I've switched back to a paper journal. There is something so much more deeply fulfilling about writing thoughts down free of spell check (which doesn't correct me much - I am pretty awesome) and other people's opinions. But don't worry, dear reader, I am not completely weary of the thrills of exhibitionist writing - for all my friends, my critics, and my friends who never talk to me in real life anymore but always read my blog so I am not really sure if they are critics or not- - I will still post here.

March is always the weirdest time. Winter is having a total identity crisis and is about to just give up and succumb to spring, and my stress level is at 300% during our last month of rehearsal. But I am proud to say that this year, my ministry stress isn't half bad. I am not sure if I have finally concluded that it doesn't change things whether or not I have a nervous break down at every turn, or if I've concluded even further that none of this EVEN MATTERS! - but for whatever reason, God keeps drawing me back to it, and here we are - year #5. And so March's hope starts to burst through in the form of dances looking clean and polished, lines being delivered with appropriate emotion, and friendships being formed in powerful and meaningful ways.

The rest of me = complete mess. The laundry's not done, my article deadlines loom, and joining me on this adventure is a vibrant little 19 month old, who will apparently spontaneously combust if he is forced to sit still for more than five minutes at a time. He is also deeply infatuated with our toilet plunger and gives the most stupidly wonderful hugs and wet kisses. He is seriously the best human being on the planet (no bias here, of course), and sometimes I wish we could just waste the day away making blanket forts, blowing bubbles, and making block towers.

Because then the day wouldn't be a waste at all.

I've been feeling like a waste lately. I've lost track of my Jesus, and I need to find a way to find him again. Pronto.