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If we cry out, and God doesn’t answer, it doesn’t mean we are not worthy of attention. It just means we need to keep crying. Perhaps a little louder.
In this Mother’s Day season, I appreciate the tribe of women. The ones that help their daughters survive. The ones that bond around mission. Belonging can be a joy.
Every congregation, every social justice organization, has earth-shattering crises when we fall on our faces in despair, in exhaustion, in shame, in humility, in prayer.
The troubles of our context cannot negate the blessed assurance of our consciousness.
The suffering of grief, both present and anticipatory, is painful and real, and it will remain as long as we remain divided, as long as power is used to harm rather than heal.
If you, like me, are having days where it feels like the story is coming to an end, remember. All you have been through to get to this point. All the obstacles overcome.
When I was new to kayaking, I would never have discovered Mud Lake unless someone had told me what it felt like, smelled like, looked like, and had brought me there in person.
While humanity observes a relative degree silence – whether from virus or fatigue, with grief or frustration – all the earth continues to sing God’s praise.
Karaoke is one of the activities I do when I’m reaching for joy. Belting ‘I Will Survive’ to dancing strangers makes joy seem possible again.
In these awful days of virus-related illness and death, whenever we’re asked why these things happen, let’s not be quick to answer.