In Gennesaret

If only I may touch his clothes, I shall be made well . (Mark 5:28) Remember this woman? With the “issue of blood”? (Side note: Ew . Bless her poor, little heart.) Interesting story, this one. There’s a lot that could be said against this poor lady. For one thing, she really shouldn’t have been in the crowd at all that day; this sickness of hers made her ceremonially unclean. If she was a good law-abiding Jew, she would have been quarantining at home. Shame on her. Also, the idea that touching Jesus’ robe would do anything for her smacks of superstition . . . like trying to get healed by touching the severed forearm of St. Jude (which you can apparently visit in Illinois – there’s another “ew” . . .). How ridiculous. Even SHE thought she’d done something wrong. When Jesus stops and asked who touched him, she confesses with “fear and trembling”. If you’re looking to knock the woman, there’s plenty to knock – and there are plenty who spend their time looking to knock people who do...

Y'all, I had the most surreal experience several days ago. In a book I was reading, the author described a recurring dream he had had . . . a recurring dream he said a lot of people have had . . . a recurring dream that I myself have had. Eep . . . it freaked me out for a moment. This led to an interesting discussion with my guy about dreams and what they might mean. (But then, do dreams “mean”? I’m not sure that’s an accurate verb there. Maybe they reflect? They signify? No, that’s still kind of “meaning”. Sorry . . . I’m going all Vocabulary Teacher here. Let me get back on track.) So, here’s the recurring dream: There’s a door in my house that I haven’t noticed or paid attention to before. So, I open it and find a lovely room I didn’t know was there. And in that room, there’s a door or hallway that leads to another room. And there are more rooms . . . maybe stairs . . . maybe more hallways . . . but rooms and rooms and more beautiful rooms . . . some of them ballroom-si...

Seriously, if you haven’t heard of Nightbirde, you need to get your Google on right now and find her America’s Got Talent audition. It’s beautiful and inspiring. Her story is everywhere all of a sudden, and for good reason. I love her stage name; it came from a bird she heard singing in the dark outside her window, a bird that couldn’t see the sun yet but was singing anyway because it believed that the sun was coming. Lovely. Before I saw the audition, I had already shared on Facebook a post I saw about her, an excerpt from a blog she wrote that was (as Roberta Flack puts it) singing my life with its words. She was talking about the horrible trials she had been going through and the struggles of her relationship with God through it all. And her words articulated some deep places in my heart. My trials weren’t as great as hers, but my night of the soul was very similar. I am God’s downstairs neighbor, she wrote, banging on the ceiling with a broomstick . . . yes – yes, sister. So w...

 A paraphrase of an exchange I overheard recently: Two people accidentally happened upon a political topic during a casual conversation. The pair have similar political leanings and even had similar stances on this particular issue. Yet, one was troubled greatly by the rhetoric used by the other in the discussion. A: “I’m not arguing your point – I’m saying that the way you are saying it is rude . It’s insulting to the other side.” B: “But I’m not talking to the other side. I’m talking to you.” A: “That doesn’t matter! It’s still not okay!” B: “Why not?” And there’s where Person A was kind of stumped. She didn’t understand why that concept would even require explanation. I, too, was stymied for a moment; I wasn’t sure how to make the case for something that seemed so obvious to me. Folks, you shouldn’t make broad, insulting generalizations. “Republicans are racist.” “Democrats are socialists.” I mean, whether the people you are talking about are present to hear you or n...

 Last week, my girls and I traveled back to Kansas – the first time we’ve seen these loved ones since Christmas 2019, pre-pandemic. It was a good trip. An exhausting trip. But a meaningful trip. And it served to remind me of a few things: 1)       The importance of family . This should be one for the “duh” file, as Jay Leno says. But sometimes proximity breeds triviality – sometimes we have to experience a loss or gap to appreciate value. It’s not like I forgot that my family was important, but being separated for a while brought that more into focus. I gather that a lot of people can relate to that sentiment this year.   2)       The importance of story . Many of the stories shared last week were recent ones, catching up on life from the last year and a half. It’s been an eventful time in history, collective and personal.  But talking took a priority on this visit, so there were also tales that delved deeper . . . that connected ...