My daughter is always finding four-leaf clovers. I mean all the time. She has an eye for it, so much that it’s almost commonplace. At least to us. Each time she comes tearing into the house with another, she’s wild with excitement. “Can you believe we have so many four-leaf clovers? We must have […]
It’s that season again, when the graduation announcements come rolling in. Another crop of scholars, fresh-faced and starry-eyed, ready to sweat in their caps and gowns while commencement speakers everywhere wax eloquent about the keys to success and notoriety. And then off they’ll go to celebrate. And some of them will go on to
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
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
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
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
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
In recent weeks I’ve heard some rough, ragged, just plain hard stories. What do you say to a woman who has watched her daughter wither and fade completely away, die under the weight of the lie that she wasn’t good enough the way God made her? What about the lady in her 70’s dealing
At the very end, her skin grew pale and thin, like the veil that separates here from There. Her eyes sparkled clear hazel. She saw things. Things that didn’t make sense to us, but she understood because she was already breaking loose and leaning soul into eternity. The afternoon they brought my mom home
“What is that you’re afraid of?” Marty sits cross-legged on her couch, leaning toward me. I’ve had several invitations recently to speak to women’s groups, so I’ve come seeking her advice, knowing she has much more experience than I do teaching large groups of adults. Genuine friend that she is, she cuts to the