For His Glory

There he goes again...talking to people and loving them well. Can't we just go without EVERYONE having to flock to him for conversation? Words I've said about my husband time and time again in my jealous, resentful heart. "No! You don't have to come to the store with me. I mean....I want you to, but it will take ten times longer because everyone will have to talk to you, and you will have to sign autographs (a bit overly dramatized). Words I've actually said to my husband over and over because out of my jealous and resentful heart my big mouth speaks. It's no secret my husband is loved and respected by most in our small community. Seven years ago he unassumingly snuck into town; as one of few blacks here, he wasn't able to sneak for long. Soon, everyone wanted to know who he was, what he did, why he was here, and what he was about. It didn't take long for everyone to see why I fell in love with him as they, too, fell in love with so many things...

****** Probably not my most uplifting post initially, but if you're willing to hang on to the end encouragement is possible. This notion of slow goodbyes has been swirling in my spirit for nearly two weeks. Unfortunately, this life is full of rather sad and sultry goodbyes. They take us by surprise. And by the time we see them for what they are we don't even know they've caught us in their sticky, tangled web. The frog in the boiling pot image comes to mind here. My friend, Helen, reminded me today of the small, every day goodbyes: In this dance we call life we say goodbye every day...goodbye to the morning, goodbye to our children as they head off to school, goodbye to a spouse as we go to work, and ultimately goodbye to the day itself, but the slow goodbye is the toughest because sometimes we don't even know we're in the mist of goodbye.  The parent of a child who is going through, or has gone through, high school understands a slow goodbye. The spo...

Is breathing life into the lives of others even possible? Breath of life...What does it mean? Does it even have a place in our hurried, quick-brewed, instant pot lives filled with tweetable quotes of 100 characters or less? Some might not think so, but I’m beautifully haunted by the story of Sarah that would beg to differ. Sarah's face will forever be etched in the recesses of her nurse's spirit. Their lives collided without warning as she brokenly broke through the doors of a local pregnancy center. Breathless. Her face spoke what words could not – desperation and fear. She said she didn’t have an appointment in her calmest most keep it together  voice, but her face and body screamed don’t turn me away. Please! Not you too. This is my last hope…You are my only hope. Sarah was welcomed with compassion and love. I caught a glimpse of her in the reflection of the doors as she departed. A half-smile sneaked across her face for a brief moment that whispered with humbl...

             "Clowns are the Pegs on Which the Circus is Hung."  P.T. Barnum At one time or another everyone feels like a "clown." Whether in the throws of puberty, speaking publicly, waddling around nine months pregnant, skin color, being held prisoner by addiction, or simply being different as followers of Jesus. But there's another group; an entire subculture who truly are viewed as "freaks"; those who suffer from diseases such as dwarfism, Vitiligo, Microcephaly, Tetra-Amelia Syndrome, or albinism.  These very people were the ones whom the inventor of Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus, Mr. Phineas Taylor (P.T.) Barnum not only pursued, but embraced. His life's work was to seek the marginalized, give them opportunity to travel, use their talents, earn amazing wages, and become someone they never would have been without the promotion of the circus. Don't we all imagine a day when someone like P.T. Barnum will come ou...

THE PROBLEM: Ugg...Health! Unfortunately, this is a topic near and dear to my thighs. *and has been all my life* Can I get a witness? Words of wellness and weight, the cultural oxymoron of the 21st century; they leave us longing for Ketogenic results on a McDonald's budget. It's happened to us all; what we imagined would be a fun-filled afternoon at the mall tragically ends as our image-doused brains replay sights of unattainable perfection that point their gnarly fingers of condemnation at each of our imperfections. From the plastic models displaying clothes as they should look on us, to plastered images of smiling beauties who embody the fullness of life as they flaunt their curves in all the right places. It's frustration station at it's finest. All the while our fake smile allows us to pretend the closing in of millions in advertising dollars ain't got nothin' on us. Once the perfection of it all saturates us to the point of nausea, we decide to leave....

Have you ever been abandoned, left alone, hurt, or forgotten by someone you trusted?  Abandonment manifests in a countless relationships. A Facebook friend recently shared an article entitled  "Day Care Centers Adapt to Round the Clock Demand" . Sadly, it told the lonely truth for children that, "Day care is slowly becoming night care in today’s economy, as parents work ever longer days, take on second jobs, and accept odd shifts to make ends meet." After reading the article, I wasn't sure if I felt more empathetic toward the parents or the children. I knew there was a blog post embedded in this concept, but what did it have to do with living a life with Jesus? About that same time, I was reading  The Father Heart of God   by Floyd McClung Jr. On page 100 he says, We made the mistake of "adopting out" our converts to churches and leaders who were not their spiritual fathers and mothers. It just didn't work. They didn...

The twilight had nearly passed when the streets began morphing into overnight bunkhouses. The streets of downtown Portland, Oregon looked nothing like a few hours previous. People who had found themselves homeless for the evening crept subtly into position, vying for prime location in the weather protected nooks of otherwise elite business storefronts - just enough room for a sleeping bag, meager possessions, and a pet of companion and protection. About the time I'd noticed the population was transforming into a different demographic, my gaze was drawn toward a young woman settled curbside for the evening. She sat hunched over, hair in her face, drawing and writing in a journal. I shimmied my toes up as close to her blanket as I could get without invading her territory. Every possession so exposed. As I crouched down to speak with her I quickly noticed she didn't lift her head when she spoke back. "Penny. My name is Penny," she said in a curt, raspy, I've ...