Check, Check ... 1,2,3 ...

About 90 percent of the time, I’m more focused on school, summer, homework, friends, getting my driver’s license or even food than I am on God. It’s pretty pathetic really: I’m showing myself more respect than I’m showing Him. I think we can all relate to that on some level. So serving on the worship team at Grace Church gives me an outlet, a couple of hours where I can forget everything else that’s going on in my life and embrace the Holy Spirit as I worship. I get so wrapped up in the songs that nine times out of ten I can almost see Him, feel Him standing next to me singing along like He always does. I lose myself and reconnect where God asks me to be, in the moment. Worship team is not a

Making a Lemon Pie and Meeting God

Well there we were, God and I in the kitchen on a Saturday morning. It was my husband’s birthday, June 25. He loves pies of all kinds, especially fruit pies. No birthday cake for him: pie all the way. My niece had said she would bring two wonderful berry pies to the party that night, so I decided I would make an apple and a lemon icebox, which is a favorite of mine in the summertime. I began on the lemon pie first, because it would need more than six hours in the freezer before it was ready to be eaten. And just like that, I thought I heard God say, “Isn’t that something that many things and people need — time?” O child, lean on Me in all your interactions and I’ll show you how to love like

A Future Awaits

Like many people, I’ve had this country on my mind a lot lately. With the Orlando shootings, the presidential election, #BlackLivesMatter and so much more, there’s a lot to cover — aka a lot of conversations to avoid with your in-laws. I look at Facebook and all I see is anger and sadness. I read articles and think pieces and they’re all desperate to point the finger at someone or something to explain the injustice that happens on a daily basis. It’s the Republicans’ fault! It’s the NRA’s fault! Imagine if that was our reaction to others — inviting ourselves into their world and getting to know them. It’s political correctness! It’s the media! And I just have to stop and ask: What are we try

Generator

When the generator fires up and begins its incessant rumble, you know it is time to work. The first sounds crank through the neighborhood in a startling manner. They tend to drown out the cacophony of daily life: kids playing soccer in the streets; the occasional propane of fruit sellers slowly winding the dusty roads, advertising over their roof-mounted speakers (“se vende, se vende, saboya, tomate, chile…”); the low beats of a distant radio. The only noises that rise above it all are the sounds of the Skil and chop saws and the staccato banging of multiple hammers. We are here to build a house, after all. Not just any house, for any reason: We are building this house, in large part, in mem

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