.

What were your favorite movies this year?

I feel like I haven't seen many, but here's my list so far, in alphabetical order:

Bridge of Spies
Inside Out
It Follows
Room
‘71
Spotlight
Spy
Star Wars VII: The Force Awakens
The Martian
Trainwreck

And here are some 2015 titles I'm still hoping to see:

The Diary Of A Teenage Girl
Straight Outta Compton
The End Of The Tour
Shaun The Sheep
Mistress America
Mississippi Grind
The Hateful Eight
Digging For Fire
The Overnight
Crimson Peak
Love & Mercy
Ex Machina
Paddington
Steve Jobs
Grandma
99 Homes
Brooklyn
The Gift
Humans
Carol
Joy

Orginal Works (Medium: Other)

Artwork (Medium: Google Keep)

My Election Advice

If you find yourself facing a tough choice, fill in this name:

Dear Future Biographer (I)

Just wanna super apologize for the amount of [sic]s you're going to have to use when quoting things I've written.

But, in my defense*, spelling is kind of an artificial skill anyway, right?

==

*Just took four tries to spell "defense" — pro tip: there is no "c".

Happy Accident

I'm not sure how Google ending up making this, but I like this odd little gif thing:

Papa,

Thank you for:

• Wilco.
• Alec Baldwin.
• William H. Macy.
• and everyone else behind The Cooler.
• And for This Film Is Not Yet Rated and other truth-tellers.
• Anthropologie.

Things I Learned From a Day at the Zoo (with Two Kids)

• My wife and motherhood are going to mesh well together. Like, insanely well.
• A double-wide stroller (combined with gravity and a hill) is potentially a deadly weapon. Wield it carefully.
• I have some kind of paternal instinct kicking in hardcore. "Feeling like a dad" is something I say when I feel great about something.

From Phillip Yancy's Prayer:

I write about prayer as a pilgrim, not an expert.

From the author description for Randy Alcorn's Heaven:

Dr. Randy Alcorn is a leading authority on Heaven.

The difference between a pilgrim and an expert (or authority), is that, though both spend a great deal of time and energy seeking knowledge, the expert stops at some point and says, "I have conquered this subject. I know all this is to know."

The pilgrim is ever restless. But in that restlessness, she continues to uncover truth — long after the authority has declared the case closed.