Twenty years since 9/11, and where are we now?
The world is scary right now, but we can choose to hope anyway.
I show up because I can’t not. But I’m learning a new way.
How strong the gentle hands that shaped the world and lift me up.
What strange relief to weep thanks at the feet of the one who robbed you.
In this quiet season, there is a small voice whispering.
It is not Him who is slow; it’s me.
A permission slip from Father to world on behalf of a very foolish daughter.
Celebrate Jesus’ death with as much joy as his birth!
Taste and see that the Lord is good.
It’s tough to feel anything but dried up these days. Poetry helps. So does reading the Word. (One more than the other.)
A poem about how Jesus isn’t surprised by your failure in the face of racism–and still calls you to love.