The rythmic pump of oxygen is there. It's faint, but it comes on the 5 or 6 count - unexpectedly and quietly. It's a gentle breeze puffed into the century-old body. 100 years of life that began in 1916. Imagine that. And I steal a few moments to sit with him and draw out the [...]
It is Friday afternoon and my 14-year old folds her tall frame into the passenger seat. “Mom, I am so angry.” Uh-oh. My mother’s heart braces for teen-age trouble. “Today in class, Mr. X. said that women cannot be pastors because they are inferior to men. And Mom, when I told him I think God has [...]
The streets of Sofia are uncharacteristically quiet this Good Friday morning. There is the occasional car, the steady whiz of a city bus, the sporadic pace of a pedestrian, but the city is walking this day in a reverent kind of hush. Even the bright and glorious Thursday sunshine has dimmed her brilliance to a [...]
Truthfully, you cannot nod your head as the US responds to blast a chemical plant in Syria without also recognizing that the reason Syrian people began to flee 2 years ago was a valid one. Perhaps now we understand a little better? I met the kids you see pictured here in the distance during one [...]
She had just blazed through a list of reasons why she did not like the Church and, 'did not like' is perhaps too polite because the emotion of it was anchored in something deeper and stronger: She was not the first during that weekend to express anti-church and anti-God sentiments. In conversation after conversation it [...]
As a Christian : As an ordained elder in the Church of the Nazarene : As an American who knows that her great-grandmother arrived on a boat from Denmark and her great-grandfather arrived from Ukraine : And as Jesus-follower : I appreciate the Nazarene manual's clear guidance on living in relationship to and with the poor. [...]
Shoes and Tuesday nights – I wish that I could just kick both of them into an unwanted and ignored corner where my soul would find peace because they are unexpected and unwelcome interruptions into my comfortable life. For one, I feel dislike. For the other, I feel desperation.
Tuesday nights are refugee response night and I don’t like Tuesday nights. We gather together from a multitude of geographic locations where we skype into our Hungarian kitchen to discuss the refugee situation across the Balkans. For me, it takes a supreme act of will and courage to sit my body down at that table and listen to those reports.
Covered in my warm blankets, in my cozy house, with a full stomach and girls tucked into corners with homework and a kitchen of dirty dishes waiting for their immersion of hot sudsy water, I experience a disonnance that I hate. From…
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