“You take him, and I’ll go too.” I spoke these words out loud about a year and a half ago. I spoke them to my maker out of pain, defiance. I spoke them from a place of entitlement, a place of living a life where I could always achieve the things that I wanted to … More Anger 7: Why Have I Beaten This Dead Horse?
“Can you play, Raise a Hallelujah?” I sat up a from the hard pullout couch that I was attempting to make a bed out of, and I looked over at him. I didn’t know if I heard him correctly. I didn’t know if I heard him at all. He laid perfectly still in his bed … More Anger 6: Finishing the Race
“Here comes the sun,” the long-haired tattoo artist said right before the roar of the machine cut on. I cringed at how impersonal it all was, at how thoughtlessly he threw out words that had come to mean so much to me. I wanted to hit him. If it wasn’t for the sting of my … More Anger 5: I’ll Follow The Sun
There is a drawer on the far-right side of my entryway table that I do not touch. This is ironic because before Andrew died, I resorted to the drawer religiously. Every hour, I rushed to it in hopes of finding something, anything, that might put out whatever fire we were currently staring into. This drawer … More You Win
Words fail me. They never use to. Words were always my friend. They had my back. Even when sometimes they were a bit unrefined, impulsive, sharp- they were there. Over the past few weeks words have been hit or miss with me. Sometimes my mind is loud, the words are clear. But some days they … More Well Done
“And when the broken-hearted people living in the world agree, there will be an answer: Let it be.” In a world of division, so many are seeking that “thing.” That thing that crosses over strong barriers. That thing that can sew together even the most divided of adversaries. That thing that all can relate to, … More Pain, The Beatles, and a Love Note to My Readers
My 65-year-old neighbor puts my trashcan out on the street for me every Friday morning. It’s the smallest gesture, but it means the absolute world to me. My next-door neighbors are originally from Nigeria. Earlier this year, they learned that my husband had stage four cancer, and the wife of the pair rushed out one … More First World Probs.
One of my favorite stories in the Bible is the one about Elijah giving the prophets of Baal hell. Doesn’t sound familiar? Probably because this isn’t really the take away that most people get out of this story, and it is certainly never the Sunday School lesson theme. You may know it better by the … More Sometimes Faith Shakes
I believe my husband will be healed. I don’t mean that in the church goer’s weak interpretation of healing, which is actually dying. I believe that his body that was so forcefully intruded upon, these lungs that are pushing against the pressure of these disgusting trespassers of tumors for every breath, will be restored. I … More The Christian Scapegoat
Saturdays are for the boys. As I struggled to write the intro to this blog, my husband offered this opening sentence as his contribution. We both laughed it off, then I wrote it down at the top of my word document, and now here it is. The perfect intro. Because despite the joking nature of … More A Season of Saturday