Truth: Not Advocating.

Earlier this week, Chelsea May and I waited patiently in a building’s lobby as a morning game show played on the TV; we were there for an introduction and potential interview at a small, rural hospital for her future work as a chaplain.  Neither one of us were quite sure what to expect, but she hoped to have some general questions answered and perhaps we’d receive a bit of hope that this location could hold a potential position in her future.  She had been my cheerleader in other things that weekend, but this was my time to stand with her and cheer her on as she explored her calling.

With substantial coffee breath, the man we were to meet with arrived and apologized for his tardiness, then introduced himself to us, “I’m _____.  You must be…Sheth?”  Then, turning to Chelsea May, “And you must be [mumbled/jumbled name]?”  She corrected him, “I’m Chelsea May.  It’s nice to meet you.”  Before she could get that little line out, though, this man had turned to face me and began the conversation: “So you all are hoping to volunteer here as a couple when you move to town?”

Obviously there was a communication breakdown somewhere.  I looked at Chelsea May and she clearly said that she was hoping to do a CPE residency in the nearby large city and she was looking to do her clinical experience remotely, either at this particular hospital or at one nearby.  She wanted to know how she could do this residency without having to drive long distances every day, a valid question with a (hopefully) simple answer.

I’ve heard about women being ignored in conversations.  I’ve heard about women being treated as ‘less than’.  I’ve heard about men ‘keeping women in their place’.  I’ve heard about blatant misogyny but had never seen it in action…

Within the first five minutes I felt a horrible pain in my soul as Chelsea May was ignored again, and again, and again as this man conversed with me – not her.  He remembered and used my name – not hers.  He asked me questions about her and wanted me to speak for her.  He acknowledged that she was present, but not-so-subtly indicated that she should remain silent.  He inferred that she was my partner, that she would follow my ministry, that she would do and say what I would tell her to do and say.  His ignorance said that she shouldn’t/couldn’t work and indicated where he thought her place should be: at home making babies.

I was stunned as the minutes ticked by and this man talked with me about chaplaincy, a vocation that was definitely not mine but is hers – the woman who was walking with us.  She is the one called to this ministry.  She is the one who wants to work in hospitals.  She is the one who wants to care for the sick and walk them to health or to death.  She is the one who wants to care for people and their stories.  This was supposed to be for her and her calling, not me.



We endured the conversation through the hospital and steered it to an end because we had to catch a flight.  As the conversation closed, he told me he looked forward to talking with me in the future and was glad to meet me; he barely acknowledged Chelsea May and offered her a cursory handshake.  She and I exited the building and I immediately apologized for I-don’t-know-what…

…for wasting her time…
…for this man treating her as less-than…
…for not uplifting her vocation…
…for this man being a jackass…
…for all men who have treated her in this same manner…
…to all women who have had to experience this attitude and treatment day after day after day.

I apologized for not saying something more direct at the beginning
for not standing up for her and her right to be there
for her and her right to be in ministry
for her and her right to be a chaplain
for her and her right to be an equal.

Chelsea May, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry that this man assumed you would be who you are not and denied who you truly are.  I’m sorry that this man ignored you and deferred to me.  I’m sorry that this man refused your presence, your call, your vocation.  I’m sorry that this man was the epitome of a hypocritical Christian, who “acknowledge Jesus with their lips, walk out the door, and deny Him by their lifestyle.”[1]

I’m sorry that this wasn’t the first time you’ve experienced this, but is just one of many moments that you’ll undoubtedly forget because it’s such a frequent occurrence.  I’m sorry that men have treated you this way in the past and that you have had to struggle and work and push so much harder than I ever imagined just to have your voice heard.  I’m sorry that we are not – and probably never will be – treated as equals.  I’m sorry that this happens again, and again, and again.

I’m sorry that I didn’t say something at the outset when we both recognized that this man viewed women as submissive beings for men’s enjoyment.  I’m sorry that I didn’t correct him and his thinking…I’m sorry that I didn’t steer the conversation to you… I’m sorry that I didn’t make room for you to stand up for yourself.  I’m sorry that I didn’t end the conversation but instead played the game to protect some future interest, when the higher priority should have been to protect you and your interests.  I’m sorry that I failed you in that moment.

