There is something about sleeping bags on a cathedral floor that makes me uneasy. Do I think it is disrespectful to be prostrate with a cushy comfort between you and a church floor? Or is the uncomfortable feeling due to the fact that strangers are more comfortable in this house than me? No matter the source of discomfort, we all come and place ourselves on a cold cement floor, opening our ears to the potential homecoming anthem. I wonder how many hours I have spent on this floor, in this spot. How much time has been spent opening and then closing my desire to listen. I try to be still- to stop and be present. I work on letting myself rest in the same unorthodox way as everyone else, prostrate on this floor.
Comfort collides with my traditional thought that there is an order to the maturity of my soul. The 14 year old that sat on this same floor is in many ways the same as this 25 year old that sits today. Always looking up at the beautiful glass walls, doors and cross- always praying in an awestruck tone. Always wishing I was on my knees rather than sitting on my ass.
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there are three mixing bowls in my kitchen. three generations of women have used them. this is my attempt to share what i cook in them, what conversations come out of those meals and how to cleanup a messy kitchen.
About Me
- Lauren Miller
- I want to live boldly, be tender and practice grace. I have a lot of growing to do. To me photographs speak louder than words. Laughter heals. In the morning my drink of choice is hot chocolate.
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