All posts tagged: truth

photo credit: kamyar adl, flicker,https://www.flickr.com/photos/kamshots/

What I Tell My Boys About Girls, Sex and Vaginas

Sex can be both reproductive and miraculous. It can also be safe and fun and wonderful. But never outside of it’s place. And long before sex, a guy needs to understand he never, ever can rightly claim ownership of a functioning vagina or the woman it belongs to. Therefore he cannot ever understand the depth of pain and debilitating shame that comes when a guy claims a vagina for his own like some historical European explorer shoving a flag into the soil of a far flung island and saying, “Mine.”

When Mother-Love is Not Enough {2 Baby Steps to Love Your Child’s Soul}

“Soul love is the soul of all love.” -John Charles Ryle My mother-love is not enough. It comes up short like a too-small quilt, leaving parts exposed. Although I try and tuck and stretch it so, my mother-love, my parent-love is shy of covering them. My children, those most precious souls, walk around with naked parts. Vulnerable. And that’s okay. My tent of mother-love is stretched taught and tied down to spikes pounded deep into the soil of truth, but my kids quickly outgrow its covering. Like a newborn kicks against tight swaddling, my children need to kick and punch and build muscle, and they cannot be carried in my arms. I  have to set them down on hard ground. They have to walk, run, jump, explore and play, trip, fall, get up again. They have to live. And I have to love their souls enough to let them.   J.C.Ryle goes on to say to parents, ask this question at every turn, “How will this affect their souls? That is the mighty question.” Indeed. Soul love …

When Your Story is a Dumb, Sob-Story {How to Handle Harsh}

He called my story a sob story. That would make me the “sob-ber” –not really attractive. He then proceeded to call my story and how I told it –dumb. Three times dumb, said he. And it cut a little, like a strip of stray wood cuts the soft flesh of a palm, digging into the cutaneous layers, unwelcome. And my first response was to flush pink in a rush of hurt and anger. After all, I am my story and my story is I. And yours is you, is it not?

The Advent Fulfilled: The Beginning of the All People Society, of which I am a member

LUKE 2:10 And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. All people. The angel said it. The singular message of the annunciation of Jesus is inclusive: for all people. We tend run ruts and circles and see the same people, the same circumstances, the same economic strata, day after day after year. This isn’t a bad thing, because we are to live the life we’ve been given, in the place where we live, but it can be to our detriment that we fail to see the infinite possibility of these two words: all people. These three syllables are vast as the ocean and harder to explore, define and understand than space. All those people, all those souls,  all those dreamy-eyed moms and beaten down garbage pickers in India, all the Hindus bathing in dirty, sacred rivers and illiterate natives fishing the Amazon, the screaming day trader on the stock exchange floor, the old man who made terrible mistakes, the …

The Advent Fulfilled: Salvation Is His Name

Yeshua. The name slipped like a sigh into the darkness. Yeshua, the Lord Saves. Yahweh is Salvation. His face scrunched into a pout, eyes squeezed tight and his tiny mouth opened in a hungry wail, bottom lip quivering. Yeshua. Hungry boy, naked babe, wrapped in soft flax and wool and hearing his mother’s voice whispered into the air, over his head, into his little, curled ear: the Lord Saves. He heard this name called sharply when he toddled too close to the cooking fire, heard it frantically called through the temple, heard it every night as he grew up, “Goodnight, Yeshua.” Sleep well, the Lord Saves.