Stacked pocket page idea for diy journal
A response to Joe Bunting’s Fail Faster (So You Can Become a Better Writer). “Writers are terrible judges of their own work,” Joe said. The words resonated deep in the recesses of my soul. All my life, I was the student in the front row, needing that big red “A” to tell me I was […]
Maybe I was born an overachiever, but I’ve only known striving for first place. I’ve never been content with “good enough.” I’m always working for the best — and then some. This attitude works well for school and a lot of other things. The problem is, it’s not always easy to turn it off, or […]
We carry him in, our day old son. We hug him close, pushing back the receiving blanket to expose his little heel. It’s just a heel stick, the nurse says. She jabs it in. He lets out an infant cry, a squeal. I feel the jab in my heel, my heart. I’m not sure where. […]
Nigger is a nasty word. Like any other word, there’s nothing offensive about those particular letters strung together. It’s the connotation, and this one has a history as ugly as any. It has been spit out with venom and hatred, with whipping, chains, and every kind of inhumanity. I don’t know how Paula Deen said […]
Every day I offer up my writing, imagining the five loaves and two fish. Far too often I’m breaking up the bread before I lay it in the basket. And all I’m left with is a bunch of crumbs. I’m meting it out — this bit will go here, this bit I can blog. Too […]
It was not her habit to eavesdrop, but when Abraham ran into the tent and said, “Sarah, get out your best flour and bake three loaves of bread, and hurry!,” when she heard him calling the servants to quickly slaughter the calf, she was curious. Who were these men who had appeared out of nowhere, and why was Abraham so eager to entertain them?
The woman he loved had her arm outstretched. She was offering him the fruit, the juice still dripping down her chin. The man watched himself take a bite.
“Take your son, your only son, Isaac, whom you love … . Abraham’s heart had dropped to the pit of his stomach. He could feel the sweat cold on his temples, as he thought, “Lord, could this please not be a hard request, another stretching, another move beyond my comfort zone?” He had wanted to cover his ears, but he could not cover God’s mouth, and God had continued as if he had not known Abraham’s desperate thoughts, as if it did not matter.
God did things his way and in his time, and things were not always what they seemed. He could be trusted, but he was not predictable. This much he had learned, or perhaps was still learning. How could he explain this to Sarah? How could he expect her to hope again when he could give her none of the assurances she would expect?
Then the sun dropped behind the horizon, and in the darkness Abram saw a smoking firepot and a flaming torch pass between the halves of the carcasses. The Lord himself was making a covenant with Abram that day.
Musing on Genesis 3 “Did God really say you can’t eat from any tree of the garden?” The serpent isn’t so much attempting to verify God’s exact words as he is injecting a note of incredulity, pointing out the absurdity of God’s edict. With one word, the serpent calls into question God’s judgment, his reasonableness. […]