Let’s be honest. There are tears in the in between
Friday loomed dark and cold before us all week. We’d been preparing for weeks for the love coupled with the heartbreak that we’d find yet again in the bread and the cup at the cross of Christ. As much as…
but, I love you…
It is a hard day. A swell of unexpressed grief rises and won’t be ignored any longer as I step outside for a breath of crisp, fresh air. Moments later, unabated, I reach in the front door for the car…
He Will Find You
I called the kids to the living room from their boisterous play. Fluffy pancakes and sticky maple syrup, sizzling bacon and freshly ground, hot coffee still wafted through the house from our celebration Sunday breakfast. We were certainly breaking our…
My Marked Heart: 10 years later
I was painting the stage wall charcoal black and remembering.I was tucking my oldest girls in and remembering.I was leading a training meeting and remembering.I was laughing with a friend and remembering.I was curling in to fall asleep on my…
For All That Stayed the Same
We gathered around the coffee table, bellies full of turkey and stuffing, potatoes and gravy, peas and carrots, all the pickles, cranberry sauce and rolls, oh and coleslaw, all the Thanksgiving things. And yes we were anticipating the pumpkin pie,…
The Snow Day Witch
Let’s be honest about the Snow Day Witch. She comes in the morning all pretty and lovely with big fluffy snowflakes glistening in the early morning light. The musical morning whisper “No school today, go back to sleep” is followed…
Are Those Tears on my Cheeks?
The quiet waves of hysterectomy. My vision clouds with the pressing darkness of remembering there was no reprieve, no cycle to prepare for, just an outgoing drain of life, an ongoing battle to push through. I'm lost recalling the struggle…
Heirloom: When God Doesn’t Do What You Think He Will
The painter sat on the linoleum floor that sunny Wednesday morning, a black garbage bag spread out under the freshly stripped kitchen chair. Slow, deep, breathing could be heard in the kitchen as the canister was tipped back and forth…
Could You Remember This Too?
It is late, very late for a 5 year old, 7 year old, 10 and 11 year old. The sand is cooling, squishing and scratching between our toes. “Is this real sand,” I ask him. “or did they bring it…
A Mother’s Gift
It was her day off. The sun had crested bright and beautiful, but it didn’t draw her from the heavy sheets tucked tight around her. She dragged her tired body from the warm blankets, pulled back the dark grey curtains and…
