I think I want to tell them, Just read the gospels more.

–N.T. Wright, on the advice he would most like to give his grandchildren

by Annie Carter

I carry OCD tendencies. It rears its head in funny ways. Sometimes I color code my closet. Sometimes I eat the same supper for a week at a time. Sometimes I read a book I love and have to read everything else that author has ever written. This might explain why I own full shelves of Cormac McCarthy, Annie Dillard, and Michael Chabon. It also might explain why those shelves are organized alphabetically.

Currently, I’ve been reading straight through the Gospels. Once I started I had to read them all. Right now I’m reading about loaves and fishes. The five thousand. The healing legs. Picking up your mat and walking. Go to the next town. You’ll find a man. You’ll find a donkey. You’ll find an upper room.

Oh to know an upper room. To see the donkey. To find a man. I think about this. I pray for this. I hope. Yes, I want directions. I want the simplicity of miracles. The instant answers. The Polaroid future. Fast developing and pocket sized. Oh Lord, tell me what highway I take to turn off at the upper room. Directions please.

I am healthy and I am (relatively) young. I think about this. Shouldn’t there be purpose enough in being able? In being alive? I believe in purpose. But it’s an easy thing to forget when you feel stuck. No food and five thousand loan collectors to feed. Master, why don’t you just tell them to go home? To which He always seems to say, break what you have into pieces. I’ll take care of the rest.

Oh God, Father of loaves and fish, or bread and wine. Find me at Jacob’s well. Tell me everything I’ve ever done. Find me on the road to Damascus and give me a new name. Open the door and I will walk through it. I think about this.

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