A few years ago, at the recommendation of a couple people who are much smarter than I, I spent Lent reading Fleming Rutledge's The Crucifixion: Understanding the Death of Jesus Christ.

It’s dense stuff, but I pushed through it because I love Rutledge’s insistence that we cannot talk about the resurrection without talking about the crucifixion.

Without warning, my eyes turn again to magnifying glasses

Beautiful blue irises turned demonic red

Zzoom: 150%

Stop, please stop.

“I just can’t do it anymore.”

The year is 2005, and with tear-stained eyes I slowly began unpacking my feelings of self-hate and ugliness to a loving friend. I refused to live one more day in the life pursuing a thin-ideal so I could succeed at something I loved.

Last week, I withdrew from a course.

This was a decision most people find easy and obtaining little importance. But for me, oh for me, this decision was in the simplest term – hard. Deciding to withdraw from this course was like creating a giant neon sign that said, “Look what Morgan cannot do!” for all my friends, classmates, and family to see.

I wrote in my journal, “… there are these parts of me, light and dark, love and coldness, hope and despair. It can’t co-exist and eventually crashes all together.”

Is this what scripture means about flesh and spirit? Do other people feel this way?

"Ma'am, can you step forward? I'm going to have to pat you down. Would you prefer a room or to do it here?"

I was annoyed. I fly several times a year, so I'm usually fairly careful about what I wear to an airport, both for maximum comfort and ease of getting through security without a pat down. Apparently my comfy leggings had triggered the TSA scanners today.