I remember the day I discovered that I was a mystic. At least, it was the day I put a name to the uncomfortable feeling of otherness - that square-peg-round-hole identity I had lived with my entire life. I was wandering through a bookstore, killing time, waiting for a friend who was running late. Perusing… Continue reading When God Shows Up
Sometimes, when my mind spins trying to process too much useless information, when my mental hard drive is full, when external noise overwhelms and unsettles, God sends someone special to remind me what matters. Today was that kind of day. I started early in the morning, running errands, trying to squeeze them all in before… Continue reading Divine Appointment
I'm crying my way through The Chosen tv series again. No matter how many times I watch the dramatized account of Mary of Magdala's encounter with Jesus, I still end up in a puddle of grateful tears. Such a broken, helpless, tormented woman who had lost all hope. Then, out of the blue, she meets Jesus, and… Continue reading First Contact
I believe in miracles. Sometimes I forget that I believe in miracles and pray weak, cowardly prayers. I do this either because I fear being presumptuous or I fear being disappointed. I also push back against the belief held by those who insist we can command God and demand miracles. Once when I was in… Continue reading Wild Faith
I must have listened to Aretha sing Joy to the World a dozen times yesterday. It brought me to my feet, brought me back to life, and reminded me of a time when a much less glorious version of that Christmas song brought someone else to life. We were caroling at a nursing home - just a… Continue reading Hope
I met Gertrude in a dingy tenement thirty-seven years ago, and I remember her still. I remember how she wore her hair and how she talked, but mostly I remember the sad, desolate look in her eyes. Gertrude was a prostitute and an addict. Her drug-dealer/pimp/boyfriend held court in a corner of the room, doing… Continue reading The Treasure
We huddle over a small table in a dimly lit room - an American pastor, a Malagasy pastor, and me, a woman with no title. Like the two men on either side of me, I am a follower of Jesus. This is what has brought us together in this place that feels like the middle… Continue reading A Clash of WorldViews
I trudge slowly up the mountain to the church. Most of Antananarivo, Madagascar, hangs precariously off the side of one mountain or another. I'm not quite sure how the buildings stay vertical, but this church is literally built on solid rock. They tell me that when they bought this small piece of property, it was… Continue reading Perspective
We stumbled through the Mikea Forest in pitch blackness. Two American men, good friends who had traveled here to work on development projects, walked next to me. I couldn't see them - I couldn't see my hand in front of my face - but at least I could hear them. Our Malagasy friends seemed to… Continue reading Light the Dark
Years ago, my husband and I lived in an urban community alongside some of the poorest and most marginalized people in this country. We were working with the Salvation Army, so December was always our busiest month. After six weeks of manning the red kettles, delivering food and toys, Christmas caroling in city streets and… Continue reading Unforgettable
Paper Thin Places 
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