Florian Kuhlman
Confession:
My kid isn’t studying a language or learning how to flambé, nor is she ahead of where she would have been if she’d still been in school.
I haven’t made a labyrinth, written a blog post or developed stigmata from my deep connection with the Crucified One.
Nor have I put out 2 minute daily funny/poignant/ touching/moving videos, or reread an old sermon with perfect lighting and lipstick. Some have. I am not among them.
There are flowers blooming in our neighborhood but I couldn’t tell you their names.
We don’t craft or do sidewalk art.
No books have been read by anyone except my husband who has a thing for Terry Pratchett.
Our Sunday morning worship streams have had tech issues.
No matter what the boss at my sidegig said the other day: we aren’t on vacation.
We are in a period of trauma. Every single one of us.
If you are the sort of person who copes by making things and doing art and learning skills and growing flowers, go for it!
If you are finding solace in curling up in front of The Circle: Brazil and occasionally rocking and humming: you go!
My goal is to get through this relatively sane and still loving my neighbor.
And to remind you and myself that resurrection always comes. Always.