Chelsea May, I hope that I will be better and do better.  I pray that I will heed the Sprit’s voice calling me to advocate for you – and all women – in all situations.  I pray that I will rely on God to empower me to use my influence and privilege for the benefit of others and not myself.  I pray that I will be a true partner with you – lifting up and encouraging you equally in all things in all moments.  I pray that you can live out your calling to serve God in chaplaincy and can face these misogynistic attitudes with strength, boldness, and resilience.  And may we both call out the jackasses when we see them.

much love. sheth.


[1] Brennan Manning

Truth: Choices

Not too long ago my girlfriend and I were making our way to the store and I posed this question: “If you could pick three people from our graduating class to work in a church you attended, who would you pick, and what positions would they fill?”  Never turning down a hypothetical question, she pondered briefly and then quickly rattled off the three names and their positions…then quickly threw in an, “Ooh, wait!  __________ would be great in that position!  And…can I have four choices?”

We went back and forth, thinking of positions in the church and who would be good for them and how we would definitely want this person or that person.  We couldn’t be confined to the parameters of my question and we both quickly came to the consensus that we’d need a very large budget for our staffing because we’d like to have so many of our classmates working in churches we’d attend.

Lately I’ve been spending a lot of my time admiring my classmates and watching them gives me hope for the future, while simultaneously making me jealous of those lucky congregations who get to receive these new chaplains and pastors.  If my classmates are any indication of the future of the Church, I’d say it’s in good hands.

The Church has been in decline in the United States for a while and there’s been a cry for new leadership with fresh ideas to rescue the sinking ship.  I often wonder why these cries continue to come, year after year, because there has been a continual output of new leadership and fresh ideas from seminaries and divinity schools for decades.  I can’t help but wonder who’s at fault.  Have these new and creative voices been stifled?  Have these ideas been put aside for safety and security?  Has the Church rejected change simply for security despite declining numbers?  Will the Church ever come to a realization that there needs to be risk…there needs to be faith…there needs to be failure for growth and success?

As I’ve been watching and listening to my classmates talk about their hopes for the Church and their future communities, I pray to God that they don’t put it all aside for their own security.  I pray that these future chaplains and pastors don’t ‘fall into line’ simply to maintain their jobs.  And I desperately pray that the churches that call these women and men don’t stifle their creativity, their new ideas, or their plans for revitalization.

My task to the Church is this: be willing to take risks with your new leaders.  Call to your leadership positions people with big ideas, challenging ideas, wild-out-of-the-norm ideas.  Call to your leadership positions people who don’t fit the mold, people who you’ve overlooked for so long, people you know will challenge you.  And be willing to step into the discomfort of the unknown with your pastors and chaplains – their ideas may be exactly what your community needs in this moment!

My task to those moving into church and chaplaincy is this: be willing to take risks.  Don’t deny who you are for a paycheck.  Don’t let your ideas, your creativity, your dreams for the Church be stifled by old ideas and ancient ways.  Be ready to say ‘yes’ to things you’d never dreamed of and be willing to fail in big ways.  Meet with other pastors and dream, plot, and scheme together.  Step out of the well-trod pathways and look for other paths, easier – or harder – paths than the one you’re on.  And be willing to quit if you need to…be willing to recognize when you’ve hit a wall and move on.

The future can be bright for the Church if the Church is willing.  May God grant us all an abundance of hope and vision for the future, and may we all have an excess of grace and encouragement for one another.  The change is here…are we willing to take it?

much love. sheth.

Truth: Failed Missions.

I spent last week in San Antonio with 31-ish middle school students working to repair homes in the city – it was hard, sweaty, and difficult work. Hard because I and my co-leader spent most of our time corralling teenagers who had no construction experience. Sweaty because, well, Texas in the summer. Difficult because we only provided a bandage for the home.

Most of these summer work trips are pretty much the same. An organization enters a community and identifies homeowners who need assistance with repairing their homes – roofing, painting, drywall repair/replacement, flooring, yard work, etc. Over the course of the summer, rotating groups of teenagers come through and do the work for free while paying for the cost of the materials. It’s not the best work (they’re inexperienced teenagers), but in the end the homeowners have a home that is in a somewhat better shape than what they had before. It’s a good work and is legitimately needed, because without these donations of time and materials these homes would ultimately be condemned.

