All of these works I find true and beautiful. Each inspire me in different ways. Some resonate with my deepest longings or sooth my deepest wounds. Others seem to pull me out of myself, while others warm my soul with memory.
This post was previously written for and published by Cornerstone Academy in the Fall of 2015.
Growing up in a Baptist church, I didn’t hear much about mystery. