Journeying Home Together
I value transparency. It is important to me that I be authentic and that what you see with me be the true picture. And so in that vein, I have a confession to make: I fake it a lot. I’m not a fake person. You can’t really be transparent and fake. But sometimes, faking it is the only way to make it. Because sometimes, I wake up in the morning and
Ten years ago today, I spent my morning quietly trying to pass the time. I hadn’t slept much, having slept on my parents’ couch and woken up at least a dozen times overnight in anticipation and excitement. I wrote a letter to my fiancé (like, an actual pen-to-paper one). I took a shower. I chatted with my best friend and answered texts from friends and family members. Eventually, I put
I sat on the rickety park bench in my back yard, a pen in my hand and my journal open in my lap. The words poured from my heart onto the page as I cried out all that was wrong with my day…my thoughts…my life. “This is my life right now:” I had begun, and from there dumped out two solid pages of my heart’s contents. Feelings of loneliness…being forgotten…overlooked…left out
Throughout the season of Lent, I’ve felt led this year to reflect in depth on the things God has done in my life. Easter is about all of us – collectively, the Body of Christ – being rescued, but it’s too easy for us sometimes to remove the personal elements from the picture. It’s easy to speak of God saving US…to sing of God’s love for US…to rejoice in His
Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been asking God to bring to mind the things that make up the story of my journey with Him. Because truthfully, things seem monumental and unforgettable at the time, but before long the things we never wanted to forget have blended into the background of our histories. So I’ve been challenging myself to retrace my steps, celebrating again what God has done in my life.
The human memory is a funny thing. We can’t remember where we put our keys or the name of that lady who sits in the next row at church every week, but random moments from our past are burned into our memory banks and never leave. Those memories might be important memories: the day we met our spouses, the birth of our children, the moment we received a piece of good (or
I woke up late this morning, and before my eyes ever opened I felt a burning, stinging, itching pain. My face was on fire. Not literally, of course, but as soon as I flipped the bathroom light on, I saw – through swollen eyes – that I had red splotchiness and puffiness to match the irritating itch. It was not good. Nor pretty. {I think it’s a newly-developed reaction to a face
During my junior year of college, in the spring of 2002, I spent a semester studying in Spain. It was a practical choice for someone with an international studies/cultural studies/Spanish major. It made sense for someone who wanted to one day work for an international non-governmental organization. By all accounts, it was a logical move. But for me – an introverted homebody who had never been away from home by
I spent some time this morning reflecting on the 21. The 21 Egyptian Christians martyred for their insistent faith in Christ. The 21 led in a line down a middle-eastern beach, wearing orange jumpsuits and accompanied by intimidating men in black. There has been a lot of reflection on them over the past few days, and I think that’s important. It’s important that we allow our minds to dwell awhile on
She said it was okay, but it wasn’t. She said she forgave me, but I couldn’t forgive myself. She never seemed to give it another thought, but it was enough to keep me awake that night. It had been “tacky night” at our church’s nighttime kids’ ministry, but I forgot. It completely slipped my mind between the excitement of breaking ground on our new church facility and normal Sunday chaos
