I’m in my mid-twenties, standing in my backyard in south Texas, smoking a cigarette in the dark and praying in tongues. I’m married to a pastor and every Sunday, I want to skip church. I listen to k.d. lang crooning from the stereo, tapping ash into the flower beds, and long for home. In the living of it, I don’t know what to call this season of my life but someday I will know