I met with a friend recently who was suffering from a crushed spirit. The reason? He was alone. There were few people in his life who were willing to help carry his particular heartfelt burden. My soul ached for him. When we got together to discuss his dilemma, my plan was to offer what I had: compassion and hope. To my disappointment however, he wasn’t interested in either. Instead, he commenced in telling me how his knowledge of the facts around his quandary should be enough to get him through.
If you’ve followed my blog for any time at all, you’ve seen shared posts from people I highly respect for one reason or another. Today I’m sharing a post from Michelle Munt, a brain trauma survivor. She’s battled back and continues to gain momentum in her journey of healing–and we’re all on a journey of healing, right?
Like most authors, my goal as a writer is to weave words into a beautiful tapestry; thoughts that take the reader’s breath away. To do this, I grab time when I can. While doing laundry or cooking dinner … or instead of doing laundry or cooking dinner.
But when I see it happen–when I read a piece that tightens my chest and stays with me for days–I know I’m in the presence of brilliance and need to share it with the world. That happens many times when I read Lori Roeleveld’s work.
This post has been edited from last November’s post. But the message still needs repeating …
The election happened. And now Inauguration Day is upon us.
Some people are happy with the outcome, Many people, however, are fearful of what may be in America’s future. Some have even taken to demonstrating in the streets. Not because of wrongs done to them, but because of the threat that wrong may be done to them in the future. Some colleges are still handing out soothing hot chocolate and even assign comfort dogs to students who are dealing with intense fear.
No matter what side of the discussion you’re on, we are all responsible from this point on. We need to be responsible and not spew rhetoric, but to listen to and speak Truth.
Playing golf or darts is a great past time. There’s a rule called a Mulligan, or a do-over after the first attempt was blundered. That’s what happened long ago.
Eight hundred years earlier, Isaiah prophesied that Jesus would come. Isaiah didn’t use the names of Mary, Joseph, or Jesus. He used the names of Wonderful Counselor. Mighty God. Everlasting Father. Prince of Peace.
I felt the clamminess of my palms as I rang her doorbell. She and I had been friends years ago, but the choices I had made now separated us. Would she entertain rekindling a relationship with me again?
I went to her house to tell her I was sorry for doing the things I had done—that I hoped she could forgive me for all my foolishness and sinful behavior. I wanted to tell her I realized I hadn’t taken into consideration how others would be affected by my actions. That I had made a real mess of things—my life. I wanted to say I was sorry.
I wanted to tell her there was good news! I had learned from my mistakes. I had turned the corner. I was on the way to becoming the person God intended me to be. I had hoped she’d be happy for me. I thought she’d celebrate a Prodigal Daughter finding her way back home.