and i’m so glad

joshua and i celebrated 19 years of marriage a couple of weeks ago.  the first four years of it there were no children.  no mazzy.  no abe.  no ella. i remember the counseling and the fighting.  i remember how hard it was to suddenly be married in a new city where i knew no one.

writing lonely stories

writing is ministering, pastoring, chaplaincy. i come to you and trace my scars with a fingertip.  i show you the map of me and at the same time you see that i’m healed up now, that i’m still here, that i’m okay. and so are you. for a long time, writing was a mirror.  the

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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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gender roles in my own backyard

we’re eating lunch at a plastic picnic table.  my knees barely fit underneath.  we’re mere feet away from the trampoline and the swing set. this is how young it starts. my son.  my beautiful boy.  this kind-hearted, contagious, leader of a boy.  he is a song.  he looks up from his paper plate and asks

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i got nothing

i really don’t know what to tell you. i don’t have words and the words i have i don’t like. i feel like detroit. all the people are gone.  the people who come around aren’t good enough.  and the ones who never left?  well, i’m tired of them. dissatisfied detroit. will any word ever be

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the highest form of flattery

“beware of thinking back to what you once were when god wants you to be something you have never been.” – oswald chambers moving to detroit changed things between me and god.  for so long there was the waiting to do god’s will, to obey – looking for open doors, for refusing anything less than

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dearly departed (sort of)

i watch the worship leader begin to cry.  he stops mid song and his voice breaks. tears are falling down his face and we keep singing.  every voice in the room keeps up the song he can’t go on with until he regains his composure. the goodness of god overwhelms him and it overwhelms us

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