It was that dreaded sound —the sound of hope giving way to defeat. The ache right in the center of your chest when a dream flies away before your eyes and no amount of chasing can bring it back within your grasp.
Continue readingIt was that dreaded sound —the sound of hope giving way to defeat. The ache right in the center of your chest when a dream flies away before your eyes and no amount of chasing can bring it back within your grasp.
Continue readingI’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.
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.
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.
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.
Revelation 21:5 (ESV) And He who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also He said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”
Sometimes it is the hardest thing to stay as clay, soft and supple. Sometimes the cold is so bitter the safest thing to do is to bury wounds deep enough we never have to risk them seeing the light of day, of being exposed.
It happens sometimes. Most years Christmas is a time of joy, filled with decorations and celebrations, gatherings and festivities. Still, there are some years my journey to the manger feels more lonely, more overwhelmed, more soul-weary, and saddle-worn than I could have imagined.
It was a routine procedure. Nothing to worry about.
© 2019 Lisa Murray
Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