A good number of these organizations pull up their stakes when the summer’s over, their interns and on-site volunteers head back to college, and the community is left alone for the following nine months. The physical work is finished, so it’s time to go. And this is where we fail in these trips.


I was speaking with my small group of kids about our homeowner’s situation – she has a master’s degree in social work and was established in her career, but because of a family health issue she had to become the caretaker for her family member. She had to drop everything – work, friends, church, maintenance of her home – in order to care for her family member and it ultimately landed them both in poverty.

We could fix her home, but there were bigger issues at play in this family’s life. Inadequate healthcare systems. Ever-rising medical costs. Gentrification of neighborhoods. Sky-rocketing lumber costs. Over-demand of construction workers. Food deserts. Insufficient financial education. Poor public transportation. Deficient education. Predatory loans. Systemic poverty. Racial discrimination. Slumlords.

Truthfully, we can continue to take kids to repair these homes, but if we want to make a lasting impact then we need to deal with the larger issues at hand. Right now we’re doing bandage work. We’re fixing the home and leaving the homeowners warmer, safer, and drier, but we’re neglecting so many other things.

We need to set the homeowners up with local organizations who will continue to walk with them. We need to teach these families how to balance their bank accounts, how to utilize legitimate financial systems, and how to access free aid. We need to find ways for these families to get basic education – reading, writing, math, etc. We need to work with neighborhoods and cities to prevent homeowners from being pushed out of their of their homes and evicted for illegal reasons. We need to restructure financial systems and work to eliminate financial predation. We need to come up with a more affordable healthcare system. We need to care not only for the home, but for the family’s mental, financial, physical, and spiritual health. The summer’s bandage work is not sustainable.

I know I’m asking a lot and I know that it probably won’t ever happen, but I have hope that it will. I have hope that someday we can fix these larger problems that are keeping people in poverty. I have hope that someday we can fix our unaffordable healthcare system. I have hope that we can have ethical and moral landlords. I have hope that we can eliminate payday loans and exorbitant interest rates. I have hope that we can make education decent and free for all.

I have hope that these teenagers I worked with will never forget what they saw last week, and I have hope that they will work to change these systemic problems in our world. I have hope that we can all have bigger hearts and the long-distance eyesight to see the bigger-picture issues before us. And I have hope that God will give us all the strength, wisdom, and courage to fix it all.

much love. sheth.

Truth: Miles and Miles

I went for a walk yesterday with Chelsea May, and we managed to cover a little over two miles as we meandered through the University of Texas’ campus. Our internal odometers, though, suggested that we had traveled much, much further.

This is something I have experienced many times in my wandering about in nature. When I’m out hiking or hunting, I assume that I’ve just conquered at least a dozen or so miles and feel accomplished until I map out my route and see that my perceived number was way off. It’s a humbling moment because I think I’ve gone so far but I have yet to put up any real numbers. It can be depressing and frustrating (especially when my legs are aching), but it can also be an opportunity to realize how much further I could have gone, and can go in the future.

I was recently ruminating with a classmate about how I had wasted the last twenty years, wandering through life and not making any real progress or movement forward. Honestly it can be a little discouraging to be surrounded by people much younger than I who have done so much more with their lives and have a set trajectory for their futures. They have had a plan since high school and have been working diligently toward their goals.

I can vividly remember discussing my dreams of being a youth pastor with a woman at my church as I clearly articulated my desire to help people, guide teens, and share God’s love with the world. While I had these plans, I also had setbacks: minor indiscretions leading toward lifetime commitments; taking advice from poor counsel; listening to the don’t and shouldn’t; taking the safe and easy path because it was safe and easy. As I reflect on my life and the 39 years I’ve experienced, I think I’ve put in a lot of time. I’ve accomplished a lot but don’t have a lot to show for it. I’ve think I’ve put in a lot of miles, but haven’t traveled very far.

The good thing is that my perception is off. Just like my venture through the UT campus, my journey through life has not been as long and toilsome as I think it is. No doubt I’ve put in some miles in my life: I’ve been places, seen things, done a lot, and survived it all. But the best part of it is that I’m not done.

I’m not done.

I still have a journey ahead of me. I still have things to accomplish. I still have a vocation calling me and I can still heed that call. Those rabbit trails in my life were not setbacks or failures – they were experiences that gave me a greater understanding of the world, of life, and of God’s undying, unconditional love.

