What I Learned About God by Praying for Osama bin Laden
Like every other college student and most Americans, I didn’t know the name Osama bin Laden. I also didn’t know God.
The Morning After Ida Makes Landfall, a Prayer
Some days I wake in the morning disoriented, my mind mixing up my dreamscape with the reality of what transpires in life. In my dreamscape, my arms reach for a cerulean sky, a perfect sky. This image becomes th...
The Practice of Prayer vs. the Prayer of Practice
Even though I don’t do much planned-praying these days, the action of following Jesus does sometimes draw desperate prayers out of me.
Blessing a Cultural Threshold
A threshold is a place of letting go of an old identity and waiting on a new identity to emerge. It is a liminal moment when the sacred is being born in us, a time of unravelling and slowly reknitting back together.
Struggle is Faithfulness: Thoughts from Inside Chronic Illness
However, is God directly responsible for one person’s healing while another suffers or dies? When God gets credit for the first outcome but not the second, it leaves the second person (and/or their loved ones) invisible, insignificant, and clearly excluded from God’s circle of care.
Come to Me All You Who are Angry
Sketch drawn from a photograph in the Associated Press. A woman in the crowd lowers her mask to wail when she hears the grand jury decision regarding the death of Breonna Taylor.
A Viral Prayer in the Age of COVID-19
It was a moment, a moment of extraordinary unity and goodwill. I am afraid the moment has passed. We are a year in now.
‘Not Real Christians’: Communal Confession for a Faith Divided
We must still raise our voices to denounce Christian pursuit of power and boldly denounce cycles of violence perpetuated in the name of Jesus. We also seek that justice be given to those involved in last week’s events. Nevertheless, we can still own and apologize to a watching world the sins that our fellow siblings have committed.
On Thanksgiving: An Honest Home in the Uncomfortable ‘Both’
But this little plot of land, where my son swings from oak branches beside the bayou . . . where we make mashed potatoes for three instead of twenty-three . . . where I call home . . . is much more than just a settler's trophy. We live in Caddo territory, or so it was before the Treaty of Cession of 1835.
For These Next Seven Days: A Prayer for Those Filled With Dread
Let not our hearts sink into anxiety and dread by the unceasing spin cycle of 24 hour news or the bread and circuses of the imperial intrigue. Instead . . .