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Who hasn’t faced their own sorta fire this week? Who hasn’t had their normal turned upside down and their world inside out? Who hasn’t felt the low-grade fever of worry, and not been gutted out with the fear of the unknown — terrorised not only with the risk of contracting and then transmitting — but also wondering…
November 25, 2017Liz.W Life’s this giant potpourri — and I’m mixed as I walked into his funeral service. And into the Children’s Emergency Department months after. My obstetrician, he was merely 54. His heart had stopped pumping right on the ground his feet were still standing. Yeah, life’s that short — and we’ve gotta live with that fact…
October 5, 2017Liz.W Life’s this walk through the storms, and rains, and hails and winds. And it’s the harsh that can sometimes scramble you thin, makes you wanna howl. Howl you may — long into the night, straight into your sleep. I have done that, been that, am that. With every pain and solitary battle we…
Hey You, You who’ve walked with a bit of a limp and hobbled your way all through the night… We see you. And we want you. You’re gonna be alright. Promise. Remember the night of the death? You were 7, and your dad’s suddenly passed on, instantly passed out of this passage of life. You were…
When I listen ted talks such as Dolph Lundgren’s on the healing and forgiveness story of his childhood abuse, I’m moved by the pain he’d have suffered as a child, and challenged to stop that pain from bleeding and perpetuating into a person adult life. There’s a part of you that dies when you’re faced with a pain that…
It’s really the fire that purifies… The fire that burns — is also the fire that cleanses. And it’s in the fire of faith, and through the furnace of affliction, that real sons and daughters are born. Your identity gets revealed. “Sons” “Daughters” Of the living God. Ask the three men thrown into the furnace, with fire heated up…
He said he’s had enough. The screaming and the slamming of doors, the accusing and then the avoiding, her fear and her rage — he’s about done with her. She whispered back: “…not an ounce of love left in my bones to make this work.” Said too she’s had had enough. She hoped he’d lead…
It’s the homeless huddled beneath a downtown bridge… And the high schoolers shot in their school and all their studies, The battleground strewn with wounded bodies and broken bones… And the hearts shattered of dreams and promised hopes… I wonder — where does He walk when He walks the ground of my world. It was Jerusalem that day….
There’s just something about Lyss, my friend, that reveals the kind of brave faith I know would have only come about through the work of inner surrender. She tells her story; a story she prefers never to have, but one in which she sees pain having transformative power bringing about purpose and peace. With grit…
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