wall demolition between kitchen and dining room
What if we were meant to live forever, and life on earth was a mere sliver of time, tacked on to the front end of eternity? What if this life was just a drop about to be swallowed up in the ocean of eternity, a tiny speck in the universe of forever? How would we live?
I was an urban professional with a preference for black and steel walking into a family of colonial country plaid and floral.
The kid in the first row, sitting up straight with hands folded, eyes on the teacher — that was me (long ago when students did such things). I know how to meet expectations. I can sense people’s expectations a mile away, and I have this morbid fear of disappointing anyone, of dropping the ball. This […]
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 […]
Minimalism is in my bones. I’m drawn to stark desert landscapes and uncluttered spaces. I subscribe to Small Notebook where Rachel has great tips on living simply, and I just discovered the Minimalist Mom. Everything I read about simplifying and downsizing resonates with me. I don’t know if it’s the economy or the precarious state […]
I watch the monster who is me pressing the blade into my brother’s flesh until his blood runs hot over my own flesh. I see my brother’s face, the shadow passing over it when he realizes what I’m about to do. I rewind and see him running towards me from across the field. He is just within arm’s reach. I can choose to embrace him, but instead I pull my knife from its sheath.
Abraham and Sarah saw the smoke rise up from the valley, and the acrid smell of sulfur and burning filled the air. Just the day before, Abraham had entertained the three visitors. The Lord had said to Abraham, “I have heard a great outcry from Sodom and Gomorrah. I am going down to see if their actions are as wicked as I have heard.”
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.
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?
Abraham turned to his son, the rope stretched between trembling hands. Isaac looked at his father, and a hoarse whisper escaped his lips, “Father … .”
In the harem, Sarah waited. She waited to be called in to King Abimelech, or for someone — Abraham, God? — to come to her rescue. One day dragged into the next, and still nothing. God had said she and Abraham would have a child next year. Now Abraham had ruined everything. But why hadn’t God stopped him?