Sometimes, I wake up in the quiet of the night and I'm scared. It's peaceful and still all around me, but I've got these noisy thoughts running through my head. These pestering fears. So, I pray because I know it deep in my bones--that God is just right there.And sometimes I lift up my hand because I want to reach out to touch Him, to grasp His hand in the dark, but He wants me to walk by faith and not by sight. So, I reach but I can't see or feel Him, at least not His skin. But, I've got His Spirit somewhere deep inside my chest, and I've got His Presence all around, so I reach out for Him with my aching heart, and I know He's close at hand. Last night, Brent must have been anxious, too, because he woke up soon after me, and we just found each other in the dark and started to pray. We did[...]

Occasionally, I tell myself the Gospel story. Mostly, because I bank my whole life on this story, so it’s important for me to know what it actually is. And we Jesus-followers can get bogged down with a bunch of religiosity pretty quick, so it’s good for us to shave it down from time to time, right down to the bare necessities. We need to speak it into each other—the pure and naked Gospel truth.And so today I tell myself again the story. And I tell it to you, because I don’t want to just assume that you’ve heard it before. Maybe someone stopping in here to read has never really heard it. I write this with you in mind. It all begins with a Holy God. Perhaps the most offensive verse in all the Bible is the very first one. The one that makes the most audacious claim, "In the beginning, God cr[...]

Lord, You see. You know how I've got a mess on my hands again. Seems these years are the wrecky years. The ones in which I try awful hard to scrub the grime, to pick up the piles, to sort through the stuff and to bring order back from chaos. It's hard, though. Seems pointless. 'Cause the next day, here I'll be, doing it all over again.But, I can hear You, Lord. I hear You say You're present with me. Right in the middle of the muddled up mess. Neither a wrecky heart nor a wrecky house, frighten You away. Instead, You work with me to restore Shalom. That deepest, wholest peace. And I read how Your world was once right and good but sin entered in and wrecked up the place. And how, one day, Your Kingdom will come and there won't be any more of that blasted law of entropy--all things always fal[...]

 I like Facebook. I like it a lot. And I've liked it so much that I've struggled with being on it more than I should. I think it's a common struggle in our culture. I mean, most of us want to be "plugged in" all the time. We love new information. We like to know someone is always out there on the other end, hopefully listening. It helps us not feel so alone in this life. And there's nothing wrong with these things.But, I've struggled and wrestled around with Facebook for some time. That is, I've been wondering if it's actually helpful at all. Because, though I enjoy seeing what my friends are up to, staying "connected" to my family, and posting things and receiving feedback, I've also loathed my seeming incapability to turn the blasted thing off and focus on the folks right in front o[...]

We eat a fair amount of ramen around here. We like ramen. A lot. (Much to my mother's dismay.) According to my mama, ramen doesn't have any nutritional value. Whatsoever. I agree with her. I ate a copious amount in college. I haven't gotten any taller ever since. So, anyways, you were probably thinking that I was gonna tell you the proper way to eat ramen noodles. Well, I am. But, first you must know that the only proper way is not proper at all. Unless you call, "crammin" proper. Because you're just supposed to cram them in. You stick your head right down by that plate and you suck them up and cram them in. They're good like that.And if your kitty begs for a bite, you yell, "Away from me, you beggars!"  Because you deserve every last noodle on your plate. Even the itsy bitsy ones.So [...]

I haven't written much lately because I've been so tired. (We're expecting another little person the middle of August.) When the kids sleep, I sleep. And I'm very thankful for nap time but it doesn't leave me much room for being creative. But, my mind hasn't stopped pondering, of course. It's always going, especially in the quiet hours of the night. (Maybe this is another reason why I'm so tired.)  When the house is hushed and it's just me and my thoughts with my God, I lay awake for a couple hours, thinking and praying about lots and lots of things. It's funny how you don't know all the things your heart is carrying around till it's plumb silent and you're laying still. The other night, I lay awake wishing God would hold me. Do you ever wish that? That the God of the universe, the On[...]

I think this Michigan winter is taking it's toll. Last night I lay awake thinking about all the little ants down deep in their tunnels and what they must be doing, groping around in the dark and cold. I wanted to yell to them, "Hold on little ants! Spring is coming! You'll get to see the light soon!" And I imagined the moment that first little guy emerged from his hole, like coming up out of a grave, his little antennae sensing bright warmth for the first time in months. I wonder if ants do a hallelujah dance. And since I was wide awake, I started imagining bees buzzing and crocus popping and grass green  and bending and swaying. I imagined that first barefoot step I'll take out in the yard with the birds chirping and the breeze warming and the scent of all the wild and growing things[...]

Sometimes when I wake up in the night, I think about them. The girls who are lured in, and trapped and then repeatedly raped and brutally beat and they can't get out, for years, they can't get out, because they're victims of sex trafficking. I think about them when I'm safe in my bed next to my kind husband who protects us. And I think about them when I go in to check on my kids who are tucked in their beds all peaceful and resting and safe. And I feel so helpless to help them because I know that as I go about my life with my laundry piles and my wrecky house and my laughing, energetic kids, that they're out there somewhere and bad guys are in control of their lives and horrific, unspeakable things are happening to them. And some of them are just little kids, a lot like mine.Little kids, [...]

I don’t know the circumstances, exactly, of my parent’s lives when I first entered this world and into their existence. I just know that they were painfully broken people. And though I was only a little thing the last time I saw them, I remember them quite well. The way my mama was gentle and easy-going when she was sober. I always wanted to sleep next to her, on the occasional night that she was home. I craved her close so when she rolled over, I’d protest and beg her to turn herself back around because I felt more secure like that, her face right next to mine. I remember my daddy and the way he carried me, sort of perched up there on his arm, all awkward-like, the way daddies carry children. I’d keep slipping and he’d keep boosting, but I didn’t mind because I felt safe up close, my l[...]