A line of cars blocked the driveway, extending out into the street. Cars within the lot circled the rows, patiently scouting for spots. Other vehicles drove up onto the front lawn, green grass hidden under a layer of snow. Later arrivals, seeing the depleted spaces, crossed the street to a sprawling shopping mall to borrow…

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The music swelled, drums built, and voices melded. Harmony rose and fell in the background. During worship this week, God suddenly called me on the carpet. “Do you mean that one, Jennifer?” he asked me quietly during one song. I had been distracted by the lilting inflections of the song so he caught me offguard.…

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1.) There’s a bus key on your key chain but you don’t drive bus. 2.) Your children have all been youth group mascots throughout the years. 3.) Your toddler could fist-pump and other cool hand signs by eighteen months. 4.) Male students of all ages call your house to see if your husband can come…

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Thanks to those who joined us in the last post “Crying With an Atheist at a Bus Stop.” I invited you to join me today in pondering a great question she asked me via email. My jaunty-hatted, honest new friend Jamie* respectfully posed this question:                   Why would one live one’s life as a servant…

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 Dropping off my uncle at a Greyhound bus station several years ago, I noticed a young woman in her early twenties. Actually, first, I noticed her hat. A cocky little round-brimmed black hat, she carried it off fabulously. Then I noticed her eyes. She was sad, tears welling up, as she straddled her bags outside…

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At my kitchen table with coffee, my Bible, and our family’s Gratitude Journal, I have been counting gifts. This is a journey of seeing God’s lavished love and counting the ways he shows his beauty. -Bible, coffee, shadows slanting across a quiet yard -tiny yellow post-it note verses of God’s truth and peace; rain droplets beaded up…

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Somewhere between mincing onions and stirring rich yellow curry sauce, it happened. Hurtful words sliced deep. A quiet heart in a bustling room, tears held back. After supper, I grabbed my shoes and jacket, slipping out the door to the night. The dark enveloped me. A rural sleep, so silent compared to my suburban home,…

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“I like the crunching snow,” he states as we walk in the dark. Streetlamps puddle light every block or so. Red, green, blue and white Christmas lights still twine around neighbors’ decks and shrubs, blinking at us. The wind blows cold and scatters snow sequins at us, and I draw my black scarf higher on…

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