Creation
And yet, even there, in that peaceful place, my brow furrowed with unrest.
And yet, even there, in that peaceful place, my brow furrowed with unrest.
I didn’t expect to be single at twenty-five, but here we are.
At that moment, Cline walked up and said, in his miraculously gentle drawl, “You can take her home if you want to.”
It’s like merging onto a highway when you’re not sure you remember how to drive.
My mother has earned every one of her grey hairs.
This is the grace of God: that in our darkest grief and our most motionless despondency, He continues to move.
Among all of the challenges that I imagined were standing between me and a tree, allow me to share some of my favorites.
This October sabbatical, as I am calling it, is not what I would have chosen.
I learned that home is a team sport.
When unchecked, they are bad toddlers, eating bags of gummy bears and staying up all night.
Cookies are a way of saying I can’t fix all of the hurt, or make the bad days go away.
What I learned on this year’s Dover was how to sit in the disappointment with friends and then to race around joyfully on borrowed red bicycles.
The waves will wave again and the wind will call my name. What good hope that is.
My earliest intelligible communication was holding my stomach and saying “ow.”
I realized, sitting at my kitchen table that I needed to be a little more willing to lose my life, the life that I have been trying to beat into submission with a fancy planner and Lysol.
Woe to us if we value an intellectually impressive Christianity over the simple beauty of the ample grace and multiple avenues with which God extends salvation.