May we travel far, may we experience much, and may we diligently follow the course set before us as best we can. And when we venture off course, may we lean on the knowledge of God’s sovereignty to bring us back.

much love. sheth.

Truth: Terrified.

These past few weeks I’ve taking a class called “The Bible and the Hermeneutics of Ministry” (hermeneutics is the study of the methodological principles of interpretation – in this case, the interpretation of the Bible).  If I were to sum it up, I’d say the class is about how ministers (and readers of the Bible) interpret the Bible and how these interpretations shape one’s ministry and work in the world.  It’s challenging work (besides the amount of readings) because I’m finding there to be a lot of introspection involved: what are my positive and negative prejudices, what are my views of people who come to church, how am I feeling about humanity as a whole, how is my walk with God these days, etc.  I spend a lot of time looking inwardly to my soul.

I admitted to my professor and my classmates that if anything would turn me away from continuing on with seminary, it would be the process of interpreting the Bible.  I admitted it because this interpretation-stuff is serious business to me – it isn’t cooking burgers or managing mutual funds.  I’m dealing with the Almighty Creator, the Christian church, and the holy Word of God; I’m dealing with (and helping form) people’s attitudes, feelings, and thoughts about all of these things.  I’m dealing with the messiness of life and spirituality, and am a representative…a voice…for God when things are at their best and worst.  And this terrifies me.

As a professing Christian, my life, my words, my actions have always pointed to my God, but I could skirt the issues and questions if I wanted to by saying “I don’t know” or “Your guess is as good as mine.”  But the stakes will be higher when I graduate and become ordained because people will turn to me for the right answers, the right decisions, and the right interpretations.  People will inevitably look to me for direction, guidance, and words of wisdom because of my title.

This terrifies me because I don’t know all the answers.  It terrifies me because I know how crappy it is when a pastor doesn’t have the right answer.  It terrifies me because I don’t want to damage someone’s delicate walk with God.  I don’t want to mess up someone’s life.  I don’t want to turn someone away from the God that I see, know, and love.  If anything were to turn me away from this calling, it would be because people will be looking to me for the truths of Christianity.

My professor, in her wisdom, assured me that these feelings of being ill-equipped, under-educated, and overly-pressured are good feelings because they point to the fact that I’m taking this calling seriously.  There are moments when I believe her because she’s a professor and she’s been around people moving into ministry; she’s witnessed more people than I have move through this process, and she’s been through it herself. Yet, I also doubt her because…well, because doubt is one of my super-powers.  I doubt my abilities, my education, my life’s work.  I doubt my worthiness and my good-enough-ness. 

But I don’t doubt my calling, I don’t doubt my love for God, and I don’t doubt my love for all of God’s creation.  I rest on the shaky knowledge that I won’t know everything, I won’t have all the right answers, I won’t always have the ‘correct’ interpretations.  And I rest on the shaky knowledge that when the time comes and I need to be a voice for God, the Spirit will be with me and speak what I cannot.

much love. sheth.

Truth: Process.

Seminary is getting the better of me.  I’m taking four classes – that’s why I’m here in Texas – but there’s all this other ‘stuff’ that I have to do.  I have to do my jobs to make money.  I have to figure out where I’m going to do my SPM (internship in a church).  I have to figure out how to do a CPE (internship in a hospital).  I have to study for the BCE (Bible content exam).  I have to begin to prepare for ordination exams.  I have to move into the next step in the ordination process.  I have to think about what I’m going to do when I finally graduate.  I have to maintain friendships, relationships, and keep both my church and CPM (Committee on Preparation for Ministry) aware of my status.  Oh, and try to pray, worship, and honor God at some point – that’s why I’m here on this planet.

It’s daunting for all of us in seminary…and those who say it isn’t are lying through their teeth.  Many of us have cried – literally cried – because of the weight of this burden.  We don’t know why there are so many steps.  We don’t know what to do next.  We don’t know if we’re going to make it.  We don’t know if it’s worth it.  We don’t know if there will be some respite from the onslaught of pressure to get it done.

The weight of the education is enough to challenge anyone.  We’re wrestling with foreign languages, heady theological concepts, moral and ethical scenarios.  We’re having old ways of thinking reluctantly swept from our minds and replaced with newer, more difficult ideas.  Day in, day out, we’re being challenged intellectually and spiritually.


