Sometimes we got our healing And just didn’t know, Because we saw men as trees walking And felt worse off than before. We just needed to get to that pool, The pool of “sent” To wash the mud off. Or to run home and find His power gone before

This is how I was healed He muddied my eyes and then peeled Back the darkness, the fear, and the night I was blind and now have my sight. This is how I was healed He healed me in part and I ached for the rest, I saw men as

“Mission complete!” Adele roared to Elise. Her happy cry echoed softly off the water. She was halfway back already, having rescued the kayak paddle from the reeds on the other side. She had also abandoned the play shovel that she had used to paddle out there, necessitating another mission. But

How could the blind man know unless You opened his eyes? The deaf man know unless he saw Your sigh? The mute man praise unless his tongue was loosed? The rich man freed unless he found matchless grace? The oppressed man stand unless You broke his chains? The lame man

We were newly back from China, newly parents, newly moved into a tiny little apartment complex, and not-so-newly swamped with postpartum depression. I sat on my hand-me-down couch and stared at the blinds that I kept closed. Always. My baby crawled happily around the apartment chattering and getting into things.

Love me well, but please love me long. Love me daily, just love all of me. Love my faults and love my strengths, Love in fears and hold my hand. Love me dear, but don’t forget When life presses in this hard Love me deep and love me well

I forgot that I was loved And rose up in indignation. It wasn't fire from above Just haughty toleration. I forgot that I was loved. That subtle speck I judged Because I'm a cut above A plank that just won't budge. I forgot that I was loved And didn't know

“Before a word is on my tongue  you, Lord, know it completely. You hem me in behind and before,    and you lay your hand upon me. Where can I go from your Spirit?    Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there;

Tell me more, my friend Of this joy in you, Why your day is feast, Why comfort joins your dark. Tell me the source of this strange full light That seems to drench your path In trial or in calm, That walks ever on before. Is it power from another

Let me be little, For just a little while. Let me be little ‘cause time will fly by When you let me be little, You just let me dream I’ll wake up before long But now I can fly Just let me be little And let the clouds pass,

Dear little girl, on the cusp of being grown. Hear me laugh, hear me groan. On the day you came into my life, into this world, and into my heart. With the sound of my labor in that crowded birth room, chattered the sparrows at the birth of dawn. Bitterness

Lord, if You knew water’s roar and fire’s fury, If You knew the damage these troubles would bring, If You knew, dear Lord, then why did You stand? Watching long from a distance, knowing my plight? So much of my life, I simply don’t know. Your purpose,

I stood there hollowing out the peppers. Tops off, seeds out, diced then in two. When you tore into the kitchen Shivers all full of glee They hadn't found you yet All tucked in here with me. And I thought that as I hollowed Out peppers for you and I

“You killed the Author of life, but God raised Him from the dead. And we are witnesses of this fact!” (Acts 3:15). It's Good Friday, and we’re soaked in the first part of this verse. The Writer Himself was killed, the very one who wrote the miracle of

Do you know what’s there, just like here? Deep cool breaths. Sunsets. Shifts in weather that are subtle, but course through you with quiet brilliance. Sunrise, and the hush right before, that makes you ache for the day, but long to linger in the half light. Birds. Flowers. Wind.

A parable about the invitation of kindness - to others, and to ourselves.

I heard a voice. It spoke a word. Dark, then light, World leapt into being. I heard a voice Break the cedar, Bring the deer to birth, All His creation known...

Before all the other things that draw my heart — people’s opinions, financial security, the health of my children, the fruit of “my” work, I will thank You. They are the gods that I keep returning to; You are the God that holds my soul. These idols sing sweetly and

How the tension and confusion must have seeped into the room as their Master took off His outer garment and knelt over the basin. Accustomed to His social rule breaking, but baffled nonetheless, they watched with raised eyebrows. One by one, He washed each of their feet. Did one or

I hear it whispered, From person to person, “Today is the worst, That it’s ever been. How awful to be, The parent of child, Or leader of church, In days such as these. How much we pity Those coming after. How difficult their way Than what was before.

She looked at me in disbelief. “He hates God?”  I have been reading snippets of a Bible story book to one of my kids, Hannah, and today we had a few minutes before dinner prep needed attention. Ater I stepped away, she continued to sit on the kitchen floor, dumbfounded

“Mama, we’re in Christmas!” My two-year-old elatedly tells me this every other day or so. It’s the tree, another neighbor putting up their lights, or the doorbell ringing for another package being delivered.  It’s Christmas. And the celebration, the joy, the expectation is palpable…even to

Tiny face and little arms, A smooth sigh and folded lash, So little, so normal, So lovely, so known. But softly we came Awe settled deep in our hearts, As we saw the hope of mankind, Nestled in young mother’s arm. We thought we knew You A new born

I see you there, wondering about soothers and bottles and ounces of breastmilk. I see your cluttered home and the hospital bands strewn across your dresser, or still on your arm because you don’t remember what day it is.  I know the horror you feel when someone tells