Pitstop

I am writing this over my soy latte upon completion of my final 3 Advent articles.

I haven't had much time (or desire) to read recently. By reading, I mean sitting down for long, uninterrupted hours and letting words sink so deep into your soul that they might resonate with the vibrations that have not found expression yet. Or stir up your hunger for more. More understanding, more love, more hope. Nowadays, I find myself snacking constantly. On bits and pieces of motherhood-related information I need from time to time, readings I could use for work, depressing world news, and random theological articles that I give little thought to after I am done. And yes, I go through a few board books a day with my toddler. While pleasant and important, I feel myself forgetting what it was like to be a reading, opinionated person in my field(s) of interest - music, the arts as a context for theology, and theology as a context for the arts. Everything I was passionate about seems to have gelled into a fairy-tale colloid that no longer seems real - so much so that my passion for them almost seems imaginary. Like an infatuation of the past. Whenever I am reminded of it, however, my heart aches as if I have lost something important.

Anyway, I thought I would start reading again. Perhaps nothing too hard - but the simple yet profound inventions that novels are.