Before us there is a process that many of us have to go through, and just like Churchill’s description of Russian action prior to WWII, “It’s a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma, but perhaps there is a key.”  We’re given glimpses of this key – just a quick peek now and then – and immediately pushed to move forward.  The steps required, as well as the reasoning for this process, are written in some ancient tome held in Louisville, Kentucky.

Placed on top of all of that is the future stuff – what are we going to do with all this newly-gained knowledge?  How are we going to apply it?  How are we going to change the world?  While our families and churches have sent us here via a calling from God, there is a certain pressure to hurry up and finish in order to get out and make the world a better place.  We are an investment and people are demanding their due dividends.

While I understand the need for pastors in churches, and that we shouldn’t be going through this process for a long, long time, I feel like putting the brakes on things and slowing it down a bit.  It’s becoming too much.  It’s not easy.  It’s not helpful.  It’s not enjoyable.  While I’m continually hearing about discernment, calling, and vocational path, I am not able to even take a moment to understand, discern, or even look to see if I’m on the right path.

While classes are a bit easier and I’m getting into the rhythm of school, theology, and the academic-side of things, the process of it all is becoming more and more unbearable.  I know I’ll survive…I know it’s part of the course…I know this too shall pass…but it’s damn difficult.

My God, grant me peace, hope and understanding of this enigma-mystery-riddle.  God give me a vision of the bright future ahead!  My God, give me more trust that it will work.  And help me to rest.

much love. sheth.

The Postman Always Worries.

I’ve been working for the Post Office for two years – I’ve only stuck with one other job this long.  It’s not that I haven’t liked my other jobs; I’ve just never been in one place that long of a period of time.  It’s been a great 2 years at the post office – I like my co-workers, I love spending time with them talking about their families and learning about their life outside of the building.  I enjoy the camaraderie we have each morning as we all work hard to get out of the office and onto the pavement.

I love my customers and actually look forward to seeing them every day.  I work hard to make sure everyone gets their mail in a timely fashion.  I try to help the older people on my route by taking their mail to their door, or taking their packages inside for them.  I greet everyone with a smile – not because it’s the right thing to do, but because I am actually happy to be doing what I do.

I came into this job after a year and a half of being unemployed.  I spent a year and a half doing odd jobs here and there, but nothing steady enough to pay my bills.  It was scary, disheartening, and emotionally draining on my life.  When I was hired with the Post Office a huge burden was lifted off my shoulders.  And it’s been a great two years since.

I can’t say my work is always sunshine and lollipops – there are days when I think I’m never going to be able to get done.  When I started there were days that I wanted to quit after working 15 hours and delivering mail in the dark.  I get frustrated when things don’t go right, or a package is lost in the system, or a customer’s letter is shredded by the sorting machines.  Because I get the blame.  I take it, too, because I’m usually the only one the customers see and someone has to be apologetic.  But I keep at it because it’s a good place to work.

With the Postmaster’s announcement on February 6th cancelling Saturday delivery, a lot of questions began swirling through my mind.  I’m mainly worried about what’s going to happen to me.  Selfish as it is, it’s still my biggest concern.  Losing Saturday delivery cuts deeply into my paycheck.  It’s difficult not knowing what to do and what should be my next step.  I wonder if I should look for another job, or if I should transfer somewhere else, or if I should just stay where I am and pick up a second job, or just quit everything and move to Mexico.

Life is filled with these choices – some of us live with them coming once in a while, some of us have them coming at us on a daily basis.  It can be scary and unnerving and draining.  As a Christian I am to totally trust that God has it all worked out and that everything is going to turn out well…but I am still scared and worried and unsure.  I know that God has always come through for me, but I still worry because I’m human.  I try to trust, and I pray that God knows what He’s doing, but sometimes I just wonder what He’s doing and whether or not He has me in mind.

