when lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d

i walk through the garden like so much grace. is this what the love of god is like? spilling over, too much, fragrant and extravagant. someone planted these trees years ago. they had a vision of the uncountable blooms falling heavy. they gave their time and lined the lane and today i’m walking among the

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continue as you began

someone told me i was disobedient and just not simple enough.  why can’t i take god at his word and believe? great.  just great. okay, it wasn’t actually a person who said this.  it was a book. alright, it was a theologian from 1916 yelling across time. fine.  it was oswald chambers. i really like

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how sweet the sound

he placed his spread hand over his heart and told us that this was a sincere gesture. and he was right.  i do that.  if i hear news that touches deep, my fingers fly up and lay down flat, a shield for my heart as it takes in the new information. “this is a sincere

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grace land

why does grace threaten me like it does? i walk up snow covered hills with children and more snow falls down all around us.  they are insatiable.  whatever is good, whatever is lovely – these children will take these things. i feel like i’ve had my hands closed tight for a while now. if grace

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boots and mittens

“I love those boots.  Where did you get them?” I look down and remember the lilies of the field.  I’m in this situation often. “My mother gave them to me.  I’m not sure where she got them…” (today i’m writing over at Catapult Magazine – their current issue is looking at the biblical metaphor of

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of murderers and midwives

i pick up the knife and pierce what is right in front of me.  the practice of killing time becomes a habit and is it possible to murder a minute, an hour, a day?  could i leave months and years bleeding behind me? time arrives faithfully every second hoping for better treatment, for mercy –

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if i stop saying thank you

i’m tired and drinking coffee to open my eyes.  i’m snapping at children just out of their beds.  these two small words are far from my heart. thank you. the cooler morning in green shade is right out my back door.  i go and i sit and i read these words from oswald ~ “jesus

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throwing the game

he won again.  mazzy is upset and wants a chance.  a chance.  abe looks over at her and says this: “okay maz.  i’ll let you win this time.” i feel bad about his words.  why does he have to tell her?  why can’t he just let her win and let her think she did it?

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new every morning

i’ve never been hungry enough to beg. i’ve not come to the startling conclusion, plain as day, that i could start asking the people walking by that have if they would give to me so that i could eat.  if i were that hungry and the idea made such sense, it would be a miracle

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