Across the Ocean Blue
Pursuing a dream in English-speaking Europe is the vanilla ice cream with sprinkles of international travel for a North American.
Pursuing a dream in English-speaking Europe is the vanilla ice cream with sprinkles of international travel for a North American.
But the truth is I’ll follow you like the yellow brick road.
Only a very few of my friends and family members hate women or God, no matter what Rush Limbaugh and The Nation insist.
What you see is what you get—the time is the color; the color is the time.
As I deconstruct my singular image of God, I am celebrating the multifaceted images of God as a black woman all around me.
My mother has earned every one of her grey hairs.
I’d love to claim any of the righteous reasons I might use to defend the bus: environmentalism, patience, solidarity with my surroundings… but the truth is I just like it better.
How much do we love red? We crush rocks for it. We smash bugs for it.
My grandmother is slowly forgetting. Everything.
Jesus’s ambiguous (or else horribly inaccurate) ethnicity isn’t even my main problem with most of the ways Jesus is depicted in media. It’s that he’s often ridiculously and unbearably boring.