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W CROSS R D S Lamb. Perfect. Hung. Alone. Naked. For me. Abandoned. Blamed. Spit on. Mocked. Forsaken. For me. Loving. Spotless. Alone. For love. Blood poured out. For me. Broken. Crying. Praying. Dying. A garden beginning, A garden His ending. On a hill he hung for…
I’ve been thinking about bridges a lot lately how they’re built how they’re sustained what they connect what they cross what they cover and I am sure of only this: building the bridge that connects a friendship must be built one strong, sure bolt at a time…….. Romans 12 “14 Bless those who persecute you, bless…
redtwig dogwood, my yard, renton wa outside in this open sky gratitude falls and I hear: more bird sounds, echoing/answering amidst the branches, waking up to more light. windchimes slight in the breeze, their delicate sound a witness to the wind. I see: a dull palette of varying grays- the distant view so very much…
Mt. Rainier, WA state, Paradise side I blame her for this. I blame her for these can’t-miss tears. These every-time-I-read-her-posts tears, that dry on my skin and keep me choked up, that blow my world apart and make me want to say, ‘This does not fit.’ This. This world, with its horrors right where I live and merciless children killing their grandparents in my own…
Stitching together my Sabbaths in chunks of time, because that is all I have in the midst of our current remodeling project, and reading God in the Yard by LL Barkat (TSPoetry Press), I was moved to write this as I sat down outside the other day. Father, thank you that in the midst of…
I grew up in Southern California, the land of orange orchards and strawberry fields. I remember well the acres on the corner lot near our elementary school—the Aihara’s place—with row after row of strawberries. I remember two things about my elementary school friend Lynne Aihara—her remarkably beautiful handwriting and sifting rice. When I was invited…
It’s that time again–first Monday of the month–unedited, unscripted Sister Time for Soli Deo Gloria, whose tagline is “Inspiring women just to keep it real.” Here’s my 6 minutes’ worth of ‘real’, talking about what’s sitting in the pile of mail on my kitchen counter….precious words and precious music. Here’s the link in case…
At the end of the road near our church is a county sign announcing the imminent construction of two more cell towers to accompany those already standing there in the woods. As I drove home after church I thought, “Why do we need four cell phone towers? There must be a lot of communicating going…
Our dining room is topsy turvy. Kitchen chairs and barstools are hidden and stashed in a closet in the bedroom. There’s no room for but four people at our dining table. The living room bookshelves now attend the table, stacked on their sides and emptied, banana boxes stuffed with the contents. Pieces of furniture…
These are my thoughts about an honorary member of my birth family, my just-like-a-sister Sandy. Forty years ago this week she dared me into going to church–Calvary Chapel in Costa Mesa, California. It was the height of the ‘Jesus Movement’ of the 70’s and Sandy had been hounding me to go and give my life to…