'Erin Curlett' tagged posts

Man Doesn’t Live on Bread Alone

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I am a bibliophile. I could spend all day in a bookstore, leafing through pages, inhaling that sweet aroma, running my fingers over their spines. My bedside table gathers more words than I can read in a month (or even a year), and I wouldn’t have it any other way. But I have a confession: as much as I love books, and as much as I love Jesus, I don’t always love picking up my Bible.

There was a time this hesitation made sense because I felt intimidated by both its prose and poetry; I worried I wouldn’t understand what Jesus said should be so clear. But that’s no longer the case. Last week, as I was studying and reflecting on the power of scripture, I was reminded of when God surprised me by opening my eyes just two and a half years ago.

Friendship for All Seasons

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I walked through the chilly evening dark and got into the car without a diaper bag. I turned on music that I like – which at this point is anything that’s not songs from Sesame Street – and I headed out to visit a friend and watch The Bachelor. As the pregnant mom of a toddler, this felt like the ultimate luxury.

The night was glorious—we sampled chunks of orange-infused dark chocolate and snuggled in cozy blankets on her soft brown leather couch and giggled at the ridiculousness of the show. During commercial breaks we chatted about life.

She updated me on her job and life in her new house. I updated her on pregnancy and toddlerhood. Our lives, each busy and all-consuming, are in such different seasons right now, and for that I am grateful. To me, her perspective is as refreshing as the cool quiet of the night, as welcome as the absence of Cheerios stuck to the couch.

What if I Believed Christ in Me?

A couple of years ago I received a CD as an early Christmas present at a gift swap among friends. Not only was I elated to have in my possession a shiny new CD with real album notes, I was stunned by the songwriter’s lyrical power. One song* in particular stopped me in my tracks. […]

He Goes Before You

street-962796_640This time next year I will likely be sitting in a different house, in a different city, in a different state.

Where? I have no idea.

My husband, Tim, is a doctor in the military, so we will go where he is needed—where we are sent. Sometime before the end of the year we’ll receive a list of job openings around the country (world?) and we’ll have the opportunity to weigh our options and rank which ones we like the best. Then we’ll wait a few more months. Sometime in the spring, we’ll be told where we’ll be sent.

The upside: the Army will send packers and movers to our house to do the wrapping and packing and heavy lifting. The downside: we don’t have much time to plan.

It’s a grand adventure to be sure. It’s also potentially disastrous for a worry-wartish planning type like me. Where will we live? Will we make friends? How will we find a church community?

The Last Thing I Wanted To Do

It was a cold, rainy morning and when I woke up, going to church was the last thing I wanted to do.

It’s going to be so crowded . . . the message will be watered down . . . you’re just going to have to watch a bunch of baptisms of people you don’t even know. I mean . . . baptisms on Easter? How cliché can you get?

It was Easter Sunday, 2009, in Seattle. I had only been attending the church for a month, and I had already decided the Easter baptism service was going to be over-produced and emotionally manipulative. All I wanted to do was drink my coffee in my robe and watch a Friends marathon.

Yet I felt a prompting, and my feet led me up the hill to the church.

How Do I Want to Show Up in the World?

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Last week I came back from a week at a summer camp for women. Talk about a situation ready to send you right back into your junior high insecurities: a bunch of women sleeping in the woods, swarmed by mosquitoes, constantly sweating in the moist North Carolina air. We shared our cabins with mice. We shared our showers with spiders. We logged fewer hours sleeping than I normally do at home with my teething baby.

It was the kind of environment just uncomfortable enough to let others see glimpses of your heart.

My 2am Friend, or the Day I Thought I’d Lost My Son

One minute we were lounging on the picnic blanket in our backyard. Jacob was happily chewing on a toy and I was happily snapping pics of him as he rolled back and forth, wiggling his toes in the air. The next minute, I noticed he had a piece of grass sticking out of his mouth, and as I reached to remove it, he began to gag.

I picked him up, set him on my lap and looked at his little face as my heart stopped. Is he choking? He’s not breathing. He quickly drew in a breath of air. Sweet relief. And then his stomach tightened, he began to cough and then vomited right down the front of my shirt, onto my pants, onto himself. I held out a hand to catch the rest of the vomit—which just kept coming. I thought it was strange that a single blade of grass would cause such an intense reaction, but I wasn’t overly concerned. Babies get sick sometimes, and everything seemed pretty normal. I picked up my son and our soiled blanket and took him inside for a bath.

I had barely made it through the back door before he began to gag and heave once again.

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 […]

And a Little Child Shall Lead Them

I walked beneath a cherry blossom tree, my 6-month-old son strapped to my chest. Facing outward, he reached out his tiny, curious fingers as I held a branch down to eye level. As his tiny hands gently closed around the soft, pink petals, I leaned down to steal a glance at his pensive face. His […]