The limits of discipline {OR When God's love tastes like ice cream}
I was walking along the seawall, hands pulled up into my sleeves away from the chilly dusk air, arguing with God about a bowl of ice cream. I’d been reading…
Dust you are: Love in the desert
In the middle of the desert it can be hard to remember that every bit of dust and stone is love spoken into place. That each blade of brave grass…