Thanks, Mom.

There's a lot of noise in my life. Ambient textures, natural sounds, the white static of concrete and steel, all kinds of shit. I am not good at sitting in silence. As a result, the sonic overload I either create or can't ignore will build to such a distracting volume that will, inevitably, make the thorns in my side seem too painful to deal with.

If you're like me, when the burden is too heavy to carry alone you go to The Almighty. You ask - in the most humble way you can muster - for relief. Many times it doesn't come. He seems disinterested. Distant. Unwilling to help.

I called my mom this morning. Mostly out of a desire to be a good son, but also because I was struggling with the unknown. Which I hate. Out of nowhere, a realization hit us: the answer from God, out of His inability to do anything but furiously love us, is always yes - I've just been asking the wrong question.

We say, "Take this from me. It's too heavy to carry."

He says, "No. You need to hand it over to me."


They are, as Judith very eloquently told me, "two very, very different things."


Chew on that one for a bit. I know I am.

Fuzzy Math.

How is it that Toy Story 3 gets nominated for best Picture but The Town doesn't?