“Why do you cry every single Sunday, Mom?” I was rooting around under my seat for the wad of tissues I’d stuffed in my purse before heading to church that morning. I laughed at my young son’s whispered question because it’s true. I do cry every Sunday. My pastor-husband had just finished his sermon on…
church hurt
Sorrow, Joy, and Forty Years
A warm June rain soaks the world outside my window. We’ve had a few of those wild, humid summer storms that send us to the basement listening for the tornado sirens. But not today. Today, it’s just a good, gentle soaking. While I sit at my dining room table tapping away on my laptop, everything…