When A Church Breaks
When a church breaks, her people realize they broke her themselves. By not acknowledging the extent of our own broken fingers and bent hearts, we pursued something that might not have been the gospel.
Works of Light
The light pooled on the horizon, stretching like taffy, growing and receding. When it faded away in one direction, we looked behind us to see it growing in another corner of the sky. It seemed to breathe.
Yourself, Eventually
If a Bart sings in the woods and no one hears him, does he make a sound?
Ruminations on Love and Marriage
As a young teenager, I always assumed that once you got married, you and your partner just sort of…stayed the same.
Within the Veil
This is the curtain call, a standing ovation for being present. We all saw the curtain between earth and heaven rise and fall again.
Still, Still, Still Simmering
Wildfires ravage and Irma bears down and nuclear tests keep happening, and I am heavy bored.
When Enoch Was No More
Last Sunday, I stopped to get coffee before church when a woman hesitantly approached and asked if I was a Christian. I told her I was.
Of Mice and (Wo)men
Three days later, an industrious little nibbler gets into my bag of white cheddar popcorn. We stash our remaining food in Rubbermaids, bleach everything, and riddle our kitchen with even more mousetraps.
On Not Missing Childhood
I think everyone has childhood hurts that they carry with them, and these are mine.
Proving Sylvia Plath Wrong
I left that professor’s office thinking: I am the kind of person who has the potential to do anything but the proclivity to do nothing. I am the kind of person who is paralyzed by choice, instead of empowered by it.
