O Lord, you see me and you know me, You saw me when I was up at three this morning, When my mind race with possibilities, when I couldn’t pinpoint the problem, when I wondered if the darkness would ever go away. O Lord, you see me and you know me, You saw me when the destruction was tangible yesterday, When hurt splayed itself around the room, when anger scribbled across the page, when “I don’t know, I don’t know,... Read more
For most of the world, it was just another Saturday in April. But for me, it was the start of something new. It was the holiest of moments. It was life found beneath a dome under cloudy Seattle skies – when I couldn’t tell the difference between the water and tears that trailed down my face, when I closed my eyes and uttered ancient prayers spoken by thousands of tongues. The records show that I became an Episcopalian that day,... Read more
I can’t seem to stop thinking about holy interruptions – perhaps because life, in general, feels marked by interruption. So, this last Sunday I preached about it, again. I’m sensing a theme… It first hit me this summer when I sat with the text from Mark 3: Jesus was King of the Interruptions. He was an interruption to his family, to his friends and to those who weren’t quite so fond of his actions, his politics and his claims –... Read more
It’s no mistake that two friends, of two different perspectives, launched two very important books in back-to-back weeks. Last week, you read about privilege from a black, Christian, southern woman writer, Natasha Robinson, and this week you’ll read about privilege from a white, Christian, southern and northern woman writer, Amy Julia Becker. No matter the color of your skin, it’s imperative that we identify and talk about the roots of privilege and supremacy …and for many of us, identifying our privilege... Read more
I heard a simple rabbinic story yesterday that stopped me in my tracks: “Before his death, Rabbi Zusya said, ‘In the coming world, they will not ask me: ‘Why were you not Moses?’ They will ask me: ‘Why were you not Zusya?'” The room was silent when the instructor finished reading the story, so quiet you could have heard a pin drop had we a bowl full of pins to drop in the first place. But the message was clear: be... Read more
Well friends, I’ve got a TREAT for you today. Oftentimes, learning to color outside the lines means learning to pay attention to every voice, including voices that have been marginalized and silenced. I am delighted for you to catch a glimpse of the poetic, prophetic words of my friend Natasha Sistrunk Robinson and her new book, A Sojourner’s Truth. It’s part memoir, part theology, and ALL truth every single one of us needs to hear. Check it out! — — Tell us a... Read more
I was in the seventh grade when a teacher asked me if I wanted to launch an official complaint of sexual harassment against a classmate. I was fourteen years old when a stranger stared at me lewdly, when he looked me up and down and offered me free admission to his bar. I was a freshman in college when a boy didn’t listen when I asked him to stop. I may have been drinking and I may have been lying... Read more
We left town this weekend. I know, this is perhaps the most drab of opening sentences, but hear me out: we mustered the energy to drive eighty miles south this weekend. We packed our car full of food and camping gear and coloring books galore and went to the Santa Cruz mountains this weekend. We set aside the physical and emotional exhaustion that comes with moving, and we left town this weekend. And it was good. We holed up with... Read more
I’ve been thick in the midst of copy edits for my book – which is why you’re seeing the weekly post a day or two later than usual and why everything else in my life seems to be on hold for the moment. Application for after school care for my oldest son in a couple of weeks? On hold. The article due last week and the other one I swear I’d finish by the 15th? On hold. All those boxes we’ve yet... Read more
For a long time, I prided myself in my ability to ask good questions. Call it the reporter or the curious human in me, I knew how to so engage in conversation that I could draw answers out of those labeled most unlikely to talk. I was the Oprah of my imagination and sometimes even of coffee shop conversations. After all, before I became a writer, I was a high school English teacher, and after that a director in a non-profit... Read more
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