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.