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On a February drive spanning half-the-state of Oregon, God started to stir something up. I felt a new season approaching – a battle of sorts. I could feel the hints of it coming the way a pumpkin spice lover can sniff out the earliest hints of fall. A couple of girlfriends had started reading a...
Five years ago, on a tropical Maui day date with my husband, I picked out an obscure-for-me journal that would later prove to hold the written-worship response to my long-awaited miracle. I didn’t expound then on why I selected it – that was a private story I’m not even sure I shared with my husband...
My soul is sponge-heavy. It’s absorbed enough and soaked up enough and cleaned up enough that all it seem to do is some water dripping. It’s November, which is always more strenuous for my muscle memory (not just because of this, but also this). It’s also the November of a pandemic year. And the November...
I pulled my old quiet time binder out a couple of months ago – the one from those ten years of well-digging and Scripture-studying through my Search the Scriptures quiet time companion book. It’s certainly not the prettiest thing in the world – there’s a printer-paper copy of a photograph I took in college of some...
If you receive my personal letters to your inbox, you already know: I took a little bit of an under-the-radar summer sabbatical these last few months, quietly slipping into our home-haven with this brood to squeeze out every fleeting second of a season that I know is sure to fly by in a blink. All...
Amen!