And there was evening and morning the first day. Who am I to say
That a God who bends down low
Who drinks deep,
deep of my sorrow
Never hoped for a better tomorrow?
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The dark days of winter stretch from 8 a.m. until 4 p.m. Cloudy skies force the sun to take cover. I feel alone. Slow home-school mornings compete with news feeds of election season anxiety, and air thick with virus. Although I see the faces of four eager-to-please children, I know the weight of their isolation in my chest.
Jesus, I declare, “Come.”
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Read MoreWisdom is grounded in embodied knowing, holding complexity without losing conviction. We must imagine a third way.
I hope you would see me
Before a hashtag precedes my name
Before my face is a mural on a brick façade
I hope you would see me
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Public Theologian Ekemini Uwan stated the following, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but all of us need to grieve the life we once knew by shifting into radical acceptance of our present reality. There is no “normal” to return to and if we are honest, the pace of our former lives was abnormal.”
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Joke to him and to me
he’s there
she’s not seen
I’ll tell you the stories of eyes not blue
I’ll tell you the stories of eyes not blue
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Read MoreNot unusually, I am sitting in the living room, writing. It’s 5:30 a.m. My 10 year old girl plops down by my side, reading her novel, and listening to the morning news with me. The day isn’t off and running, yet. We enjoy quiet morning moments, interrupted most often by two Labrador retrievers wrestling.