I think a lot about God’s hands. Sometimes when I pray, I picture these big palms and digits holding the world in orbit right there in the middle of black-night outer space. I see wrinkles on those palms, each one a line of a story- yours, mine, the lady next door, the man you’ve never even known existed. Maybe His fingernails are a little dirty because He’s constantly digging in our dirt. I imagine how He holds us all, all... Read more
“Lonely, lonely, you must be lonesome…take a hard look at yourself.” –Glen Hansard I sit in the dim light of this Atlanta cafe and it is quiet in my earbuds, except for the soft hum of Glen Hansard’s voice. We are all hunched over our iPhones, our books, our computers. Some people are hunched in toward each other, but mostly, we are together– alone. This is an odd and captivating thing about humanity– the guy with the bass pro baseball... Read more
The day in September that I was flying to Minneapolis for the Why Christian? Conference, I got a phone call. “We’d like for you to consider being a deacon,” Scott said. I felt his smile through the phone, and I think it widened when I started cackling. “Okay!…are you sure?” I said through shallow breaths. See, we’ve been in this beautiful little community for about a year and a half now, and while I certainly admitted deep down that I’d... Read more
Can you imagine something with me? Imagine that you were created to be the person you are today. Imagine that your skin is fit to you just as it should be, that you’ve got traits and characteristics that are yours because they are what make you, unashamedly, you. The problem is, we see ourselves reflected a little too often in some else’s mirror; we find our uniqueness shadowed under someone else’s “normal.” This last weekend, we attended the Stone Mountain... Read more
With my husband’s parking pass, I spent a few hours on campus. I grabbed a coffee in my keep cup and headed across the brick-lined road to the library, where the security guard greeted me. “Welcome to the library, where all your dreams come true,” this tall and kind African American man said. I smiled and told him that I was there to return a book for my husband, but that I’d certainly be reading, too. I quickly made my... Read more
Often in the church, a gap emerges, a “we” and “them” dynamic, a “modern” versus “traditional” dualism that leaves many people isolated and lonely, the church hurting in unnecessary ways. The truth is, that gap is rooted in a lie. The generation gap exists because we created it to bear itself down on us, to impose a rule of restriction over our natural need for community. The younger avoid the older, so much that we find it most difficult to cross... Read more
It is difficult for me to recall small details of stories– especially history– so sometimes I wish I’d engaged in more oral storytelling as a child. There is something different about a story pouring through someone’s lips, right out of their brain, out of their heart. There’s something about experiencing a story through hand gestures, facial expressions, and intonation, the way my Native American ancestors might have done it, and the way so many cultures across the world still do.... Read more
In the corner of our boys’ room, there is a rolled up rug. It was woven in Uganda, and it’s got pink and cream and purple fleshed into its design. And above our oven, there’s a white plastic canister with a red plastic lid, and it’s got groundnuts in it. When I see that canister, I close my eyes and remember seeing those little plants growing up out of the African soil. And every time I look at that rug,... Read more
A piece of Arkansas came to Georgia this last weekend. Suzan and her daughter drove 12 1/2 hours to be with us for one day and one evening. There was laughter and story telling, plenty of popsicles and pumpkin carving. Over and over we said, “I can’t believe she’s here!” and we cried because her presence brought life. And on Sunday morning she left, and it catapulted Eliot into a few days of emotional turmoil, a toddler trying to understand... Read more
As human beings, I think if we are really honest, the painfully quiet moments are the hardest for us. In those moments, we hear ourselves. In those moments, we dream. We grieve. We speak. We believe. Or, we absolutely doubt. And there, most of us are looking more at what should be than what is. Years ago, monks flogged themselves as they roamed the halls of their holy places, a punishment and form of killing off their broken human parts and their sins.... Read more
Stories - with Kaitlin B. Curtice
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