I read in Matthew 6 about Jesus preaching on the mountainside, giving all kinds of wisdom and knowledge and sharing how to live a righteous life.  It’s great stuff, really.  Starting at verse 30, Matthew records Jesus’ words as this:

“If God gives such attention to the appearance of wildflowers—most of which are never even seen—don’t you think he’ll attend to you, take pride in you, do his best for you? What I’m trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God’s giving. People who don’t know God and the way he works fuss over these things, but you know both God and how he works. Steep your life in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. Don’t worry about missing out. You’ll find all your everyday human concerns will be met.” –The Message

This is comforting to me in a way, knowing that Jesus understood about worry and the effects it has on our lives.  He knows that life is full of worry and doubt and that it’s not always going to be one great thing after another.  He calls us to do our best in understanding that He has our best in mind.  It may not be easily seen or heard or understood, but He pushes us to keep going, to keep striving to know God and trust that it will all work out.

much love. sheth.

1 in 10 Lepers Thankful.

Since I was laid off almost a year and a half ago I’ve really been struggling with a lot of things, but they all seem to center on God. I don’t necessarily blame my layoff from the church on my downward spiral – certainly it was part of the whole, but there’s been a lot of stuff before and since that has taken me to where I am now.

I thought about it today and the best I can describe it is like this: my life a year and a half ago was just a few small pieces of yarn all bunched up. It was crazy and confusing and a little messy, but for the most part it could be sorted out and all the loose ends could be tied up. Now, though, it seems like I have a lot more little strings in that pile of yarn – some are frayed, broken, burned; others are thinned out and barely recognizable. I’ve been looking at this pile of yarn – my life- for quite some time now, and it’s just been freaking me out. It’s a huge, unmanageable pile and I can’t find a beginning or end anywhere. It’s just a big knotted mess.

That’s my life right now. I’m a big mess. I am horribly in debt and feel like a financial failure. I have a son that I don’t know. I have two parents who are aging and it’s a little (or a lot, actually) scary to see. I have no employment, or hopes for employment. I have a gigantic crack in my windshield. My car is miraculously losing oil somewhere. Nearly all of my relationships have crumbled. Divorced.  And my faith in God is waning by the day. A big knotty mess.

I’ve struggled with God because it seems like He’s never there, or, He’s there but He’s just not helping me out. Certainly there are more important things in this world to be handled than me and my whining – famine, war, poverty, hatred. But I don’t know, I guess I was under the impression that God would be there for me when I needed Him, you know? I’ve struggled with the whole ‘ask and it will be given to you’ thing. I haven’t even been asking greedily. All I want is a job – I want to earn an income to deal with all the other stuff in my life. I’ve begged and pleaded, but I seem to get nowhere. In the past year and a half I’ve had one job interview. (I know the economy’s bad, but isn’t God more powerful than the economy?)

And so, with this struggling faith and seemingly lack of response from God, everything else has just built up on top of everything else, making my knotty mess an even bigger knotty mess.

With much prodding from some friends and family I decided to at least go to church. I snuck into the Presbyterian Church five minutes after it started and sat quietly in the pew. I didn’t sing along to the songs. I didn’t do the responsive readings. I didn’t let my mind wander about inspecting the construction of the room. I focused on the sermon and ducked out the second it was over.

The message was on the 10 lepers found in Luke 17:12-19. Jesus and the disciples entered a village…ten lepers saw Jesus and said “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us” (KJV). Mercy…they asked for mercy…the Greek word here is eleeo from eleos meaning ‘compassion’ – they didn’t ask Him to heal them. They asked Him to show them compassion – kindness, care…recognition. These men were standing far off – not just from Jesus, but from everyone. Their family members, other villagers, visitors, animals – everything was far off from them. All they wanted from Jesus was a little recognition, a little kindness, someone to actually acknowledge their existence.

And Jesus did them one better. He not only spoke to them, he told them to go and show themselves to the priests (since the priests were the ones who determined who was clean and unclean from leprosy). He did more than look their way; he did more than they asked. He healed them. He restored them to their families and friends. He brought them back from the outside and gave them a new life. He gave them what they really needed; what they really wanted in their heart of hearts.

Honestly, my problems aren’t solved. I have more questions now than I did before. I’m still lost, confused…messy. I don’t know if Jesus is going to do one better than what I’m asking for. I don’t know if He’s going to answer any of my prayers. I don’t know if my relationships will be healed, if I’ll ever get a job or get out of debt or find out where my car’s oil is going.

All I can do is wait, keep talking to Him and wait some more. I’m a big knotty mess. But sooner or later it’ll all be straightened out.

much love. sheth.