Coming up on Friday, September 6th, my church family is hosting a night of cover songs from our favorite—and not-so-favorite—decades. Ticket sales will go towards families in our community pursuing adoption. Artists include Don & Lori Chaffer, Andrew Peterson, Matthew Smith, Flo Oakes, and myself, plus a handful more! Read on for more details.Read More ›
“Jesus didn’t come to change God’s mind about us. Jesus came to change our minds about God.”—Richard RohrRead More ›
I remember what it was like to want a baby.
I remember how it felt to walk through the grocery store Read More ›
I had not meant to think on dancers
No, nor womanhood
I meant to write of summer,
Goodness, and the love of God.
Doug the Slug and Sparky the Lightning Bug got a big surprise from our friend Randall, and they even managed to catch it on video. Click through to watch for yourself!Read More ›
The day is yours, and yours also the night…
Sometimes when I cannot sleep, I wander through the house, looking at all the other people who are sleeping. There’s a satisfaction in knowing that all my loved ones are contentedly asleep, with their blankets cozily snuggled under their chins. I feel a flash of jealousy, too, sometimes, a sense of martyrdom: “Well, at least someone is getting some sleep around here.” Cue the dramatic sigh.Read More ›
“Writing poetry is too hard.” This is the offense I hear my high school students protest frequently. I get it, but I don’t think it’s entirely true.
I wrote this post the morning before Christmas Eve. At 10pm that night, my husband had a stroke. Changes in circumstance can’t change what is True. We were, are, and continue to be grateful.
[Editor’s note: We’ve decided to take the last few days of 2018 to repost some of our favorite pieces of writing that showed up on the blog this year. The second piece we’re sharing is “Awkward Saint Crazy” by Adam Whipple, in which he earnestly and skillfully asks how the Church can best engage with mental illness.]
“Why don’t we have a little sing-along?”
For many years, those words filled me with irritation. A lazy evening after dinner trying to decide what to do—watch a movie? Read? Play a board game?—and then would come Mom’s inevitable suggestion of a family jam session. None of us seven children ever met the idea with enthusiasm.
Christmas can be a time of joy and celebration—but it’s also a season of lament for many of us. For my family and me, we’re just past a season of grief; lament always remains a prayer on my lips. We live in a broken and hurting world, after all, and if we’re not currently grieving, we know someone who is.
Of the six of bedrooms I can remember from my childhood, only two were completely my own, and the time I lived in both of them was less than two years. The rest I shared with my sister. In college I had five different roommates in three different dorm rooms and one apartment, then I got married. So I guess you could say I never really had a room of my own. Until now.