My granddaddy on my father’s side had klan ties. He wasn’t blood related, my dad never knew his real father, and somehow that makes me feel better, as if blood has anything to do with the way we’re blinded by hate and lies and all the separating we do when we make people less than or other. I’ve come to know that blood is the only thing that sets us free but that’s another story. Needless to say, I never really knew him. My dad was born into the dirty south in the 1950s. He was threadbare …
Compassion
When You’re Called to a Ministry of Tears: An Incourage Post
My friend lies broken in a hospital bed across oceans and continents set adrift by her loss. I’ve sent prayers into the heavens on days when the clouds hover, petitioning for miracles, the kind that pop up in two tiny pink lines and no more blood. The kind that come in flutters and heartbeats and lab test results delivered with a smile instead of a somber tone. The kind that pushes out with life and arches backs wide and straddles miracle and wonder and life. But she’s left with why? It’s not …
Every True Thing: His Word is Good
I’m teaching the importance of words. I hope my kids learn this. But first I have to learn it myself and these lessons are hard learned. Words matter. The things we speak to each other frame the content of our lives. The things we speak to ourselves determine what we believe. So I teach my children God is good. His word is good. I teach them to usher in praise when the world seems to crumble and groan and stretch in anguish. I teach them that every broken thing cries out for redemption and …
