Receive all God has. This is the scariest phrase I’ve ever heard. Receive ALL God has. Opening up to all God has for us is hugely risky. God has good things for us. Big things. But to receive big things, our hands have to be open, fingers uncurled. And I am a grasper. I
I talk too much. My house is too chaotic. My kids are too wild, and I laugh too loud. I trust too easily. I cry too frequently. I eat too much sugar. I lose my temper too often, and I leave too many things half way done. I’m not strong enough. I don’t bite
I haven’t written for quite a while. There’s a reason for this. I’ve started writing four times, tried to write on four different subjects, but each time my thoughts circled back around to the one thing I couldn’t talk about publicly. Until now. We are moving to Papua New Guinea. If it all
I’m not sure what we were thinking. We had grand illusions of a peaceful get-away to the Virginia mountains. No internet, no cell phones. Just beautiful views, a little unrushed Christmas shopping, and plenty of quiet time to be together. I don’t know why I thought it would be quiet. After all, we brought
This week I’ve talked with two friends whose stories rock me to the core. These friends of mine, Amber and Lyn, have not had an easy road. Lyn’s beautiful fifteen-year-old, Bethany, died two years ago of an aggressive brain cancer, and Amber’s sweet Sadie was just seventeen months old when leukemia ended her life
“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
Something about this time of year makes me restless. I’m not sure what it is, exactly, but every autumn it’s there. This sense of not quite fitting into my skin. Maybe it’s the foreshadowing of winter months ahead, since I’ve never done well with cold and grey. Or maybe it’s just the reminder that things
I just got back from an event in Nashville, where I spent a couple of days in the presence of some truly great people, many of them musicians, songwriters, and artists. These folks have built careers on their ability to dig deep and measure life honestly, and as I heard them tell their stories,