BLOG

church wounds

Do you remember?

This one is for those who have fallen away from a charismatic faith. Do you remember the days? The days the Holy Spirit was an intimate force in your life that spoke to you. Sometimes it whispered for you to approach a stranger and bless them with a few dollars. Other times it quietly, but…
Keep Reading

Where Children Aren't Distractions: From Grape Juice to Red Wine Part VIII

We snuck into padded seats in the back row of a dark, windowless sanctuary. I bounced my baby Georgie – then six months old – on my knee, relieved to have something to busy myself with while we waited for the service to begin. My husband helped us stealthily bypass the welcome table, where we…
Keep Reading

Where Children Aren't Distractions: From Grape Juice to Red Wine Part VIII

We snuck into padded seats in the back row of a dark, windowless sanctuary. I bounced my baby Georgie – then six months old – on my knee, relieved to have something to busy myself with while we waited for the service to begin. My husband helped us stealthily bypass the welcome table, where we…
Keep Reading

Church shopping at the wrong mall: A story of Easter Sundays. #FGJ2RW Part VII

I sometimes track my faith journey by Easter Sundays. Two Easters ago, my husband and I, as well as the growing baby inside me, were church shopping with an enthusiasm that would quickly wear off. It started out exciting. Google Maps showed hundreds of red dots when we searched the term “church”. Each red dot…
Keep Reading

Church shopping at the wrong mall: A story of Easter Sundays. #FGJ2RW Part VII

I sometimes track my faith journey by Easter Sundays. Two Easters ago, my husband and I, as well as the growing baby inside me, were church shopping with an enthusiasm that would quickly wear off. It started out exciting. Google Maps showed hundreds of red dots when we searched the term “church”. Each red dot…
Keep Reading

The Day I Learned to Stop Singing

I was in the middle seat of a 1980s minivan with rusty hubcaps along with six other teen girls and two youth leaders. We were headed to an all-girls Christian camp in the coastal redwoods of California. It was 2000, and I was feeling very stylish with a soft pink handkerchief in my hair. The…
Keep Reading

The Day I Learned to Stop Singing

I was in the middle seat of a 1980s minivan with rusty hubcaps along with six other teen girls and two youth leaders. We were headed to an all-girls Christian camp in the coastal redwoods of California. It was 2000, and I was feeling very stylish with a soft pink handkerchief in my hair. The…
Keep Reading

Serving from the brokenness

Serve again. The thought popped in my head not too long ago and startled me. The widows and the orphans. The poor. The broken. The old. The marginalized. Serve them. But I don’t do that crap anymore. But that stuff is for the Super-Christians. But I’m still healing. There was a time in my life…
Keep Reading

Serving from the brokenness

Serve again. The thought popped in my head not too long ago and startled me. The widows and the orphans. The poor. The broken. The old. The marginalized. Serve them. But I don’t do that crap anymore. But that stuff is for the Super-Christians. But I’m still healing. There was a time in my life…
Keep Reading

The one thing to say to the spiritually wounded

I am a hurt, scared little girl. I am a brave, overcoming woman. I am both at the same time. I’ve been hurt by controlling church leaders, by judgmental Christians, by religious people who wanted me to look just like them. For years, I let the hurt eat away at me, slowly severing the cord that…
Keep Reading