Being a parent is absolutely exhausting and draining, along with all the joy and love.

Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor.

So what are we supposed to do again, when we hate everything? You stop pretending life is such fun or makes sense. It's often messy and cruel and dull, and we do the best we can. It's unfair, and jerks seem to win. But you fall in love with a few people. Like I love you, Elizabeth. You're the angel God sent me.

When hope is not pinned wriggling onto a shiny image or expectation, it sometimes floats forth and opens like one of those fluted Japanese blossoms, flimsy and spastic, bright and warm. This almost always seems to happen in community.

Everyone is flailing through this life without an owner's manual, with whatever modicum of grace and good humor we can manage.

Forgiveness is giving up all hope of having had a better past.

The reason 'help' is such a great prayer is that God is the gift of desperation. When you're in despair, you're teachable.