Since this weekend? Seems we’re consumed. In our nation . . . What he said. What he didn’t say. When he said it. Or didn’t say it. Why he took so long to say it. Is he fit? Is he unfit? Are we safe? Are we unsafe? Is the world safe? This opinion. That opinion. This criticism. That criticism. This defense. That attack. I’m weary of it all. I want to be an ostrich. Instead,
I stepped out of the shadows and declared—on Facebook—during Holy Week—that I was suffering with clinical depression. I had hit the hard floor of desperation on Wednesday before Maundy Thursday in the midst of a medication change, one of several I’d been through over the past twenty years. So why did I dare post and ask for help? Because too many don’t. People are suffering and dying all over the world from depression. Consider the
I flew to St. Martin on the day of the presidential inauguration. Leaving my home at four in the morning with a negative six degrees Fahrenheit freezing my bare ankles, I drove forty-five minutes south and parked my car in Remote Lot A. Thankfully, the airport shuttle had just arrived at the shelter. A young woman and I boarded, the only two in the vehicle, sitting across from each other, shivering. “Where are you headed?”
Joy to the world! The LORD has come! Let Earth receive her King! JOY? Fact is, some are sad right now. Like the loved ones of the twelve mowed down by ISIS in the Christmas market on Monday in Germany. While we’re singing peace on Earth, some are creating chaos and spreading terror and grief. How do we have JOY when we grieve with our fellow brothers and sisters in a foreign country, knowing one
The second week of Advent, we light that second candle. The peace candle. Peace. I want that flame to touch every wicked thing around the world this Christmas. I want peace on earth and goodwill to spread towards all. This is what we sing this season, isn’t it? Peace? Goodwill? And yet, Aleppo’s without water and there are reports of civilian executions and it all’s so far away. But there’s the “bombings” we don’t see
“How can you sit and listen to people in pain all day long?” People often asked me this question when I worked as a therapist. Truth is, I viewed my job as a privilege to sit face-to-face with people in great inner pain, holding hope for them when they could not hold hope for themselves. Because HOPE is what we all need, isn’t it? Hope for today? Hope for the future? Hope is the fuel
I was 27 years old that perfect July night when I watched my friend run to the end of the pier following others who dove in first. Before his feet left the wood-slatted edge, I thought, “Don’t dive!” I thought it. But I didn’t say it. I watched Dan’s diving body disappear under the water. I jumped in after him. When I surfaced, I saw all my friends’ faces glistening, laughing under the full moon.
Influenza did me in before the election. For four straight days, I was literally sick and tired. When not sleeping, which wasn’t often, I just prayed. I prayed for my health. I prayed for my family and friends. I prayed for our country and our leaders. In fact, I’ve never prayed so earnestly about the presidency of our country than I prayed in those four bedridden days. How would I vote? I wrestled. I waffled.
I hired a prisoner yesterday. Well, actually, a former prisoner. Just out of the slammer. Spent two years behind bars and that wasn’t his first stint—in prison, that is. $150 to his name. Rent due September 1. No job yet but he’s hunting hard. Anyone want to hire a prisoner set free? Yeah, he’s made bad choices. Haven’t we all? Yeah, he’s suffering the consequences. Aren’t we all? Whether we have $150 in our pockets
The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. Luke 4:18-19 The thunder rolled. And so it goes . . . Near-perfect stretch of summer days followed by overcast. And then, clouds moved fast last