I’m pumping gas on my way home. Black night, 25 degrees, a mean wind that licks you cold on the cheeks. No gloves. At six months pregnant, I can button but the top two buttons of my puffer coat.
I aim for $15 in the tank.
I’ve just left church, the warmth of my Mom-group Bible study, where we’ve nibbled banana crumble muffins and sipped decaf and talked about Psalms. The psalms, the same songbook Jesus sang from; but mostly, we’ve talked about those wet spaghetti things we call feelings. About how we are rational creatures, but also relational creatures, and God itches for us to climb up into His lap, for us to be candid about every heart twinge, cloudy doubt, and sea squall of the soul.
Every note, we agree, is a precious key on the piano. Yes. God can handle any song we pound out.Continue Reading