It started with a purple popsicle. At least that’s my first memory of something that would become one of my biggest life struggles. My sister Faith was five and I was eight, and our family had just moved to the Philippines. We were leaving church when a vendor pedaled up with his bike-mounted cooler and […]
We spent a lot of time in the car when I was a kid. Hour after hour after day of nothing but road rolling on as we traveled the States, visiting churches and partners who supported my parents’ ministry in the Philippines. We were good little missionary kids. The kind who whined and fought in
I lost my grandfather last week. He was a quiet man, gentle and calm. He worked with his hands, and he could fix just about anything, from a leaky radiator to a hole in the wall (like the one put in his basement paneling by yours truly 27 years ago). The last time I saw
Within a few hours of moving into the house we’ve been renting, we discovered something unique about the refrigerator. It sounds like a chicken. It squawks and clucks and murmurs like a worried hen. The other morning I pushed the plunger down on my coffee press, and it moaned like a pitiful cow just as
Breakfast had to wait. She wore a tutu, and the song was perfect, she said. Her little legs stretched and stooped as she twirled wide, palms flung high. She knew this moment was one that needed to be celebrated, felt strong. My little one lives unafraid. I have a friend who lives this way,
I have a few really close friends, women who know my heart and let me see theirs. These are the kind of friends who are open to the raw truth even when it isn’t pretty, and they are comfortable with tears, silliness, and even silence. My closest girl friend is my sister. A lifetime
I am needy. There. I said it. This is a label that has followed me most of my life. It has haunted the edges of every relationship I’ve known since someone first told me this in my early teen years. It’s the reason I have sometimes held back in my friendships, afraid of becoming
“I’m going to take some pictures of the kids. They’re being such free spirits!” My friend Stacie grabbed her camera and ran out the door into the front yard, where our kids, hers and mine, were tearing around in wild circles, yelling loud, and throwing leaves into the wind. It was a chilly day,
It’s been all over the news. Images of towns leveled, parents screaming grief for lost children, rancid flood waters slowly receding. My friends have been talking about it on social media, reminding each other to pray and give. But for me it’s personal. Because it’s the Philippines, the place where I spent a large
I stood in Chrissy’s kitchen and cried. The house was still warm and sweet with the scent of cinnamon rolls and snickerdoodles from our afternoon of baking. The last afternoon together, at least for a while. The tears came suddenly, like the rainstorm that was beating against the windows and soaking the parched ground. I