Today was my first day back in the office from my sabbatical. The cursor blinks. What should I say? Do I write about all that transpired since my last entry? The joy of seeing so many talented artists at Fringe (and some less talented, but doing the work nonetheless). Do I write about the challenges of traveling for two months and the attendant difficulties that continue to be a part of my life, marriage, parenting, and work? Do I write about the ambivalence of return, the people who are glad to see me, and the people who are eager to talk to me- some who want to hear about my travels and others who have been waiting for my return to have someone to talk to about what is difficult and challenging them? It's all there. But there is also joy and an eagerness to carry some of what I experienced into the work. That comes with some trepidation because I don't know how it will be received, or if it will be received. What I know is that if I stop myself before I start and fall back into the old patterns, I won't be at it long. What's become clear is that the call isn't to satisfy and stick to the status quo. That way lies the grave. No. What I do want to do is to keep adding to this blog that no one will read. To put these thoughts somewhere about what is lost and what is found and the repentance of those who would rather criticize than rejoice. To express the delta between that desire and the reality of a 14-year-old son who is a pathological liar with a good heart, deep fear, and a teenager's capacity to be annoying AF.
So today as I consider the stories of the lost sheep and the lost coin, I'm thinking about those who grumble about inclusion and the effort made to include, and the complaints about political correctness and the willingness of God to find us when we are lost in the world, but also when we are lost in our own sense of righteousness. That's enough for now.
