We owe it to our neighbors and our children's children to not make excuses or turn their narratives into partisan debates. We owe it to them to not just say that black lives matter, but to show it. Because we cannot love what we are unwilling to see.
Read MoreIt's okay to ask those questions. We don't have to run from them or pretend they don't exist. It's okay to give names to the strange and terrible things we sometimes feel and think. We can lay it all out on the table without shame and feel free to let the grief wash over us the way that only grief does.
Read MoreWhen I was growing up, I didn't know anything about the Liturgical Year. We attended a small Pentecostal church with rusty red carpet and green pews and a hefty pastor and my parents were not well versed in the church calendar. I knew about Daniel and the lion's den, Esther becoming queen, the prodigal son, and how one time Jesus made a cocktail of spit and dirt and rubbed it in the eyes of a blind man to give him back his sight.
Read MoreI didn't expect that the past year would be one of the loneliest uphill battles. I didn't know how many times I would raise my fists at heaven and tell him he got it wrong and that we didn't actually belong here. If we belonged here, it wouldn't be so hard. If this is where we were supposed to be, then I shouldn't feel so alone.
Read MoreNine months ago, I had just turned 25 and was desperately trying to navigate living in a new state with a new job in ministry with new people, and too much of my identity was wrapped up in trying to recreate myself into a person who was well liked -- a person who fit seamlessly into the role of just enough, whatever that looked like.
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