Our humanity doesn’t surprise God. And robotic prayers only hold Him at a distance. So why not talk with Him as we are?
I thought we were doing a good job settling into our new community—until one Friday when I found myself very alone.
When I transition my heart and mind into actively looking for Him, signs of His presence start popping up. I begin to see little glimpses of His goodness and His graces hiding in people and places that have been there all along.
No one has ever asked me directly. But over the last eight years since my son died, I have often contemplated whether I—if given the opportunity—would erase the pain.
I’d heard of this Enneagram thing through a few friends, but all the talk about numbers seemed more like advanced math than a source of personal development. And if you know anything about me, I don’t do the numbers.
What if I’m wrong? What if God’s not real? Have I believed since I was three only because I didn’t know anything else?
For six weeks, I carried our son Carter in my belly, knowing that his days were numbered.
Grace doesn’t always come in pretty packages. Sometimes, it comes as a gift of brokenness.