Thursday Morning

Redeeming God,
The people wandered the wilderness for years, waiting for peace, for the promised land. Yet the whole time you were with them. What I would give for a pillar of smoke leading me forward by day, and fire by night! I feel as though I spend so much time wading through the much, trying to discern where you are calling me, which direction is faithful. Guide me, O Lord, in your ways, in your truths, so that my decisions may honor you, may proclaim my faith in you. I am in constant turmoil about what is right and what is wrong. Lead me on your path, so that my feet may fall on holy ground and my life might proclaim your glory.
Amen

To an Angel who is New

In this tragic masterpiece, Arno Bohlmeijer has composed a diary of his time in hospital after a tragic car accident that has left him immobilized, his wife brain-dead and his two daughters injured. To an Angel who is New left me sitting in the car dealer, waiting for my new tires, weeping.

Don't read this book unless you are ready to explore the depths of human sorrow and the struggle of a man fighting his own body while knowing his wife is fighting the same battle in a losing effort. The entire community surrounds them with love, and Bohlmeijer battles through, struggling to know how best to cope while helping his daughters heal. There isn't an easy page of this book, but there is such depth that I almost want to apologize for treading on sacred ground. The beautiful thing is that Bohlmeijer invites us in, to share in his pain and his journey, and my life is the richer for being a part of it.

Wednesday Fun

Love Chattanooga

Feel like fasting?

Green Walls: coming to your city?

Walkman v. iPod
A new map from NASA

Is spite right?

The power of women

The Lonely Shoe Lying on the Road

by Muriel Spark

One sad shoe that someone has probably flung
out of a car or truck. Why only one?

This happens on an average one year
in four. But always throughout my
life, my travels, I see it like
a memorandum. Something I have
forgotten to remember,

that there are always
mysteries in life. That shoes
do not always go in pairs, any more
than we do. That one fits;
the other, not. That children can
thoughtlessly and in a merry fashion
chuck out someone's shoe, split up
someone's life.

But usually that shoe that I
see is a man's, old, worn, the sole
parted from the upper.
Then why did the owner keep the other,
keep it to himself? Was he
afraid (as I so often am with
inanimate objects) to hurt it's feelings?
That one shoe in the road invokes
my awe and my sad pity.

Wednesday Morning

Holy God,
I can never understand you majesty. You move in ways unknown to me. You speak in a foreign language, love in ways I cannot understand. Your grace is deeper than my thoughts can travel.
And yet I know you because you desire to be known. Not because I have sought you out, but because you reached out to me. You descended from heaven's throne and walked among us, talked to us, so that we might know, so that we might understand. You pulled back a corner of your deity so that your love might be spoken in ways we can see, can touch, can understand. You are so much greater than I can imagine, and yet I feel as though you hold me, you love me, even when I fail. Thank you, my Lord, for your endless and gracious love.
Amen