All I want is to be in church. Right in the deep of the service in a row not far from the front. In a sea of my favorite Christmas carols, letting the music wash over me and my tired, end-of-year self. I want to sink into that place of remembering what happened that night. I want to embrace Mary in my mind and watch as the Father God Maker of the Heavens sent His Son into the silent planet, keep reading…
It’ll be five years on the 27th since Pete drove down the back roads of Owosso, Michigan to a small hospital and the hard delivery of our second-born son, Micah. I could barely look at him once he made it out I was so beat. I remember the email Peter wrote to the family afterwards. He copied me on it. The first sentence started, “my heroic wife…” There is nothing small about childbirth. It is an act of courage and keep reading…
After years of living all over the world my husband and I have a theory: “people are people are people.” {Especially kids, heh.} And when you all show up here every Friday for what’s nearly two years straight now, with your gut-punchingly awesome words, your wildly unbridled encouragement of one another, and your passion for spending five minutes writing your heart out I’m all like, “yea, people. Sigh. People!” Because I’m convinced that there’s this fingerprint swirl of Heavenly wonder keep reading…
Christmas in South Africa was always hot. Kids gathered around the tree, sunburns still stinging. “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas” pounding hopefully out over the radio. Our tree was always a live one and the years we gathered at Ouma and Oupa’s house in the Cape they’d use the old fashioned candle clips – attaching live candles with their drippy red and white wax to the fresh branches. No one thought it odd. There were crackers for pulling before keep reading…
Into the dark. Into the night. Into the ache and pain and wave after wave of labor. Into the dirt between handfuls of straw clutched in desperate fists. Into the bite of teeth clenched down and muscles baring down and midwives singing down the fear, the fever in her eyes, the first time for her and us and creation. Into the moment, pulled headlong into the pushing and not knowing what the child would look like but recognizing his name keep reading…
Mandy Scarr
“Don’t let your lack of words keep you from sitting beside her. Let her cry ugly tears, catching them as they fall. That’s all she really needs, that’s all she really wants. She wants you, comfort with clothes on”
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