I miss the face of a little child leaning over a birthday cake, blowing out all the candles, and no one seeing the germs.
We have been walking through difficult things this summer. His words feel redemptive, protective, perfect to me.
I am living my life along smoothly, humming my little hums, enjoying my family and my new rhythms, when I get a bad case of the hiccups…
Covid-19 has polarized our viewpoints, and categorized us into cheap boxes: there’s this camp, and that. Hello, four cardboard walls.
She is carrying one item. “Good luck, people,” she says, just loudly enough to be heard, but quietly enough to be ignored. “There is not much in there.”
I imagine that, like me, you want an answer: something to eat or do or break or understand that will make the difference, make this bearable.
I have never seen a man’s back worn to shreds by a cruel whip, but I have seen crisscrossed lines of despair in the wrists of a friend.
Priests are no more evil than other men. But they can fall, and we are setting them up for it.
I’d like to share a few of the things that are helping me walk with Jesus toward healing. Any beauty or goodness in this story is entirely because of Him.
No matter what we do, we will always know someone who does it bigger or braver. Certainly if we had known it would burn like fire, we would have stepped away from the hellish abyss.