Fear settled in like the rain clouds this week. Not a torrential downpour, but a misty trickle that has me wanting to pull blankets over my head and hide. Like a scared dog, I want to tuck my tail and slink under the couch waiting for the threat of thunder to pass.
I want to hunker down and armor up, praying God will somehow vindicate me. I play the me vs the world game.
It’s bananas. It’s unhealthy. I know it.
And it still took me about twenty-four hours to find a bigger perspective while my feelings roamed all over the place and the lies weighed in heavier and heavier.
I consulted Jesus. What I wanted was vindication.
What I needed was grace. Continue reading
Crocus are the flowers that beckon me outside with me camera as winter shifts to spring.
Folks content with simple things intrigue me, particularly those content with enough instead of excess. This discipline remains uncomfortable for me like sitting on the floor and reaching to my outstretched toes — beyond my grasp, but I stretch and it burns. Continue reading
This spring I’ve cleaned out closets. I gathered up the stashes of jeans I’d been hoarding and unwilling to chuck — not the jeans that are simply too big or too small, but the ones with worn-out inseams or missing buttons. The kind not even the thrift store wants, as likely they’d get thrown into the garbage or shipped off to other countries. Tossing the fabric to the curb seemed wasteful. Continue reading
Instead of waiting till years end and choosing what books to review, I’m picking five books each quarter to highlight. Here’s my top five favorite books I read in the first quarter of 2017. Continue reading
Driving the boat with Grandpa
When I was young, my parents shipped me off to Oklahoma every summer to visit both sets of my grandparents. Time spent with my paternal grandparents included fishing out of their boat dock — long boring hours of silence in sweltering heat while I waited for my bobber to move. As soon as the bobber would move, I’d squeal and my grandpa would jump up to come to my side of the dock — trying not to lose his balance and fall into the lake. Meanwhile, I’d reel in my line to see what prize I’d caught. Continue reading
Words are like rocks. We can build with them, or we can break things with them.
As I’ve said before, stories matter. And the stories shaping our perspectives on obedience and submission matter, too. These stories impact the way we communicate, and the baggage others carry with these words matters, too.
Reading news and social media the last few months, submission and obedience are trigger words for me — regardless of the position supported. Whether it is government or religion, I flinch. They are power words.
Too often, the act of obedience and submission dominates the conversation, while ignoring critical questions like obedience to whom and for what end. Continue reading