Sneaking Romance into the Work Week
Photo Credit Last night, we maneuvered city streets, wove in and out of rush-hour traffic, and held creased paper map outstretched. “The parking ramp should be right here, on Chicago and Lake Street.” Yellow awnings flapped cheerily in the winter breeze, and snow melted into slush. After a u-turn and my man’s skilled stick-shifting, we…
Of Grimy Hands and Potter’s Wheels
Photo Credit Slippery hands grasp hard. Rosy earthen clay spins, turning on the potter wheel. “Look at how resistant the clay is to being centered,” she says, standing on tip toe and leaning hard into, onto, the clay. Silvery hair tucks into a short bob, with stray curls hanging wispy at the neck. Dark navy…
Hypocrisy and French Onion Soup
Photo Credit to www.sodahead.com “Why are so many Christians hypocrites?” she* asked. “Not you or your sister and parents, but so many others,” she muttered, staring at the sandwich in front of her. “Pretending perfect, they go to church, but we all see it.” Snow flies past the window and onto the slushy sidewalks outside…
A Scary Privilege: How We as Moms Set the Tone
This Saturday, it fell apart. “Why is it that the day before a Youth Sunday, everything somehow goes so badly?” my husband asked, sliding a hand through his hair in exasperation. “It never fails.” Toddlers dissolved into tears; teens argued; but mostly it was me. I argued, raged, and dissolved into tears. In an embarrassing…
Praying in Four-Four Time
A sagging snowman curtsies in the sun as I pass, and a clanging flagpole rope whips in four-four time in the wind. Spring sidles up beside me, slipping in and out of the clouds this week. Mismatched mitten-hands shoved into red jacket pockets several times this week, as I crunched in Minnesota snow and whispered…
The Priest and the Hundred Dollar Bill
I know, it’s an odd beginning. Before the priest, before the hundred dollar bill, before the camp weekend, he was simply one of our new teens — a shorter, round-faced, sweet middle school boy. He came to youth group on Wednesday nights, the friend and neighbor of some teens. Brown hair, dimpled face with a…
Sign Language Theology
Creamy banana mash glistens from his dimpled cheeks and soft forehead, as he catches my eye. Zealously signing “More, more,” he pumps plump two-year-old hands together, while clenching a half-eaten banana. In delight, I kiss the top of my new nephew’s blond head and happily hand him bits of red pear. My scuffed cherry table-top…
The Radical Choices After “I Do”
Photo credit to Josiah Mackenzie It wasn’t a proud moment. Huddling under blankets, I squeezed my eyes against the closet light, and buried further into muffled quiet. He dressed, searched for matching socks, and I grumbled at the interruptions to my nap. Soon, my man turned off the light and left the room. Grabbing my…
A Coffee Break With the Stars
Courtesy of HubbleSite Photo Link It’s not fresh, this rain puddle-y mug of coffee. But I’m feeling frugal and tired, so I slide last night’s forgotten zucchini out of the microwave and slip in this mug to reheat old coffee. It’s acrid from too much time on the hot burner and slightly stale, but I’m…
Why You’re Never Too Old
“Mom, can you help me? I don’t know how a do this,” he says, tiny hands holding two halves of a blue plastic game board. Imploring eyes and a sweet round face melt me instantly. “I’d love to!” I smile, getting down on his level. I kiss his soft face, and slide together the blue…