“These? These are the ones you don’t want around? The ones whose precious angel voices are raised in harmony to worship the God you try and contain in your four walls, your leather-bound pages, your doctrine and dogma? The ones who’ve been driven out, ghosted, forgotten, ignored, muzzled and hog tied with red tape? These ones? These flesh-covered bones carrying impossibly large souls who just refuse…to die. To go away. Door after door has been slammed in their face and like the hemorraghing woman they did not stop reaching for Jesus.”
As our hundreds of voices communed together with The Many in singing “Come, Thou Fount,” my heart mourned for the ones who lost us. Congregations and churches and small groups and committees and ministries and worship bands and faith communities have lost …
“Life, the choice of a new generation.”
I remember feeling so proud. I was young, maybe 7 or so, and my big brother Eric had won a Pro Life bumper sticker design contest. He was in college at K-State, and very involved in the Catholic youth ministry there. Thousands of these designs were printed, mimicking the Pepsi campaign the phrase was modeled after.
At some point, my brother was even arrested at an Operation Rescue protest outside the Women’s Health Care Services clinic in Wichita (1991 “Summer of Mercy.”). Only, I never knew the name of the place then. It was just that “evil place” on East Kellogg where Tiller “The Killer” performed abortions. Again, I felt proud. What a sacrifice! What a demonstration of passionate protection of unborn children!
It was the early …
Look out Pharisee! He’s about to bop you in the eye!
Oh, friends. What a difficult time we’re living in. So much disagreement. So much tension. And admittedly, I’m adding to that tension. I am not sorry.
I recently told my sister about a snarky reply I gave a former college professor who had a political disagreement with me online. On the surface, it was benign. But below, I knew it delivered a painful blow. And then I lied to her about it. I said I didn’t meant to hurt his feelings, but…
“Yes, you did.”
*Pause, deep gasp* Yes, I DID mean to hurt his feelings. That truth bomb stung, but in a good way. I am a writer. I use words professionally. I knew exactly what I was doing, and my sister called me out. I’m …
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,
therefore I will hope in him.” Lamentations 22-24
The night air was surprisingly refreshing when I stepped barefoot onto my cold concrete porch. The light from the living room streamed through the closed storm door behind me, but I was drawn to a light beyond the overhang. Above. The moon. Brilliant and white, it pierced through the inky black sky. It was cool and calming. Clouds, narrow yet with clear definition, were drawn here and there, almost like quilt batting that’s been pulled thin. I let my toes hang off the edge of the porch, my hand on the 8-inch cedar post for …
They flew so low, it was almost as if they were inviting us to reach up and touch their soft, feathery underbellies. (image from: mackerrow.zenfolio.com)
Three weeks ago today, I was sitting comfortably in my bed, deeply engrossed in a James Lee Burke novel. A bit unusual since I’d lost my normally voracious appetite for reading. My father had loaned me the book, one that I was initially eager to enjoy as we’d read nearly every one of his novels together. But for some reason, I kept picking at the book a few pages at a time, never completely diving in. Until that night. One particular passage touched me in a profound way, and I dog-eared the page to show my dad. That’s what we did, he and I. Our own little book club. But I …
Even when I jump on that long, dark train, and take it for a night ride, I know there’s hope in the morning.
More than once this past week, I’ve run into people I either didn’t know, or didn’t know well, who told me they follow my blog. With my recent posts about losing our baby and the aftermath, I’ve drawn quite a bit of attention. And overall, I think it’s a great thing. Why? Because it’s helped other women open up and share their stories. Links have been passed between husband and wife, niece and aunt, mother and daughter, almost always with the encouragement to “Read this. Her story is so inspiring.” Inspiring. Is that what I’m trying to be? Well, it’s better than the alternative, I suppose. It …