I do not know how to open my palms. Wide enough I manhandle the gift. Fumble and finger with all thumbs. At least I’m seeing clearer. Now. I think. At least I believe You will my good. Again. I see where the translation erred, where words were misplaced. Where I read between the lines You drew. My words to You slip out in sighs and silences And I am all ears now. And thumbs still really. But You are... Read more

God is good. I admit it. I say it out loud publicly. God is good and faithful and present. Even when our insides rail against such an obscene claim. But it is true. And I can’t pretend it’s not. Forever. God is. Good. Truly. Good. God speaks words. I hear these words. I believe them. Even when I don’t. God is trustworthy. I trust God. Even when I don’t. God is patient. I want to learn to be patient with... Read more

“It must be a skill, like fishing, to cast your net into a river of dreams and catch a splendid array of words.” So says the young poet Nur, one of the complex characters in Lyrics Alley, the newest novel by Muslim Sudanese-Egyptian author Leila Aboulela. It is true. Writing is a skill requiring practice and dreaming. This summer I am spending six weeks in Paris, France as the Writer-in-Residence at L’église Américaine à Paris. I will be giving a... Read more

Paris is for lovers. This is fitting, because I am here for six weeks, to write yes, but also aching to fall in love again with my own heart. I am here hoping to woo myself back to that childish curiosity for life. I am here flirting with my delight in ordinary things like walking, and the scent of lavender or the color of evening just before things get darker. Things inevitably get darker. I am here following the Seine... Read more

  She said once that the way we encounter others is somehow related to how we engage with God. I hold that today. In a mid afternoon conversation I sit across the table from what is holy, my head held in my hand, my arm bent, elbow slid across the wood top, listening intently as the image-bearer makes himself vulnerable, expressing sorrow between sips of a creamy latte. I make myself present.   [You have heard it said that your... Read more

I am cohabitating with Longing. I refuse to commit long-term. Secretly I am hoping to soon bump into the real thing. And when I do I’ll come home, swing open the door of my house and declare loudly, “It’s over. It’s not me. It’s you.” But until then I can’t quite let go of what I have- this longing that drapes itself confidently across my four-poster bed, my antique purple couch, my stitched up mending heart. She is supple and... Read more

George and Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove I love to cook for people, shared meals are one of the ways I express and encounter deepening of relationship. I love to open my home to others as a place of respite or companionship,  and always  laughter (and mixed beverages.)  I want people to feel welcome, visible, and safe when they enter my home.  But I have never lived in intentional community with strangers who then became friends and family. That kind of life-sharing is... Read more

He said, “I’ve been praying for you to find your voice.” He doesn’t know how I am threatened by the quiet, by the space that shows up each morning waiting for me to honor it. You have to trust the lump in your throat, the tightness in your rib cage, the hand in your stomach closing up slow into a fist. This is your body speaking in native tongue. You have to learn the dialect of your body’s native tongue.... Read more

I am doing something a little different today. I am pointing you to another blog because it is somewhere I have discovered that God is at work. Isn’t it our job to shine the spotlight on such places? I want to tell you about SheLoves online magazine. Founding editor, Idelette McVicker is doing wonderful things there. Daring to ask, “What if? What could happen if we loved and supported each other in our brokenness, but ALSO our beautiful stories, our... Read more

It is Easter. Christ is Risen. Everything should change. Right? The Lord, the giver of life is raised from the dead. All things are possible and nothing is beyond God. I want to live as though I believe that to be true. I want to live as though Easter really matters. But I am so distracted by my aches and worries and longings and disappointments and ambitions that I can’t clear enough space to figure out what such living looks... Read more