That one lone candle burning, multiplied by hundreds across the auditorium singing, ‘Silent Night, Holy Night,’ almost as if the flames flickering together whispered that enough light could change the whole world.
When Believers stop being the light, what else is left to shine into the darkness?
The pieces of my heart and mind can become lost in a whirlwind of confusion this time of year.
My birthday’s coming. It’s right around the bend.
My husband threw me this beautiful shindig to honor the occasion. On a perfect late summer evening with the perfect sky, he gathered my favorite people along with some beautiful music and food, to help celebrate.
I’ve never seen barns so full while hearts are so empty. Never believed one could have everything and nothing at the same time. Yet they do. We do.
Scarcity is all around us. In the middle of a field of crops so big and wide and deep, souls everywhere are starving, empty, hopeless.
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My eyesight is bad, really bad.
My husband once asked me to identify the smallest letter I could read on the doctor’s eye chart. What chart?I asked as he stood in the darkened office pointing at a fuzzy light reflecting dimly on the opposite wall.
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His eyes were piercing. As we sat down, he began to tell me his story —of growing up in a small town in east Texas, of doing meth, dealing meth, of living life in the darkness of racism that hung as a heavy shadow over his Aryan community.
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It steals in quietly before the first flicker of dawn. It’s grey shadows move across my unconscious mind, hovering overhead, bearing down on my disquieted sleep.
I’ve always felt a little ashamed of being a Martha. Recognizing the deep satisfaction in my hideous to-do lists, my overwhelming love of busywork, of checking things off as done, I always felt a slight tinge of guilt, like I was slightly less than Mary, subtly less mature, less Christian, less like Jesus wanted me.
Crickets. Silence. An awkward hush.
That’s the sound heard among many groups in the church when the subject of sex surfaces.