It's full of things that it was not full of in January--Scripture references, theological principles, desires to go play in a baptismal font every time I preach, and memories of places and people that I miss far too much.
It's full of words that make no sense to most of humanity--words like covenant, eschatology, pneumatology, Trinitarian, justification, sanctification, and Arminian.
It's full of confusion and cognitive dissonance as I listen to some around me speak about God as though God isn't listening.
It's full of song lyrics, chunks of Psalms, and library periodical titles.
It's full of lists of things to do: write this prayer, dig into this passage, meet with this person and that one, don't forget to connect with her on Sunday.
It's full of wishes for beach days, novel-reading, and a break from the whirlwind that is seminary life.
It's full of annoyance at little, trivial things.
It's full of would-haves, should-haves, guilt, self-doubt, and heartache.
It's full of hope that someday, things will be better.
It's full of caffeine, thanks to the barista who decided I looked tired enough for two shots of espresso this morning.
It's full of ideas for greater community, greater connectivity, and greater awareness of the wide, diverse world that God has created.
It's full of a desire for harsh, cleansing rain to wash away the vestiges of a hard winter.
It's full of images of flower gardens in Bangalore, beagle puppies in Illinois, pink, purple and yellow tulips in Michigan, faces of family and friends scattered across this wide world, and the incessant need to see them all again.
Lord, my brain is full.
Empty me, and fill this brain up with the words that your people ought to hear, the hugs that they need, and the love that you so desperately want them to have.
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