the ferris wheel never stopped. they opened the doors like greeters on a sunday morning and ushered you right to your seat. it was unnerving. i hesitated like at the mall before an escalator. it inched. barely perceptible. it kept moving. the wheels of the machine don’t stop. i got in. of course i did.
i lose perspective. the colors blur and i can’t tell green from yellow. we set out the chairs and we practice the songs. but what does it matter when no one is singing? that’s when it’s helpful to hear a small four-year-old voice say from the back seat ~ “mom. the devil wants to burn
today has been a day of going to empty wells. social media is a big one for me. i keep looking to it, waiting for the two sentence update that fills me up and you know what? it never comes. not the first time i look for it or the 38th time i look. and
how long is one required to walk by faith and not by sight? it can seem too long sometimes. when the shadows fall so harsh because the autumn sunlight is so bright, i shade my eyes and feel like i can’t see a thing. there is just color and looking away. i am coming to
i’m in detroit and i’m driving down forest avenue. in the corner of the road where the street meets the curb there are thousands of tiny yellow leaves. they are falling and they are gathered. god makes a mess every autumn. i walk with my youngest child up through the rainy morning to her school
“don’t try to scale the heights to find god. look in the depths. where people suffer, among the poor, the hungry, the abused – there is jesus christ.” ~ rich nathan when everyday is privilege, why celebrate any day? if everyday is luxury, why shoot fireworks off into the sky? the fourth of july
we woke up early and headed out to conkle’s hollow. my three hikers. one of them barely up to my waist. we didn’t know what we were in for or what we’d need for the time. we didn’t know what we’d see. i fill up the swimming pool in the backyard. it’s too hot and
when the rain starts and the sheer curtain blows away from the open window, i don’t mind. i see a picture of my frantic self running from open window to open window shutting out the storm. the thunder rumbles and the birds quiet down. it had been a perfect day. i sat in the shade
i’m cutting back the climbing rose vines and leaning off the edge of the porch trying to reach the ones that have grown up past the gutters. my next door neighbor is black. she’s out on her porch and she’s watching me. we’ve been talking about roses and tattoos and coming up in the city.
“mazzy, can you draw a picture of a tree?” her hair is sprayed into a blonde cloud and if you ask me, i think her heels are a bit high for an IQ test administrator, but no one is asking me. she’s asking mazzy. we’re here and we’ve been here before. a test to make