But Joy Comes With the Morning
I stared up at the top of our small tent. Bedtime was hours ago, but my eyes had yet to succumb to the darkness. An inflatable mattress pad squeaked next to me, joined by another, then another. The symphony of squeaks repeated every five minutes as my three children...
Lifetimes in Landscapes
His wide gait pulled him across the threshold and into the room bathed in soft blues and yellows filtering through the stained glass window. Quietly, he shuffled towards a back seat. He grew up in the foothills of the forest. Where the horizon disappeared behind the...
Thirteen Years of Coming Back
I met him raking leaves my freshman year. We spent the afternoon tagging along with a married couple from church; he climbing into the husband’s truck, I, following after the wife. I often wish I could find them and show them the future that grew from that ordinary...
Two Truths for Deep Suffering
Sometimes silence is the hardest part. When those tears stream onto the pillowcase and you quietly beg God to take away the pain, but he doesn’t. When you throw in another load of laundry and your heavy heart asks him one more time for the request that has remained...
A Meditation on Change
I peeled back the foil seal on the formula container in front of me. Imprisoned air molecules bolted from captivity and rushed against my face, and my hand flew to my nose in self-protection. The sour smell suffocated. Why do I have to feed this to my daughter? The...
Seeing Through Tears
I shall look at the world through tears. Perhaps I shall see things that dry-eyed I could not see.-Nicholas Woltersorff/ Lament for a Son I’ve seen the world through a curtain of tears–a pair of lenses I can’t seem to lose or break. They tumbled out of my...
Humble Words
Our feet crunched against the blanket of leaves on the trail. Tall trees hemmed us inside our own peaceful refuge. This time my husband and I treaded the path without six little legs to egg-on beside us. We had the trail to ourselves and a feast of uninterrupted space...
Could Be More Than This
About thirteen years ago, I inherited a Christmas cactus. Miraculously, I haven’t killed it. Despite my infrequent watering and complete inattention, the green shoots wow us with its bright pink blooms each December. I grew pretty proud of our little plant. Except...
Only a Distant Memory
The golden sun tucks itself into the horizon, parting with a splash of soft pinks, purples, and oranges. Despite the departure, its heat continues to warm a world preparing for slumber. I trek across my yard to our duck pen, watching songbirds flit from their nests...
How Does He Hold Us?
I snuggled on the bed next to my son. He was struggling through pain, and I stroked his back and tried to comfort him. I reminded him God cared about his hurt—that God loved him and he too grieved along with him in his pain. “But it doesn’t really make a difference,”...
