{Originally published on Kingdom Grace}

In reading and conversations about the gospel, church, and culture, I have run across many terms that were unfamiliar to me. I produced these posters in an attempt to portray simply some of the terms that I have encountered while blogging about religion. They are a reflection of my perception and understanding of these terms.

The post is titled “A More Generous View” because the posters are intended to portray the generous grace of God rather than a strict and rigid view of religion. I hope that you will find them to be an encouragement to your faith journey.

{Originally published on “Et tu?“}

For whatever reason, I keep stumbling across blogs by mothers who are battling cancer lately.

One of the things that’s most striking about every one of them is how much looking through their posts highlights how fragile life is, and how little control we really have over our destinies. The post at the bottom of the page, from last Wednesday, might be titled something like “Feeling great!” and recount high hopes and improving health. And then the latest post, from today, might be titled “Bad news” and tell of dire test results and the choking realization that the author will probably not live to see her children grow up.

Just now I was doing my usual blog reading during the
kids’ naptime, and I came across yet another blogger who just received
a grave cancer diagnosis. She’s a mother, she’s not even 30 yet, and
there’s a good chance that she doesn’t have a lot more time.

Oddly, I was able to keep a stiff upper lip through most of the post, until she got to the part about all the plans she had: how she had her life neatly in place, her plans for the next few years all settled, and this diagnosis completely derailed everything. Nothing seems within her control any longer, and that’s one of the things she’s struggling with the most.

Originally posted on Christa Allan’s blog.

“The holy goes on, no matter how many balls you fling at it.”   Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott
I suppose living to the age of a highway speed limit has caused me to redefine holy. In my youth, now defined as any age a neighborhood speed limit ago, I’d define holy [...]

Originally posted on Ponderings.

I attended a funeral for the father of new friend of mine recently. In
our understanding he died too soon. He was only in his early 60’s.
Although I never had the opportunity to meet this man, his funeral
impacted my life. The tributes and memories shared by family and
friends were beautiful. We viewed a slide presentation set to music,
tracing the journey of his life. The one thing that really spoke to my
heart was that this man had truly lived.

He
was an adventurer. Fear didn’t hold him captive. He lived out loud. He
wasn’t afraid to follow the dreams God had placed in his heart, and yet
he didn’t take foolish risks. He enjoyed life to the full. In many ways
he has gone from living to living.

My life in comparison would
be such a shadow. Many of us would be likened to “dead men walking” in
contrast. Oh, maybe outwardly we’re going through the motions. Jumping
through all the right hoops. We know how to play the “Game of Life”.
For generations it’s been the same. We’ve read the rules. We know the
expectations. Years go by, but our passion is getting buried deeper and
deeper. We are allowing ourselves and others to dig our own
grave…only we’re still breathing. We’re being buried alive.

(click title for more)

Originally published on Once Dead, Now Alive.

Thought-provoking books challenge me to think outside the box, sometimes out of my comfort zone. After reading “Red Moon Rising: How 24-7 Prayer is Awakening a Generation” by Pete Greig, I had the chance to participate in a week long event of 24-7 prayer at the church I attend (link).
There, rooms were available for people to pray/connect with/worship
God. One room had available clay and other art materials; the intent
was to encourage creativity, using the supplies as an expression of
worship or as response to God’s presence.

I am not an “art
person”–even to step into that room WAS a step outside the box. I took
some wet clay and pressed it onto a piece of paper, the result a brown
splotch. Almost immediately I thought about Genesis 2:7 and myself being made of the dust of the earth. Then I began to write:

(click title for more)

Originally published in They Hang Like Paper Lanterns.

The drops weave together daily,
their fibrous web,
and bind me in this sticky love.
I trip upon my own heart strings.

They shoot me full of adrenaline, then entangle me, gag me, rob me
Leaving me to finish off what’s left of myself.
Heart racing, eyes bulging; wet, salty and gasping.
Wishing, perhaps, they’d completed their aim this time.
Please stop toying with me and end it.
(Then thinking that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.)

(click title for more)

Originally published on Loralee’s Looney Tunes

I visited my son’s grave today.

There was no special reason. No holiday or anniversary. No family or friends that live far away who wanted to pay their respects. I was just driving and saw the snow on the ground and wanted to check on my son, clean up his grave, and remove the decorations that I put up for Autumn.

Matthew is buried in a beautiful spot. We put him next to family, a cousin of Jonathan’s that was killed in a car crash with his grandmother when she was only 19. It makes me feel better that his cousin is close by. I will be buried near him, but not next to him because that space was occupied, which makes me very sad.

It used to make me angry.

The grave right next to my son is occupied by what they call a “Pauper grave”. Meaning, that the plot was donated and the family doesn’t have the resources for a headstone. There is a metal marker that has an index card with typing on it. The womans name has been obliterated. All I know is that death occurred in July of 1998 and that she was only 41 at the time of passing.

In the four years since my Little Bug has passed, my feelings about “Her” have changed. It’s still hard to know that this stranger gets a place that I yearn to have, but instead of being angry, I began to be curious about this neighbor of my son. Who was she? What was she like? Did she have any family?

(click title for more)