christmas eve: mary’s immanuel
Unto us a child is born (Isaiah 9:2-7) Sweat begins to form on her forehead, her breath coming faster and faster, her heart beating faster and faster, her pain coming faster and faster. Young and inexperienced, weary and frightened, alone and ill-prepared— she shudders as labor begins. …there will be no more gloom for those who were in distress… Hands strengthened from his trade now ache from her grip as she wrestles with her discomfort, wrestles with her apprehension, wrestles with her body. …you have increased their joy, they rejoice before you… Waves of pain overcome her— waves...
Read Morelive like you’re loved
I came home from the writer’s conference in July knowing I needed to get focused. I’ve spent the last two and a half months praying and thinking and scribbling notes and praying and thinking and scribbling some more, all to this end: determining just what it is, exactly, that I do. Pages and pages of notes came out of this exercise. What is my passion? What do I desire to see happen in the lives of women? Why? How? And how do I say it in a way that really means something, and isn’t just trite Christianese? I wrestled with hard, fundamental questions, the answers to which I...
Read Moreprecious to me are your thoughts…
Just as I am, though tossed about with many a conflict, many a doubt, fightings and fears within, without, O Lamb of God, I come, I come. (Charlotte Elliott, 1789-1871) I close my eyes and attempt to open my heart—breathing a deep, heavy sigh of apprehension tinged with the tiniest bit of hopeful expectation. I am fearful He will not meet me here, today. And yet, in spite of me, in spite of my fear, I come. This coming is new for me—I am typically more likely to withdraw and be found hiding away somewhere hoping to be sought after and drawn out. Or to not be found, as is more often...
Read Morehearing is believing
I’d been told they were there. Indeed, I’d even been told exactly where to look. Take the boardwalk trail to the right, into the woods, and follow it around to the back. That was the best place to find them. And this, in its beautifully stark bareness, was the best time of year to try to get a peek. At least two had been spotted together on more than one occasion, I’d heard. I was hopeful that perhaps with a brief prayer of favor from above, I would catch at least a glimpse And so it was that I drug my whiney, ill-tempered family out on a cold, damp, gray February...
Read Moreworking the soil
(wrote this the last morning of my retreat as i watched robert, my new parish farmer friend, prepare the ground for planting. it is both metaphorical and literal. you may interpret it whichever way you please…) Clay is not the best soil within which to plant seeds. Dense and unyielding to the touch of mere hands, it resists all advances, rebuffs all attempts to turn and till. And yet, the gardener toils on– the back-breaking work of redemption, worked clod by heavy clod. Overturning that which is on the surface (revealing how shallow are its roots), the earth is laid...
Read Morebelieve
Of all the Christmas movies we’ve collected over the years, I would have to say the one that impacts me the most is the one I least expected. The obvious inspirational choice would be The Nativity Story. The obvious tear-jerker would be The Little Match Girl. Our favorite comedy is still, even after all these years, A Christmas Story. And for an all-around feel good movie, White Christmas, staring my beloved Bing Crosby, is my all-time favorite, hands-down. We bought The Polar Express because Buddy had a thing for trains. Period. That was my only interest in the movie, and that minimal...
Read Morewhat remains
The day began innocently enough as far as epiphanies go. After a slow start due to a late night the evening before, we were finally all up and moving—moving tubs and bags and boxes up from the basement to be dug through and sorted and stored or gotten rid of. I was nearly jubilant as I plowed through the last ten years worth of stuff (which had heretofore been accumulating en masse all over my basement, already a pit to begin with) trying to determine what were keepsakes and what was simply not worth keeping. Baby clothes, teething rings, books, baskets, tennis shoes, clothes out of date,...
Read Morea letter to my fifth grade self
After eyeing it for months, I finally picked up What I Know Now: Letters to My Younger Self (edited by Ellyn Spragins) with a gift card I received for my birthday. I was immediately transfixed and began thinking of all the different ages at which I wished “I’d known then…” I picked fifth grade for an obvious reason—my daughter begins fifth grade a week from today, and my mind is swimming with all I want her to know about all there is to know. At ten, I was painfully self-conscious, boy-crazy beyond belief, and immensely insecure. My love-hate relationship with attention...
Read Morethings that last
She is not my oldest, longest friend, but she is perhaps my dearest. Ours was a friendship forged out of coming of age together—struggling together (as we still do now, come to think of it) to discover who we are, what is important, and where we fit into God’s greater plan. Hol and I met the weekend of freshman orientation, as did my husband and I, and we have all been friends ever since. We schlepped through the valley together, ate smuggled-in homemade meals by candlelight in the Haven, sang in the Chorale, toilet papered upper classmen. We took long, meandering walks, stayed up...
Read Morejust push her
There are tears coming from behind the cubbies. Earnest, gulping cries rising up over the top, the source unseen by all in the bleachers, but definitely not unheard. A mother makes her way to the edge of the mats, leaning over to assess the situation. She does not appear sympathetic. The cries grow louder, in spite of the flurry of activity going on around them. “Everyone else can do it! Why can’t I?,” the voice questions. “Oh, for crying out loud,” the woman replies, growing visibly agitated. The child’s teacher confers with them, and talks them both over to the uneven bars...
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