under construction

i’m five days into a kitchen remodel and the flowers are dying outside. the air is cold and i don’t have a stove, but still the light is coming through the windows. a friend drove all the way from england yesterday and i feel like i’m learning how to talk again.  i’m learning how to express

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a strange and bitter crop

how do you write about the strange fruit in america these past months? how do you write about it as a person with skin so light that i always pass in every situation? maybe you don’t write about it. but i don’t know how not to. as each video was shared i understood that this

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he loved me

i like to remember that i was without hope and without god. i was foreign to the promises of good towards me.  i was separate and excluded from all of it.  no luck around every corner then. until – and then he loved me. he came and spoke peace, calm in the storm. peace. i was far off,

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accepting jesus: not as simple as once believed

i’m setting up chairs for bible club. joshua and i teach children’s church once a month at the little detroit body we’ve been calling home on sunday mornings.  the sun is flooding in through second story windows and i’m feeling humbled. i tried to plant a church.  whether or not you think i tried hard

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detroit is smarter than you

well, not too many of you picked up the gauntlet to write your own stories out.  i feel a little like i did that day with the friend i wrote about.  telling you my deep, dark secrets only to be met with silence. but that’s okay. the person i referenced in the story i shared

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sugar maple

i drive down ohio roads.  i drink in the rolling southern ohio landscape like water.  i don’t know what it is about coming up over a slow curve to find a white, paint-peeling church with it’s faithful buried along side of it. it does my soul good. i spend the day barely indoors.  there is

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