The Kitchen

My heart set me off on this life

But grace’s pulse is all I know;

My feet soon learned to rise and walk

But grace is the path, wherever I go.

And as my mind has grown to think,

My tongue has learned to teach and wound.

My God, Your grace is everything:

How merciful the sound.

My steps have learned soon to be false

But righteousness has followed me;

My heart has blocked up my own breath

But love has flowed, a cleansing sea.

A covenant from birth to death

Has held me in its open palm.

My God, my life flows out in praise;

You hold me in Your arm.

~“Thanksgiving” by Matthew Pullar (inspired by Christina Rossetti’s “The Birthday”)

In spite of the irregularities of my disordered life, the kitchen has always been one place I could count on (thanks in large part to my wife) where I could regularly come for nourishment – food and fellowship. From a cup of coffee in the morning, a brief noon-time lunch, a leisurely dinner and conversation while cleaning up – the kitchen is a space to share stories, check in on the day, and look forward to better tomorrows.

In the kitchen of my bipolar mind I have stored cherished memories that have shaped who I am, nourishing reminders of God’s abundance through brothers and sisters in Christ, and humorous perspectives that try to make sense of my struggles. Here we can sit down with a cup of coffee and a piece of rich Kentucky Derby pie and enjoy the bitter-sweetness of life.

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