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  • when you’re figuring out how to really love

    On Wednesday, July 27 th, 2011
    When the Farmer comes in after 11 from the field, he carries it in on his grimy shirt, a few pounds of dirt, and I wonder if he feels it, the weight of the gritty world on his shoulders. He finds me in a straight back chair at the window in lamp light. There are
  • when you’re finding it hard to be patient

    On Wednesday, July 20 th, 2011
    When we pour pancake batter into a griddle, they shape up like battered, misshapen hearts that sizzle and pop. A little one looms dangerously close to heat. A boy anxiously slops more batter. A lanky one flips prematurely, batter oozing, dripping. The sensitive child bursts into tears that the hearts are all smeared, the rings
  • when you get to the root of some of the fears

    On Wednesday, July 13 th, 2011
    Who said courage wears a Red Badge? It’s just khaki capris, a black tee, I pull out of the closet for a day dawning summer, me leaving the house for the heat, appointment and errands. I have no red badge of courage, but I’m trying to wear prayer, the murmur of the weak made strong
  • when you’re praying to live more like Jesus

    On Wednesday, June 15 th, 2011
    When I first read her story on the screen, I want to drive a for sale sign into the front lawn and sell all the pigs. Mainly because I don’t think I can shoe horn a few hundred hogs into a suitcase — and there’s now way around it: my heart’s already left on a
  • One Habit that Radically Changes a Family

    On Wednesday, June 08 th, 2011
    Words are always dessert. I was sixteen when I first I ate dinner at his house. And when the plates were cleaned, forks laid down, when it’d seem commonplace to nod thanks to the cook and push back the chairs, his family bowed their heads and his Father opened a Bible. It was thick and
  • “There is but one cure…”

    On Thursday, June 02 nd, 2011
    It’s long after I turn the last light out. Long after that I hear the back door open and close. That I hear the footsteps. “Hey…” Who comes in through the door, comes in from the dark? “‘Night, Mom.” Ah… his voice. Firstborn. “You okay?” I can hear him lean against the railing at the
  • How Do We Really Treat Jesus?

    On Wednesday, May 18 th, 2011
    In front of Mrs. Gillie’s entire grade six classroom, Kadie Miller* said I was butt-ugly. Did you pick out your own get-up today or did your butt-ugly mama dress you? Sandy Goetz* laughed. That afternoon when the bus doors cranked open and I was finally free, I ran up our gravel lane, and Lissa Turscott*
  • when you’re burying all your hopes and dreams

    On Wednesday, May 11 th, 2011
    He’s only had three hours sleep, and no sleep the 24 hours before that, and he’s dead tired but he’s rising again before light because he believes in resurrection. “You okay?” I touch his back at the edge of the bed as he pulls on his shirt. “Gotta keep going.” He smiles gentle. Wrinkles make
  • Practice Resurrection: Tomb-Centered Christianity?

    On Wednesday, May 04 th, 2011
    We go to the woods to witness the rising. We have front row seats at the edge of the marsh. We wait. The dog splashes too loud. We wait longer. It’s true: It could be said that I don’t believe in the resurrection of Christ.   We wait for the pond to open, for the frogs
  • What if more than celebrating Easter- we lived it?

    On Wednesday, April 27 th, 2011
    When dead bodies walk, who can not talk? When the Farmer reads Scripture aloud, what he does for us at the close of every meal, turning the thin pages of the Gospel of Mark right after Easter — I hear the whisper of wild hope. He reads Scripture and the words make me see it
  • Do We Really Experience the Presence of God?

    On Wednesday, April 06 th, 2011
    We’d just turned at the cemetery there at Johnston’s Corners, towards the chapel and Sunday morning worship. And there, across from the Wood’s farm, the Farmer had swerved to miss two roosters that were literally crossing the road. Banties and out strutting in all their finery right over the yellow line. And when I had
  • The Real Fast of Lent: {for Wretched Man, Mama }

    On Wednesday, March 16 th, 2011
    A fter he slings the van door shut, the silence offers an open embrace. I drop my head heavy onto the steering wheel. I wrack sob. Why do I ask to be good but I don’t act good? Why does sin sabotage and this skin seep with the festering stench of self? Why am I
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