If I could bottle up a morning and carry it around with me, this might be the one I'd choose. It's staying darker, longer. We're on that slow lean toward winter, where the nights nearly swallow us up. But Silas climbed all sleepy-eyed into bed with me between snooze alarms. He held Charles and I held him and it wasn't a bad start, not at all.
Up at the bus stop, I stood with ten middle-school boys and noticed the pink streaks in the sky. I'm heading over to their school later today to talk about being an author. Suddenly, I'm kind of famous to them and they're intrigued, but they don't like me any more than they already did two weeks ago, when I was just the mom who shows up most days in her trucker hat and yoga pants. I've come to enjoy those ten morning minutes, and today was no different. And though I've been on airplanes and TV sets and on the other end of podcasts in recent weeks, I already know being in a middle school will be my favorite authorly activity. It won't move a single book off the shelves, but it'll move me.
It's Wednesday, despite the fact that I launched one of my neighbors into a massive state of confusion yesterday afternoon.
Me: What's today?
Her: I think it's Tuesday? (scrambles for her phone)
Me: (speaking with newfound authority) No, it's Wednesday.
Her: I don't think so...
Me: Yes, it's definitely Tuesday. But I had you doubting for a minute there! haha
Me: I can't believe I didn't know it was Wednesday! I'm losing my mind!
(Remember that line about how even a fool looks wise if she keeps her mouth shut? I do.)
We laughed about it. And I attempted to repay part of my general, pervasive debt to the neighborhood by startling two different neighbors when I delivered warm coffee cake to their doors...at 9:30 pm...in bare feet.
Happy Wednesday. (I'm saying it twice so it sticks.)
Hope the breeze is talking sweet to you.
I'm sharing an excerpt of Falling Free over at (in)courage today. You can click through at the end of the post to keep reading and order a copy for even more. ;) (Less than $10 today!)
I’ve always found it endearing that God, in His infinite wisdom, used a guy with a stutter to help deliver the Israelites and made an adulterer with a felony record into a king. At some of my lowest points, theirs were the stories I clung to, the idea that God could use weakness to redeem failure.
What I didn’t realize was that these aren’t the exceptions. They’re simply a couple of the most popular examples of His standard operating procedure. Moses and David weren’t meant to soothe us on our worst days but to be a mirror for us. Every single day.
The Bible is a collection of unlikely people used to magnify God’s goodness and power.
Stories of smallness aren’t simply in the Bible; they arethe Bible. It’s stacked with imagery about children and mustard seeds, remnants and narrow gates, sparrows and lambs, a boy who defeated a giant, and a tiny infant redeemer.
In this manual for living, humility is the favored tool. To touch the expansiveness of God, we’ve got to befriend the ways we come up short. Our communion and the health of our community depend on our ability to see ourselves in condemned Rahab, abandoned Joseph, and worn-out, wary Sarah.
Growing up, I was always the runty, sickly kid. I kind of remember it, in that hazy way childhood appears to a middle-ager — ghostlike, gauzy.
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