Stumbling Upon Silence: Our reflections on Sheridan Voysey’s Resurrection Year

Wrong WordsIt’s been twenty-five years, and words spoken after our first miscarriage still rankle. People didn’t know when to shut up when faced with our misery, so they dispensed silly vending machine formulas—a Snickers Bar, a bag of chips, a God-has-a-purpose box of cheap theology and pop psychology.Like Job’s companions on the ash heap, like his self-appointed comforters among the shards of broken pots, they always had something to say. Comforter 1: “There’s nothing to worry about, i … [Read more...]