Beating on the chest of God
I felt like a frustrated two year old held by her father, wailing and beating my little fists against his ribs. “Where were you, God? I got up early, showed…
Why we must sing
Into yesterday’s questions, yesterday’s glimpse of poverty and inability to praise, God speaks through a woman who has asked the same questions. "I know there is poor and hideous suffering…
When your heart breaks for the broken
This morning I planned to write of God’s lavish generosity. Now I cannot. I passed too many broken people on the street on my way home. Two slouched against a…