Celebrating all my Savior did, despite all I so do not deserve. 

Blessed Easter, dear friends!   

Ere I knew Easter

Bunnies, eggs, chocolate.

Wooden crosses, nails, blood.

The dichotomy between the events of the first Easter and what society has made it today couldn’t be wider.

But our Lord is bigger than commercialism. 

He’s bigger than bombs and terrorists and politicians and governments.

Now more than ever the world needs to know THIS:

If He could break through death, He can certainly break through to our hearts.

And so this Easter, if you’re struggling with current events, loss of a loved one, discouragement, or pain, know that Easter is much more than a jelly beans and plastic grass. It’s much more than a fancy new dress and patent leather shoes.

The rush of blood from His pierced side covers you.

The thrusts of thorns upon His head paid for your pain.

The stripes on His back mark your salvation.

And the best part? 

His Kingdom has no end, 

knows no bounds, 

dries all tears, 

rights all wrongs, 

pays every debt, 

silences every lie, 

stands for every truth, 

hears every cry, 

eliminates all pain, 

cures all disease, 

embraces every vagabond, 

magnifies every overlooked, 

calms every fear, 

takes every burden,

and makes everything new.

Easter for you, and for me, is freedom.



Praise the Lord, He is risen, indeed!

Have a blessed, victorious Easter, dear friends!


On home and the holidays.

I have a special little tree of my own in my home, and it’s full of gingerbread men.

The collection started the first Christmas after my first son arrived 18 years ago, and continued as my collection of “little men” grew to three.

Three plump-cheeked, smiling, laughing boys.

Three now nearly grown, handsome sons.

It’s just a tree, to most folks.

But to me, it’s HOPE.

See, like many–too many–I struggle with the holidays. If you’ve followed my blog for any length of time, you know I have PTSD from childhood. And while I try–and often do–find much joy in the songs and the celebration of my Savior, a part of me remains skittish, fearful, and yes, even afraid. That’s the lifelong “gift” of being a survivor. The elusive feeling that “something bad is going to happen” lurks long and dark in candlelit corners.

So maybe you can see why this tree…one that celebrates the new home, the new family, the dedication to safely raising sons who won’t have to know the traumas we’ve been through…this tree brings me hope.

It brings me thanksgiving that while healing is hard it bears fruit.

That while the world intends to harm, the Lord can transform pain into good.

That while darkness threatens the innocence of too many children, light can and does prevail.

And so I pray this prayer today for those of you like me, for whom the holidays are a bit rough and crinkly, that you’ll find your own special way of celebrating the good and lovely, the beauty God traded for the ashes of your pain, the praise God exchanged for your mourning when He sent his Son for you.

Pray with me?

Dearest Lord and Savior, help us remember that while You are defined by overwhelming grandeur, You came to us in the simple.

That while choruses rock and praise, You are most often heard in the silence of those who tremble and fear like the shepherds.

That while we wrap up and cook up and tidy up, You’re more often found–and never leave us alone–in our messes.

That while we rush about and push through lines and traffic You wait to embrace us in the still, small hours.

That no matter how dressed up, lit up, choreographed, orchestrated, our attempts are to make Christmas about fortissimos and crèchendos, You are the only true light.

We fall on our knees, Lord.

Oh, how we fall.

Thank you, Lord Jesus, that through Your love and healing…

…You raise us up to dance again.

And that You bring us safely, wholly, home.