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 …

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Letting the Imago Go

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 …

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“Run the bathwater. She’s puking again.” Not quite the way I envisioned our Christmas morning to end. Santa had come, the gifts had been opened. Breakfast consumed. Our toddler just got over a five-day stomach bug of doom four days ago, and I was ready for the Lysol/non-stop laundry days to be over. But once again, she was throwing up. I knew it was probably a new virus, one picked up from one of several family Christmas parties we had attended over the weekend.

After a phone call to my parents, my fears were validated. “Everyone’s got it over here. I’m the only one not sick…yet,” my brother quietly said over the line. Everyone there was sleeping off a night of sickness. We’d all squished into my parent’s living room the evening before, sharing laughter, food …

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Look at their sweet faces. Can they really drive me crazy? Yes. Yes they can.





Mom…can I have…um….

WHAT?! You’re stressing me out, kid!

Some days, I am full of love and patience and only soft words for my children. Other days, though, I am impatient and unkind. I am Old Yeller. Trivial things get under my skin. Usually ones that happen after some major annoyance. (Like the toddler knocking over an entire two-liter of Sierra Mist on purpose as you’re pouring a little bit for your sick preschooler who’s laying on the couch. And that was after the dog puked on the floor and the kitty jumped up on the kitchen counter and ate my breakfast.) There are times when I imagine living with cameras in my house, recording my every move. Super Nanny wouldn’t approve.

I …

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God is Not a White Man

Yes, I really just said that. Shocking? Refreshing? Thought-provoking? Well, it’s not really my idea. It’s a song by Gungor, a Christian group I absolutely love. And while I didn’t think I thought God was a white man with a big white beard and long, flowing robes, isn’t that what I’ve been shown all my life? And that Christ is blue-eyed with soft, dirty blonde locks? You see, it doesn’t really matter what God looks like. Only, it does. It does matter when we start thinking that God belongs to us. And by us, I mean whatever race, nationality, color you are.

It also means he loves those whom we hate. Oh, you don’t hate anyone? I do. I hate pedophiles. Should I? According to the way of Christ, no. And I’m working …

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Raise your white flag. See what happens. (image from: http://kevinmartineau.ca)

How do you know, Cat? How do you know that God has heard you and answered you? How do you know to accept his answer if it’s not how you’ve envisioned the answer or what you actually wanted the answer to be? How?

What an excellent question, asked on a recent post I made about deciding whether or not it’s time for me to go back to work. It’s one I asked myself MANY times before finally jumping off the fence, and onto the unfamiliar turf of full-time at-home parenting. For several years, that’s right, years I’d been sitting on the fence, only to jump back off and run in the opposite direction. But something, always something, would put me back on.

Is this really God? Or my …

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