I’m presently sitting in the airport. Distraught.
Shoulda stayed. I should have stayed at General Conference.
I can see the Convention center from my waiting area window and know people there are fighting for their lives, to be seen as more than their sexual selves, to be women and in charge of their bodies, to be youth that are empowered not disenfranchised, and most of all, good delegates who make unpopular decisions in their delegations.
I doubt I ever will be on the other side of the bar.
Tomorrow? I get to take a dozen church children on an end-of-school-year trip. My last major program with these kids, most of whom I’ve known for my three years at my church. I won’t have another program with them as I’m moving out of town.
Tomorrow? My mind and ministry goes on in my church, my eyes and ears will be facilitating the children’s experience, but my heart? It aches with every tweet from Tampa. But I won’t stop reading. So don’t stop doing and writing and being and voting and protesting and praying and serving and eating and, rarely, sleeping. I don’t want to miss a thang.
Blessings and more writings tomorrow evening, and a whole slew of things prepped for the coming weeks.