My mom is in Florida visiting her parents. I wish I could visit more. It’s so expensive to fly into their airport for some reason…and a 14 hour drive. My grandfather’s 77th birthday is today – and it’s my 77th day of this 100 day challenge.

It’s meaningful to me because a little over a year ago my grandfather was very close to death. Hospice was called in and I flew down in March to visit, thinking it would be my last time seeing him. My mom is a nurse, so she senses these things, and was sure he wouldn’t make it to his birthday in May (of last year). It’s been over a year since Hospice started coming, and he’s doing much better. They were actually going out this evening for an early dinner to celebrate his birthday. My mom was elated when I spoke to her. He hasn’t been out in such a long time.

We are all going down there to the beach in early July. I hope we get to spend time together.

Day 77 for my writing brings an array of weird feelings. Well, not so weird, since I’m used to feeling them…more of a recapitulation of feelings of inadequacy and meaninglessness. Why do I write? What do I really have to say? Is any of it really important?

I switch back and forth between random poetry and silly lyrics to reflections on ministry or theology to thoughts about my family or friends. I’m so scattered and unsettled, unable to focus on one thing for too long before I get bored or begin questioning my authority or sense of being. It’s probably why I work well with youth – because every day brings something new, something unusual, a different perspective.

Praise God for 77 years of life for my grandfather. Praise God for 77 days of not knowing what I’m going to write until it comes out. Praise God for the surprises and for occasional bits of meaninglessness.

Praise God.

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