Lately, a troubling situation has been occurring with some regularity. Many of my friends, enduring trials and suffering of their own, explicitly downplay the seriousness of those situations in recounting them to me. They use phrases that are meant to acknowledge the profundity and difference of what we have endured this year; that acknowledgment, I…
Hours after my last post, which amounted to basically a temper tantrum about how hard and meaningless it is to pray for miracles, we were granted a miracle. Not THE miracle. But a miracle nonetheless.
“How’s your prayer life?” This question was posed to me four separate times within the space of three weeks. When something like that happens, I assume that God is trying to get my attention.
“How is Oscar doing?” is always such a complicated question to answer. “Compared to what?”
I have felt, rather helplessly, this inner desire to find God’s call for my life and do it. I devoured these books because I found it so fascinating to listen to other people’s stories on radically following God’s call.
Over the Christmas vacation, my dearest friends from college dropped in for a visit with their family. Most of the conversation revolved around faith — what weightier questions are there? At some lull in the conversation, my friend asked why Todd had grown a beard…
“Mama, is Oscar still sick?” my five year old casually asks one day.
We are in the middle of a rousing game of Zingo, and I have just successfully defused a tense argument about who gets the “star” chip…
I am not sure what the heck this is supposed to be. The tagline I chose was “a spiritual memoir of special needs parenting.” But “memoir” implies memories implies the past, finished and done.
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