Trust

Pit vs. Presence

Have you ever been bad at something? Like, truly, unequivocally terrible?

I cannot skate. Not roller skate. Not ice skate. Not roller blade or skateboard. Heck, I can barely ride a bike. Maybe it has something to do with growing really tall really fast as a kid. My center of gravity never quite figured out where to land. Or maybe because even though they say you can’t walk until you crawl, I skipped right over the “on all fours” stage and stood straight up. I hear that jacks up your balance.

Whatever the reason, I found all those elementary school skate nights and birthday parties at once horrifying and lonely. I’d shove off each wall hoping I’d launched myself with enough force to bump safely into the other side, having the neither the ability to steer nor stop. Or start, for that matter. If I ran out of steam mid-rink, I would have to wait for a kind soul, usually someone’s mom, to give me a tow to the wall or perhaps all the way back to the snack bar where I would sit in a booth and daydream until the party was over.

My last time ever on skates ended with, what I imagined, was me almost slicing a small child in half. It was a youth group ice skate night, I think, and this tiny little girl had been practicing her serious figuring skating skills right in the middle of free skate. It was legitimate practice. She was wearing the tights and the little skirt and was spinning, spinning, spinning. Full-on Nancy Kerrigan.

I’m Not Enough

It was 3am. I was more than sleep deprived; I was going a little bit crazy. Jacob, my new baby boy, was less than a week old, and he was hungry. His screams pierced the darkness and pierced this new mama’s heart. The pediatrician’s office had called that afternoon to say we needed to supplement his […]

“This is My Step-Out-of-the-Boat Moment”

ThisisMyStep-Out-of-the-BoatMoment (dragged)On April 7, 1994, decades and even centuries of ethnic violence, inflamed by civil war, detonated genocide at a rate five times that of the Jewish holocaust in Nazi Germany. You all know the story. Africa’s most densely-populated country. Eight weeks. Upwards of 800,000 people brutally murdered on ethnic lines by neighbors, colleagues and militant mobs.

When the horror stopped, one in five Rwandans were dead — and nearly the entire remaining population carried the bloodguilt. The systematic use of rape as a weapon led to a steep spike in HIV rates, the number of child-headed households soared, and the economy and infrastructure were in ruins. If ever there was an entire nation suffering from trauma, it was this one.

In 2002, on the other side of the world, Rebecca “Becky” Byrd proudly received her school guidance counselor credentials. For more than a decade, she would invest her skills and her heart for kids in a high-poverty public high school in Washington State — and then she would transition to the sticky hugs and giggles and tears of a nearby elementary school. Becky loved her work with the kids, and esteemed her colleagues — but she began to have a hunger for … more.

It wasn’t more accomplishments or relationships or adventure, more money or pleasure that Becky was hungry for. It was more of God. More intimacy with Jesus, more of the life of the Spirit, more of the fruit of an active faith. And as her yearning grew, she began to hear God calling her to an extraordinary step.

Grape Jelly

To this day I still avoid it.  For too many years grape jelly was associated with pain. As a child, and even well into my teen years, I would often wake up with excruciating pain in my legs.  To this day, I am not sure what it really was, however, my mom would call them […]

Do you trust Me?

Do you remember your first swimming pool experience?  I suppose it may be a bit difficult today – it is December after all. But I remember. I had to have been 4 or 5. We were left for the weekend at some family friends that owned a real pool. Not the kind of pool we […]