Soft Targets
There was a time in this country, not so long ago, when airport security was a breeze, when bullies and mystery meat were school’s scariest possibilities, when no one thought twice about a misplaced backpack at a public event. For better or worse, those days are behind us. We live in a world awash in images of 9/11, Newtown, the Boston Marathon… We are awake to the reality that we have enemies, and those enemies want our destruction. They are merciless. Bloodshed and terror are their goal. Ignoring them, pretending they don’t exist won’t make them go away. They target our soft spots. Our fragile areas. Like a sweet faced eight-year-old boy waiting at the finish line to celebrate with his father. Why does terror so often target children? I believe it is for...
Read MoreA Royal Mess
We rolled in, dusty, hot, and weary, to speak at yet another church. I was twelve, and all I wanted to do was get on the plane and fly home to the Philippines, but we still had a month to go. Another long hallway decorated with Sunday school posters and a corkboard with our prayer card front and center… Another crowd of earnest, smiling, unfamiliar faces, eager to hear about the Lord’s work in other lands… By the time we reached the sanctuary, my attitude was bubbling with all the worst adolescence has to offer. The room was packed full – nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Arms crossed, I pressed myself against the nearest wall and willed myself to disappear like a chameleon. But one tiny, wrinkled, gray-crowned saint with poor eyesight and a huge grin made a...
Read MoreForgiveness Changes Everything
Natalia* was stunning in a flowing fuchsia gown, her silky blond hair curling over her shoulders. I had just shared my story at The Closet Ministry’s “Beautiful You”, an event where girls receive free prom dresses and makeovers. Natalia had won some music of mine and wanted me to sign the CD. While I stood there, pen in hand, the words began to pour out from the deep places inside her heart. “Friends” have spoken cruel words that cut deep, leaving rivers of lies that shape the landscape of this young girl’s whole life. So much pain, already. As hard as Natalia’s story is, it is not unique or even uncommon. I hear it echoed from the lips of broken-hearted teens, from grown women who have never forgotten and never quite healed. Sometimes the cruelty is much...
Read MoreWell, That Was Awkward
I am, perhaps, one of the most awkward people on the planet. I trip when I walk. I drop stuff. And my dancing is a thing of nightmares – just ask my children. But one of the worst things is my mouth. I talk too much and at inappropriate times, and my words come out tangled and wrong and sounding completely moronic. I’m still tempted to cringe over a party we attended a few weeks ago. Most of the people there were friends we hadn’t seen in several years, and life has changed a lot for all of us. I’m not sure what my problem was, exactly. I was tired; my guard was down. I was anxious for these old friends to see how much I’ve changed since God’s grace grabbed hold of me and shook me loose of my need for applause. (How’s that for irony?) Whatever the reason, I...
Read MorePeace Like a Torrent
The book I’m reading, The Practice of the Presence of God, narrowly avoided being defenestrated this morning. (For those of you who aren’t English teachers or fans of Calvin and Hobbes, that means I nearly threw it out a window.) It’s a good book, full of truth and sage advice. But it makes me mad. You see, it was written by Brother Lawrence, a 17th century monk who spent his days peeling potatoes, cobbling shoes, and living each moment pushing further into God’s presence. I love this idea. I want this ability. But he was so monk-ish, and I’m so, well… mom-ish. Brother Lawrence had no emails to return, no cell phone buzzing on the table. He had no family to care for, no children interrupting his devotional thoughts even ten seconds to wipe a runny nose or...
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