conversations about addiction, recovery, and faith
When a recovering addict tells you repeatedly that what you are offering is his poison, there has to be a way to make sure you don’t hand him a death sentence in a tiny paper cup.
I’m sure there are people who get through this part of life without a blip. But I’m not that kind of girl/woman/lady/whatever I am now. Oh no. In my life, there’s no such thing as a smooth transition.
Sometimes, you just need to see with your own eyes and feel the impossible win.
[Warning: quizzes referenced in this post may contain offensive questions, grammar, spelling and logic.]
the Grandma I wrote about in this post passed away today. she was an example to me of a love that endures at a time when I needed it most.
. . . as I speak aloud these inherited loves, I realize the most important things I’ve learned from my mom never came from an actual lesson at all but from a life . . . and that the learning is still going on today.
I wonder how long we will live along this dark highway. . . in the dailyness of nurturing, guiding, growing, of learning to be faithful in small things.
Because sometimes, I wrestle with the limits of my little light.
Sometimes, discouragement knocks hard on your door and it takes everything in you not to invite it in to share a giant piece of chocolate cake.