a life of faith in the son of god

sometimes the absolute last thing, the most unappealing thing, is to acknowledge this day isn’t about me. that life is god’s and all history is moving forward to accomplish his purposes. once in a while, i’d like to wake to find that it’s all about me today. that is called feeling sorry for oneself. truth

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it’s all about you today

eleanor has been, let’s say, petulant, these last few days.  truth is, i didn’t know what was wrong.  i was set to pick up the phone and dial that long suffering doctor of ours this morning when i looked past the runny nose and the tear streamed cheeks and i saw a lonely girl. a

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Cicada Summer

*i’ve been writing a story of my own times.  this is an outtake.  an excerpt of thought that isn’t making it in to the pages.  ~ zena As the days grow cool, I remember the buzz clatter hum of the cicadas in the trees that accompanied this summer.  They reminded me of the thin, swaying

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healing on the sabbath

On the day you least expect it, God will break into your religious routines and heal your heart. Always healing on the Sabbath. As if to make a point with his life. I stand opposed to your practices. Outside of your confines people are touched by God’s hands in real time. Comparing us to oxen

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lining our pockets

folded up in my pocket – a treasure.  two five dollar bills and three singles.  this, tucked in and forgotten, so that i don’t even know when i forgot.   today at the park my small girl stands at the bushes loaded with red berries and begins to fill both front pockets of her hoodie.

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silver day

we went to a wedding this weekend.  the kids cleaned up real spiffy like. our friends married. this man. (purple tie.) and this woman.  (tallest one.) and it was really, really wonderful. joshua was there.  (bearded one.) and i was there. and once in a while, a wedding can stay longer with you. the joy

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invited and i showed up

a fellow writer began a blog that he describes this way ~ “this blog contains stories and statements from people who, despite serious misgivings and/or significant theological departures, refuse to surrender the name “Christian” for one reason or another, or even from those who don’t have serious doubts or theological disagreements, but are weary of

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his kindness in the morning

what makes each day enough? the point and purpose driven sunrise reminds me that people sleep in beds not their own…that rooms are filled with bodies, waiting for a word, good or bad. the house is filled with blessings and all i can think is the tasks or organizing, dusting it off and getting things

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