My Father’s World

It’s called Five Minute Friday. Each week, we write freely on a one-word prompt. Then we link up at the amazing Kate Motaung’s site. It’s a flash mob of writers- having fun and sharing their take on one word. This week’s prompt is WORLD.

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A playground crawling with kids, blue swings, and the mommy bench.

A dark alley covered with garbage, homeless men, and the drug dealer.

This is my Father’s World.

Cowboy birthday parties with cupcakes, party favors, and innocence galore.

Teenage pool parties with suspicious minds, unjust rage, and ten steps back.

This is my Father’s World. Continue reading

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When Jesus Meets the Addict

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We whisper about it in church hallways. We turn our head away from it at the parks and we hide it in our homes. We warn our kids about it and hate it in ourselves.

Addiction.

It’s nothing new. From tobacco to technology. From crack to caffeine. From over-working to binge-watching. From generation to generation, we’ve traded one addiction for another.

It’s an effect of the fall, we say. We shake our fists at the devil and hang our heads. Come, Lord Jesus, we say, and dream of the day when we can be free. Continue reading

The Rock of Ages

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The Law was etched into it, carving God’s people out of the world and into holiness. It was held high then smashed to the ground in a frustrated rage – because all fall short. A stone mirror reflecting a broken people.

They placed their offerings upon it. An altar without rest, and messy from endless efforts to cover their own sin. Spilling gallon upon gallon of the wrong kind of blood. A stone table for doing work their hands could never finish.  Continue reading

Heaven Off Highway E

Recently, my sister sent me a link to a real-estate listing. Because neither one of us is house hunting, I was curious. I clicked on it and saw a picture of a small white house with black shutters sitting between a field and a pond. Immediately, I recognized it as the ranch that my paternal grandparents lived in when we were growing up.

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My grandparents have been gone for many years. I hadn’t seen it since I was a teenager and my Granny was in the kitchen and my Pa was sick in bed.

Each photo in the gallery brought with it memories I didn’t even know I still had: picking apart cattails by the pond, the smell of fish food in a container by the dock, the sound of our station-wagon tires turning onto the gravel driveway from Highway E…

By the time I clicked to the last photo, tears were rolling down my cheeks and I couldn’t speak. I wasn’t exactly sad, but I wasn’t happy either … sometimes tears are mysterious.  Continue reading