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Having my fears running continuously in the background (subconscious) is like having an open umbrella over my head whether or not it's raining.
Just because it rained once and the umbrella kept me dry, the umbrella is superfluous if it’s not raining.
If it's not raining, it’s not the umbrella that’s keeping me dry.
Just because it rained once and the umbrella kept me dry, the umbrella is superfluous if it’s not raining.
If it's not raining, it’s not the umbrella that’s keeping me dry.
Are umbrellas unnecessary altogether?
No. There are times when it’s use is helpful.
Is an umbrella the only way to stay dry?
Also, no. There are hats, raincoats, newspapers, bags …
And sometimes you just get wet. It’s really not the end of the world. I mean, you get wet every time you bathe or swim.
And then you dry off.
An umbrella is not the be-all end-all when it comes to staying dry.
No. There are times when it’s use is helpful.
Is an umbrella the only way to stay dry?
Also, no. There are hats, raincoats, newspapers, bags …
And sometimes you just get wet. It’s really not the end of the world. I mean, you get wet every time you bathe or swim.
And then you dry off.
An umbrella is not the be-all end-all when it comes to staying dry.
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In a crossword puzzle I was doing today, there was a clue: single. The word was 5 letters; I had two filled in, and knew the answer.
I just knew it because the narrative that has been running in my subconscious my whole life says that marriage is the standard by which all other relationships are measured. Ergo, to be single is to be unwed.
I just knew it because the narrative that has been running in my subconscious my whole life says that marriage is the standard by which all other relationships are measured. Ergo, to be single is to be unwed.
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In this post, I talked about the saying, "Death is a part of life." I shared how Rod's death became part of my life, and I pondered the cyclical nature of life and death.
I've recently come across another perspective of Death that is shifting how I think about Death's role, once again, in what remains of my life.
I've recently come across another perspective of Death that is shifting how I think about Death's role, once again, in what remains of my life.
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I’ve had an awareness of the Winter Solstice for as long as I can remember. I always thought of it as the shortest day of the year. And then it was December 22. Life moves on.
This week, I’ve heard it referenced in two other ways.
This week, I’ve heard it referenced in two other ways.
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I always assumed that being blind would be like if I closed my eyes or put something over them.
I thought blindness would be nothing but darkness. Like having the lights out.
At night.
All the time.
I thought blindness would be nothing but darkness. Like having the lights out.
At night.
All the time.
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I've been playing a puzzle game on my phone lately, one where you have to slide pieces around each other in an effort to maneuver each piece to its color-coded exit spot. The more pieces you remove from the board, the easier it gets to clear the board.
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In an effort to be more ecologically responsible, I have been looking for ways to reduce the amount of plastic I purchase and then consequently discard. One discovery I made was a powdered dishsoap.
The website shows videos of happy people using their product, creating a lovely foamy lather by sprinkling this powder onto a wet sponge, and washing their dishes. Cool.
I considered this for a minute before I was hit with a memory from my childhood.
The website shows videos of happy people using their product, creating a lovely foamy lather by sprinkling this powder onto a wet sponge, and washing their dishes. Cool.
I considered this for a minute before I was hit with a memory from my childhood.
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Psalm 139 tells me I was knit together in my mother’s womb. I always envisioned this to be the weaving of my DNA strands together to create my physical being, like braiding hair. God would weave them in and out of one another to create something that He would then fasten off when I was complete.
But what if God 'knitting me together' was less like putting together a piece of IKEA furniture and more like interweaving my soul with His?
But what if God 'knitting me together' was less like putting together a piece of IKEA furniture and more like interweaving my soul with His?
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I used to think of loving my body in the context of loving how I looked on the outside - to love the parts of me I can see. But what if loving my body can mean something different?
As I looked in the mirror one morning, I noticed how my eyes looked, and then I noticed how they were able to see whatever I looking at.
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Be like Jesus.
Cool. I can raise the dead?
Don’t be silly. But you can be like Jesus.
Ok, so I can lay hands on people and heal them.
No. Just be like Jesus.
What about walking on water, or calming the storm?
No. And you can't feed thousands of people with five loaves and two fish, either. You just need to be like Jesus.
Cool. I can raise the dead?
Don’t be silly. But you can be like Jesus.
Ok, so I can lay hands on people and heal them.
No. Just be like Jesus.
What about walking on water, or calming the storm?
No. And you can't feed thousands of people with five loaves and two fish, either. You just need to be like Jesus.
