I, too, have crunked to reality shows. The postmodern colosseum. Daughters and sons that I barely know embroiled in quickly digestible drama. But good drama is never quickly digestible.
This one’s a bitch, that one’s a hero.
Or borderline. Or narcissistic. Or selfish.
And all the while my soul is practicing how to kill with words and find enemies.
My own prayer for mercy forgotten.
How do I stop network editors from becoming my spiritual advisors? How do I resist the urge to hate and label the adolescent adults splayed out across my screen? Vain and bearing, as much as anyone, the image of God.