My latest post at Red Tent Living is up! You can find it here. The Unfiltered World The morning after the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing, I went downstairs to find the kitchen table strangely empty. I’d grown used to seeing the Chicago Tribune scattered by section across the table, my parents taking turns picking through each segment. On this day in April, however, the typically bulky newspaper was quite lean. Curious, I asked my Mom what had happened to the rest of the newspaper. Though she . . .
I had a highly anticipated (by me) post set to go out to you this week but, in light of the recent events, the timing doesn’t feel appropriate. That piece can wait because today and this week my mind is on Las Vegas. You may have seen my initial response to the shooting posted on social media. I’m trying to be really intentional about living into my words, leaving the house with a real awareness of who is around me and how I am helping them to feel seen and respected. I met a new neighbor . . .
I'm so excited to share that I'm now a regular monthly contributor over at Red Tent Living! This month, their theme is, "What If?" Here's where that prompt took me: Questions Worth Asking Growing up, my siblings and I had a narrow summertime wardrobe: pajamas and bathing suits. Our days were spent playing in our backyard pool—Marco Polo, DIY whirlpools, and cannonball contests.These were fun and relaxing days, but life wasn’t all carefree for me. I learned how to worry at a young age. I still . . .
We know very little about her story. All we really know is that she sinned. She was caught and she was about to die. Not really an experience any of us strive for. Not a legacy that we hope to leave. But this piece of her story—this is all we know of her. The scene is set: Jesus has spent some time away at the Mount of Olives. Early in the morning, He comes down to the temple and the Bible says, “All the people came to him, and he sat down and taught them.” As he is teaching, the scribes and . . .
The blinking cursor on my blank document seems particularly demanding this morning. I had a piece written last week that was set to go out today, but every time I think to click “Publish,” I know in my spirit that it’s the wrong move. So I return to the blank document with the boldly blinking cursor that asks: WHAT. WILL. YOU. SAY. I cannot publish a post this week that doesn’t speak to what has happened in Charlottesville. Silence is loud in events like this one. As I wrote on my social . . .
Last Wednesday, I shared a piece that felt particularly vulnerable and scary. Shortly after I hit "Publish" was when I got scared, flipped out, cried, and decided never to write another word again. Sometimes writing brings out the irrational in me. What unfolded, however, was this really beautiful sense of community. It was the kind of thing I write for. I was so encouraged by your own stories, your messages, and the many of you offering a brave and gracious, "me too." You've reminded me why . . .