You dwarves of adherence!

That's the way Chouraqui translates "men of little faith". As if faith wasn't something you had, rather, something you have to grow in.

On a number of occasions, I'd been wanting to do something so well that I had to ask God to please let it work out, just this once. Each time, it worked very well, but I also knew that I was being carried: this was not intuitive, I was stepping well out of my comfort zone, this was not regular me, it's as if Chinese was suddently coming out of my mouth.

So while the Chinese language will come out when I ask for it, I don't speak Chinese. I'm not at home in it, these are heterotopic moments. I'm at home in mediocrity. I may be punctually given the language of faith and the actions of faith, but that's out of the ordinary.

I've always been struck by the fact that most people's last word is "mom". I find that so unbelievably touching. Gandhi's last word was Rama, God. If this guy could appeal to God with the type of longing and trust that the rest of us have for our moms, I want to find out how.

Should I just beg God to let me dwell in the heterotopic as often as I can, to see if it becomes me, if I can become a citizen of the kingdom by being exposed to it a lot? Maybe then I'll pick up the Chinese like a second language I fully adhere to. I wish faith was the place I speak from, not an identity I get to borrow on occasions.