• Article

    My Quarter-Life Crisis

    I think I’m having a Quarter-life Crisis. I didn’t mean to have a Quarter-life Crisis. It was not on the Michelle’s Life Plan plot graph. In fact, in my defense I feel like it was almost an afterthought – like hey, I should probably quit my job because of these very legitimate circumstances, but wait – I’m 25. Oh crap. Why am I doing this? Who am I? What do I do with my life? How do I get another job? What kind of job do I want? And so began my Quarter-life Crisis. Ok, so it hasn’t been quite like that, but laugh as you may, at times I…

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    Gloves Off: Forgiveness

    My church is doing a ‘Read the Bible in a Year’ Plan, which is awesome, but I was already doing ‘Michelle’s Reading the Bible in Hopefully a Year but Will Definitely Take Three Years at the Rate I’m Going’ Plan. And so here we are, 21 months and 15 days later and I am finally in the Psalms. So…yeah, that’s going well.  But as a God who orchestrates everything from the burning of my eggs this morning to the popping of not one but two of my tires this week, I feel as if He has specifically ordained this to be the season in which I read the Psalms. It seems the…

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    He Loves Me. He Loves Me Not.

    No matter who you are or where you are from, you would recognize it’s silly chant anywhere. A little girl’s delicate fingers pluck at a wildflower, or one stolen from her mother’s vase, and one by one the petals fall as she whispers ‘He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me…’ The final fallen petal is a powerful omen of some boy’s affections towards her. As sagely mature adults, we all know that a flower has no power over a human being’s affections towards another; it has no mystical force to alter any love story. It’s lunacy. But the truth is…these past few months I feel as if…

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    Samwise Gamgee – Adventure’s Companion

    I normally have a hard and fast ‘house-blogging’ rule that I don’t publicly post when I am in bad perspective, or in the middle of something exceptionally frustrating. I know this sounds hypocritical, but it’s not for show – we oftentimes need to wrestle in silence before we soliloquy in the public square. It’s not that I won’t sing of heartache, but I want lament and sorrow to sing fully to me before I convey their stories aloud. No one likes being unheard or misrepresented; I think this applies to grief and frustration as well. So, I wasn’t going to post this month, because that’s where I sit – in…

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    A Letter for Joy

    Father, We long for Joy. We know she is promised, but Joy, no matter how you define her, is a fickle friend in this world. They say she endures where happiness fails, but at times she seems more fleeting than her lesser cousin as we wrestle through this life. Though You needed only and truly to come save us once, I find myself in need of being saved every day. I am far too sinful, even covered in Your robes, to remember for more than a moment what a precious paradox I am – a wretch yet a beloved child. Your joy, constant yet rhythmic, recites it’s chorus of truth…

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    My Anthem Is Not English

    ‘I just want to hear my own language,’ she said in nearly perfect English. I looked up from my book at my friend. ‘What?’ ‘My language. My home language. I miss speaking my first language.’ I was startled. I think I just stared at her for nearly a minute, not really sure what to say. Her English was so close to perfect, that it hardly ever crossed my mind that English was not her first language; I’m actually not even sure if it is her second. The conversation didn’t last much longer, but her words never left my mind. There wasn’t much at all she didn’t know how to say…

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