I’m linking up with everyone on where we’re reading Grace for the Good Girl together. I just realized I’ve actually been writing about Grace for the Good Girl all along. In fact, I started this blog as an experiment in risk taking — putting myself and my stuff out there, ad hoc, unplanned, and scary […]
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 […]
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 […]
I had thought I could always go home. But suddenly I realized I didn’t know how. My trail of crumbs had long been eaten. I had lost my way.
“Grown adult men — strangers — should not be alone in a bathroom with little girls.” — Ted Cruz bashing Trump for saying people should be allowed to use whatever bathroom they choose. In case you haven’t heard, they’re arguing over North Carolina’s “bathroom law” requiring people to use bathrooms corresponding to their biological sex. One problem […]
Abraham had no plan. He had no idea how he would actually accomplish what God had asked, neither did he want to think about it. Not that any amount of thinking could prepare him for what he was about to do. He simply put one foot in front of the other, the way he had […]
The woman had never paid much attention to the serpent, not that she could recall. He had stayed on the periphery, his voice interjecting occasionally, but always under the radar.
She had followed Abram on this crazy journey, leaving behind all her friends and her childhood home. She never imagined it would end this way.
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.
He was not a coward. No, not in many things. But he had an irrational fear, a foreboding almost, that someone might kill him to get at Sarah.
“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.