I didn’t get married until my thirties. I was the girl who got lost in fairytales as a child and grew up with an emblazoned picture in my mind of what my marriage would look like. I imagined a slightly demure pursuit like the one between Edward Ferrars and Elinor Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility, mixed with a little bit of the passion and drama of Wuthering Heights. In the end I hoped we would get along like Ma and Pa Wilder from Little House on the Prairie, walking off into the sunset at the end of our lives.
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?
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.
Exams have passed. Graduations have been celebrated. Summer’s coming hard upon us.
Our kids have been feeling it, really feeling it — the stress that has them wound up tight, stress that makes them doubt themselves, stress that overwhelms every bit of courage to dig deep, reach in, and press on into their lives and their dreams.
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.
I’d love to talk with you. My heart is for you and not against you. I’ve felt your pain as the scabs of wounds both historic and present have been ripped off, leaving you fragile, bleeding, and longing for relief.
Rest. Typically not a word in my vocabulary.
I was coming up to the weeks before my vacation, barely hanging on by a thread. I didn’t even notice how tired I was. My body moved slowly, numbly in its predictable, mechanical motions of the day. Though I accomplished all of my responsibilities, it grew challenging to be present, much less to focus. I could hardly tell how cloudy my mind had become. How disconnected I felt. Unsteady.
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