Limping, Strolling, Running

I was thinking today about the different ways people come to God. Some don’t come until very late, others not at all. But those who come do so in different ways.

First, there’s the limp. Life has beaten us up. We’re emptied out and bruised all over. Maybe not even sure God has noticed or cares, but we still go, limping. Our journey may be slower because of it, but that’s okay. We get there. And we get a lot of TLC along the way. Or maybe limping demands more effort than our strength can supply, so we crawl. I’ve felt like that. I’ve also crawled in the other direction at times, too hurt to look at Him.

The Beauty of Decisions

Years ago a woman at church shared something I have always remembered. She commented on how many decisions we make every day, in the thousands, without even thinking. It struck me how much autonomy we have over our lives in the small and large decisions, and even the automatic ones. So many things we think of as reflexes are really small decisions, made in the blink of an eye.

It got me thinking. Thinking about decisions I make daily, without much thought. Or the ones I give a passing thought, little decisions, seemingly inconsequential. Of course, we cannot agonize over every decision, but if we bring to consciousness some of our knee-jerk decisions, won’t we have less conflict, get more done, stay closer to God during the day, trust more instead of worrying? Wouldn’t we live according to our values more often, weigh the value of spending time with this versus that?

Gets kind of overwhelming, doesn’t it?

A New Morning

A fiction excerpt Bold shafts of morning sun nudged open Emily’s eyelids, still sandy and dry from her late night. She shut them quickly with a groan, and rolled face down into the feather pillow. Yet the warmth of the day’s beginning urged her upright and teased her eyes back open. She slid down from the bed and approached the window, drawing in a full breath of balmy breeze. The previous day’s voyage faded to a murky half-memory that seemed unreal. Unreal, that is, except for the bruise on...

Two Worlds

Starbucks in Paris. A tourist’s haven from heat and culture stress, as well as a Saturday meeting place for Parisian students. The typical population—well-to-do teens, traveling families, twenty-somethings in summer fashions— filled the comfortable chairs drinking lattes, espressos, and frappucinos. A woman “of a certain age”, as the French would say, entered an alcove by the window. In one hand, nails encrusted with black, she held a steaming beverage. In the other, she clutched two pastries...

New Places, New Content

A couple of years ago I created this web site because as an aspiring fiction-writer, I knew I needed this thing everyone is talking about…an online presence. Editors and agents wanted to know that if a book was published, there was already a space on the web to nail it up for people to see, and folks potentially interested. That seemed like a pretty good idea, except for one chronic question, what do I put on a fiction writing web site if I haven’t published anything yet? That question...