The Parallel Tracks
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 part of my childhood. I have friends there. I’ve sung their songs, eaten their food, watched the sun set on their mountains, and claimed it all as my own. The images of terror and heartbreak don’t fade easily. The only people who really understand how this has shaken me are people who have been there themselves. There’s something about having lived side-by-side, having been eyeball-to-eyeball with people that changes the way we perceive them. It’s...
Read MoreRestless
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 don’t stay the same, that seasons come and go even if we’re not quite ready. It’s not that I don’t enjoy autumn. I love it, actually. Sweaters and candles, cinnamon and trees like flame… I just find that my thoughts scatter easily, like dry leaves in the wind, and I feel deep things I can’t define. When I was pregnant, my girls would roll and stretch, pushing hard against the deepest parts of me. I remember thinking how uncomfortable and alien and...
Read MoreThe Roundabout Road
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, some themes emerged. Hard journeys. Grief. Poor choices. Wounding and being wounded. But, most of all, grace. The roads they have traveled have been anything but straight, with sudden turns twisting like knotted thread. But never once were they lost. It may have felt like it in certain seasons, when nothing about their lives looked the way they expected. But when something is lost, the one who is searching does not know where it is. And the Searcher knew all along....
Read MoreChanged
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 cried with gratitude for the rain and for my friend. But mostly I cried because I was leaving. This was another in a string of goodbyes over the last few days, each one leaving me breathless and aching. I did not ask for this. It was not part of my plan. When I arrived in Papua New Guinea, I came prepared to pour myself out, to encourage, to listen… but not to get attached. Hellos and goodbyes move like the tide, sweeping us up in the ebb and...
Read MoreEvery Moment
I could feel it in my chest. The pounding of hands and hearts. The music flowing around us, a strong current pulling us to the throne of God. We were all together, held tight in this moment, connecting spirit to Spirit. He was there, and we could feel him. And then it ended, and as the tingle left the air and the students around me blinked at the sudden return to daily life, I found myself wishing we could pause time and remain there for just a little longer. I’ve felt this before, these times of worship that seem to open the veil between Heaven and earth and let a bit of eternity through. But they always end. Feet shuffle and people stretch, and our thoughts return to grocery lists, schedules, and mundane things that seem out of step with the experience...
Read MoreHere in the Highlands
Smoke hangs heavy on the hills around Ukarumpa. Locals burning the dry grass, partly to clear for planting, but also to get the attention of the spirits they worship, pleading in flames and embers for much-needed rain. Dust lays thick on everything, inside the house and out. It billows from the gravel roads, blurring the eyes and choking the lungs. There are whispers of drought. Water tanks are running dangerously low. People are borrowing jugs from neighbors who have some to spare, relying on kindness to be able to wash dishes, to cook, to quench thirst. The rainy season is coming, they say. It couldn’t be here soon enough. The hillsides burn on, a deadly and silent cry for help to spirits who neither hear nor care. And then it starts. One drop, two, twenty,...
Read MoreA Teacher’s Legacy
Time heals, they say. And it’s true, but there are some things that don’t fade over the years. Like the memory of someone’s laugh or the deep reservoirs carved by words spoken again and again. It’s been two years this weekend since my mom’s battle with cancer ended and she stepped, whole and healed, into eternity. Tears don’t come as frequently as they did for a while, but there are still days the ache to hear her voice is visceral and overwhelming. Sometimes I still reach for the phone without thinking to call and ask for a recipe or to tell her about something funny one of the kids did. Oh, how I wish Heaven had cell phone reception. She was only five feet tall, but my mom made a big impact on anyone she met. I love it when people know me as “Jo’s daughter”,...
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