What kind of a Christian can’t find her all in all in Christ? I was supposed to have the joy, joy, joy down in my heart to stay, right? If I was really following Christ, He’d instantly transform all this grief into joy, right? The heavens should open up and light pour down, chasing away all this darkness.
You see, I still, after all these years and all these lessons, I still succumb to my eating disorder daily. Don’t get me wrong, it looks a lot prettier than it used to. I don’t pop laxatives like candy and I don’t end a feast on my knees in front of the toilet. I don’t even eat to the point of pain anymore, no third or fourth or fifth servings- no half-gallon of ice cream straight out of the carton. Yet I still…
Because all the #MeToo’s has me wanting to remind women, you can tell your story and it can be healing. There was a day A day she began To crave the destruction Of hands raised in fury Of jagged edged words Of nostrils flaring over thin lips There was a day A day she decided To… Continue reading There Was a Day
I once heard a speaker claim that one of the biggest problems with Christians was a lack of imagination. I don’t remember anymore who said it, or the topic of the speech it was used in. But that part stuck. A lack of imagination? Maybe other Christians! But me? Me!?! I’ve got a vivid imagination.… Continue reading The Problem with Christians
At 18, living alone in a new city, there was a day I decided to wear only red. The color would be my brand, my hallmark, my calling card. In a strange new place, where I was as of yet anonymous, I could choose to become anyone, anything. I chose red. I visited dozens of… Continue reading A Softer Shade of Red
Dear Beth, Forgive me for the familiarity but, though we’ve never met, we’re actually very close. We’ve belly laughed together, wept together, and studied together. You’ve been with me in small groups gathered in living rooms, huddled in church sanctuaries, and curled up in coffee houses. Beth, I’m just one of the countless spiritual daughters… Continue reading An Open Letter to Beth Moore
There was a day A day she began To crave the destruction Of hands raised in fury Of jagged edged words Of nostrils flaring over thin lips There was a day A day she decided To never let herself be pretty Old men creep, searching for pretty Cast kisses in basement rooms Grope with knotted blue hands… Continue reading There Was a Day