A Dream of Her Own

Dear friends, May you have a blessed celebration as one year ends and another begins. Today, I’m sharing a painting and two poems with you. This painting began almost two years ago when I made the decision to move to the outer rim of the church after spending many years in leadership roles. This transition has been very difficult for me over the last two years and intentional painting has been a huge medicine that has helped me with my grief. Naturally, as the painting (and I) evolved, several poems were written as the painting shifted form. Recently, I realized…

Can Arts Illuminate Theology?

Can arts illuminate theology? Is this allowed? Permissible? Five-hundred years ago, Reformation birthed, the visual became idolatry. Churches newly formed, saying, “No,” to statues, “No,” to imagery, “No,” to the senses, Only the Word. The Word. Word. How I grieve for the turned backs, the opportunity for enrichment, the opening for all arts to be a window to God. How I grieve for the lost chance to welcome gifts of creativity into church spaces to splash God-given talent beyond its’ borders. How I grieve an auditory holy story told in community for fifteen hundred years flattening the Alpha and Omega…

Mistakes Make the Best Memories

Merrily we drove, six of us piled into our MV (ultra-cool term for minivan), ready to see The Best Christmas Pageant Ever at a theater located about an hour from our home. Our family of four plus my in-laws were high with anticipation to get to the theater for the 3pm show. Our third year in a row attending this one-hour play, this has become a favorite family tradition of ours. Our plan was to arrive thirty minutes early and we were on pace to get there by 2:15, forty-five minutes prior to the start of the show. This was…

Rising (from the Ashes)

Rising (from the Ashes) Yesterday, I awoke and stumbled from bed. Ashen footsteps followed my form, fingerprints smudged gray filth, death flowed free from my mouth. Ash kept hanging onto me, harassing me about my grime and grit, my mistakes and doubt, my own mortal being. I yelled about everything that had everything to do with ash. And, then, I cried. I cried for the way ash infiltrates the very core of my being. For the pain it prompts, the division it drives, the wounds it wreaks. I cried how life, at times, feels consumed by ash. For broken connection,…