September 10, 2024 Musings
Pausing paid subscriptions, absurd matrices of money and time, favorite things
Psst.
Hey!
I am writing clandestinely in between classes (I am homeschooling my kids, and honey, it is a daily exercise in presence). If there are typos, oh, well.
Hi.
You doin’ alright? If you are going through what some of the folks I have been talking to lately are going through, you’ve got more downs than ups, but because of the miracle you are, you’re stubbornly determined to suck joy from the marrow of life. Good on you. Keep going. You are necessary just because you are.
I turned off paid subscriptions and wanted to let y’all know that because, listen, I have not been here. I have been present in the places where presence is absolutely vital, and I don’t feel guilty at all for being gone. But I respect your generosity, paid subscribers. And free subscribers, I respect your precious time.
Something about clicking that “pause paid subscriptions” button set me free, though, because, I confess, I am still ensnared in a fallacy that equates money and time. A farce of many profit-driven farces.
What is money to time? We are the future dead, all of us. Time is our true matrix.
(I am constantly surprised at the absolute rackets of life; these mass deceptions that we have accepted as matrices of truth for the sake of mere profit: the “poverty” of “third world” countries; the “value” of money; the “commonness” of pregnancy. These false matrices devalue what is most precious, and for what?Mammon.
If you need a country’s children to pierce that country’s ground for rare earth minerals, are you the wealthy one? What makes that so; your ability to exploit? Your usury? Your greed? Is that wealth, truly?
Teaching my kids about the “value” of money is laughably absurd. This paper. What is it to us but a flaccid, lazy proxy? An idol and national object of worship? What is it compared to clean water, arable land, fresh food, sweet air, and peace—how many “third world” countries are awash in generous fruit trees, amiable soil, and a pace that calms stress?
If in this matrix men bore children, would they continue to profane the experience—the danger!—of pregnancy? Would they continue to make the miraculous a common labor, a threat and burden, and sometimes, a punishment? How would they legislate care and support?
I long for a world that refuses to break bodies and pollute skies, lands, and oceans for greed.)
I digress. It’s almost time for the boys to come in from their nature study. Today the morning air is cool and fooling us into believing the swelter is over. It’s not, but the cool is a soothing deception so we’re leaning in.
What I am ruminating on this week:
We’re going through the book of Luke slowly and deliciously. One of my favorite parts of service is that scripture is read aloud every week. This week was the week of two songs, Mary’s and Zechariah’s (you can find them in the second half of Luke 1). I wept. They both sung of the beauty and power of their babies. They both knew the weight of their sons’ positions as Savior and Prophet—and that their babies were born to bring justice and reconciliation to the world. Their songs were both spiritual and political; personal and communal (don’t let nobody tell you that the two must be separated: your spirituality and praxis should always affect your community). And, also, how many stories are there of men, of fathers, singing tenderly to their newborn children? Zechariah encountered Gabriel the angel, who brought good news of the son who would be born to him and Elizabeth—an answer to his prayers. Zechariah didn’t believe Gabriel, who stood before God, and Gabriel said, “you gon learn today,” and put him on mute until his baby’s birth. Zechariah had time, so much time, to sit with the good news. And when his tongue was loosed, he sung prophecy and encouragement over his son. The tenderness of this will always move me.
Both Mary and Zechariah were singing over babies born to die—specifically, murder at the hands of political powers. Their righteous babies. Their beautiful, holy sons. This is my God, whose experience is acquainted with that of my people. Who knows the anguish of injustice. Both Mary and Zechariah knew the force of oppression, and still sung over their babies, the future dead.
And this is us, who, no matter what God we believe in, cradle our children and sing over them with ardent faith in their inherent worth (as we should).
Have you read these books?
I am slowly reading a discipleship book called Discipleship as Holy Collaboration by
My friend Nya Abernathy has written a book called Welcome, Wonder that I hope you will pick up. She is brilliant, and if you don’t believe me, go to her substack and find proof.
I know y’all have read this and I am late, but if there’s anyone else out there like me, I am just going to confess that we listened to The Hobbit on a road trip this summer, narrated by Andy Serkis, and it was so much more accessible and wily than I anticipated.
So many Substacks…
I hope that you all are reading Scarlet Ibis James, Metropolia, Rachel Leeke, or NJ. I promise, you will never be bored.
Okay, lemme go teach. Leave a comment and let me know how you’re doing and what you’re ruminating on this week.
Thank you for doing what you need to do for you and the fam. I would pay regardless of how often you post because I'm not THAT kind of consumer. I pay to give you the space that you need to do the "work your soul must have" but I respect when and if you ever bring that option back. I suspect that I am not the only one. :) Also thank you for these musings
“I have been present in the places where presence is absolutely vital.” As a fellow mother in a season of intensive caretaking (and first time homeschooling, by necessity), SAME. It feels so good to find words written from the place where I’m at, a place from where it is so hard for words to find their way to publication (or posting). I’m currently making my way, slowly, through Soil by Camille Dungy and her words also meet me in this profoundly domestic place. Thank you for your delightful offering here.