I have held many things in my hands, and have lost them all; but whatever I have placed in God’s hands, that I still possess. – Martin Luther
A couple of years ago at an If:Local at our then-new church, Shelley Giglio taught me something new via livestream: open your hands during prayer. Palms up. Be expectant in your time with God; be receptive. Believe the promises.
It felt unnatural at first; childlike and vulnerable. But then I saw how a posture could change the way I entered that time, and it became part of me.
Is everyone really as angry as they seem right now?
If we’re being honest…I’m not. I’m defensive, I’m tired, and I’m hurt. That’s where this election season and all it brought with it has left me. I think sometimes that looks like anger. Continue reading
I’m 18 and you are 19. We are in our sparsely furnished apartment and we have run out of money for the week. I’m enormous with a child who doesn’t appear to sleep in the womb and has taken a liking to my ribs. You are wiry and fidgety with wild hair and the wild eyes of someone trying to figure out how to be still with someone you love when you don’t know how to be still at all. We are a sight to behold. Continue reading
Our worlds are bruised,
black and blue.
Tender to the touch,
skin every hue. Continue reading
One chilly evening last fall, we were visiting my grandmother. She has a church directly across from her home. Baylor had some sort of app on his phone, sort of like geocaching meets World of Warcraft type of thing. He jumped up from the couch and told me that there was something to find over at the church- could he go? I looked outside. It was dusk. It was drizzling. I looked at Baylor, in his jeans and black hoodie; such a stark contrast from his nearly glowing white skin. I told him he could go. He ran outside, threw his hood over his head, and wandered around the closed church.
I wasn’t worried.
But I know some mamas have to worry. Continue reading
Bug is gone this week. I miss him like crazy, but I always get the good kind of stomach flip when I think of all the possibilities a week away from home holds for him.
He is going to meet new people. He is going to see new things. He is going to experience God in some way he hasn’t experienced God yet. He’s going to come home, back to us, having lived a little more.
My baby, my son,
he looked at me today.
Out of nowhere,
locked eyes, told me,
“I’m not afraid.”
Good, baby, good.
Go forth; yes, be brave,
’cause your mama can’t think
of one good thing
fear ever gave.