My city doesn’t have many climbing trees. And if you did start to climb, some strange person walking past with a small crowd of friends might call you down and invite themselves over for lunch after saving your soul.
I’m a bit of a snob. I like my coffee houses how I like my men: I stick with just the one.
Miss you a lot. Funny how we don’t say that over the phone. But there it is. There are a few people in my life who would give a kidney to be able to say that to their dad a couple more times. So I wanted to say it now.
Perhaps it’s best to avert your eyes, avoiding the nuances and the pain. Maybe if it’s not seen it can be tidy and clear, sparing you from wading into the unfathomable mess.
In a job where we think we’re here to do good and bring God, light, and the gospel, what I’m finding is that there is a concurrent journey of God bringing light to the darkest recesses of my heart.
It’s a common misperception that only the most spiritually devout person can cross oceans and mountains to do this sort of thing, and it’s not a viewpoint that I’m not keen on upholding. The truth is that we were so comfortable in our life that in order to do anything of worth we needed to leave the nest, so to speak.
I’ve said goodbye to so many things since being here, and it is not an understatement to say that I was not prepared for any of them. There have been so many goodbyes. Grief, on the other hand, now that’s not quite so automatic.
Shocking confession: About a month before I was married to my husband, I went on a date with another man.
It’s ok, I think, to spend a few precious tears on yourself. It’s ok to do it dramatically on the floor, to show just how low things have physically gotten. God sees that too.