Sharp, tiny fingernails scraped into my neck, collar bone, and the bony spaces of my chest. My heavy, nerves-on-fire, newly lactating breasts ached to fill my daughters stomach as much as she ached to be full. Frantically, she clawed at my body, gaping mouth probing for sustenance. My milk was on the verge, not quite completely in, just needing some coaxing from the mouth of a hungry babe. Tears fell and sweat pooled as I paced with her squirming body around our living room, desperate for the crying, the screaming, the ear-piercing noise…to stop.
“Just be patient, baby,” I pleaded with her. “Mommy needs you as much as you need me. Just stay on baby. The milk will come. I promise it will. Please, baby, please.”
Time and time again, I would gently tug on her tiny …
How can I desire to shine the light of justice and mercy into the world when I won’t let it shine into the dark places of my own heart?
Some of you won’t want to hear this. Some of you will. Some of you will be angry. Some of you will rejoice. I realize I run the risk of alienating some friends and family if I expose just where it is that this journey is taking me. And for those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, start reading here.
I’ve known for awhile now, but haven’t told many. It’s just too hard, and yet, it’s really quite simple. I started out on this road thinking I would write this book and get this all off my chest and finally …
“You’re going to what?!” I believe this was my initial reaction (internally) several years ago when my sister said she wanted to adopt. And not an infant, a middle-school age boy, a couple of years younger than her youngest. It was something God was calling her to do, though, and I couldn’t argue with that. But I kind of thought she was crazy. I mean, most mothers are bittersweet about their last one leaving the nest, but don’t necessarily start backfilling.
My sister and her husband (and some other legal-type guy) with their new son.
My sister is sixteen years my senior, and although age kept us at a distance growing up, she’s now my best friend. One, two, three, four, my nephews entered the world, starting when I was five years old. They seem more …
I see him as a whole, real person, with a whole, real family.
As I brought my car to a stop, pressing my foot down on the brake pad, I looked up to the opposite corner of the intersection, and my heart began to race. There stood what appeared to be a young man, in a flowing black cape with a hood over his head. My left turn signal indicator kept a steady rhythm while my mind raced with possibilities. What was he doing there? Promoting some local store? Just a pedestrian with a unique style? Something about his presence unnerved me, and I wasn’t immediately sure why.
With a swift motion, he began pacing back and forth, pivoting quickly to produce a Batman-like silhouette with his cape. Then, he crouched down and let the wind whip …
Two little girls in their jammies snack on raisins while sitting on their uncle’s grave. A simple, beautiful moment.
“He’s not really here, honey. It’s just his bones.” I spoke these words from my own mouth, but I wasn’t sure I believed them. Part of me desperately wanted to believe that his spirit somehow lingered in this place, where flesh becomes fodder for earth dwelling creatures. I parked on the gravel path right in front of his gravestone, as my preschooler pointed excitedly to the cross on the altar at the cemetery center.
“Look, mommy! That’s where Jesus died!” Our recent Easter lessons had paid off, and my young daughter was now intimately familiar with the story of Christ’s death and resurrection. “That’s right, sweetie. But remember, he’s not dead anymore, he’s alive.”
Sadly, I couldn’t say the same …
I came across this image the week before I left my job. I didn’t know where those horses were going, but I wanted to find out. I wanted…this.
One year ago, I had a vision, although I couldn’t see it clearly at the time. I really couldn’t see anything clearly at that time…except the exit sign. I was beyond my capacity, and when something had to give, I chose my career. Faced with either watching my life slip away while I kept pace on the treadmill, or pulling the safety key and watching my career come to a grinding halt, I chose to take my life off autopilot. And you know what? It was really scary at first. While the 8-5 (+) keeps you going at a rapid speed, it also gives you structure. For …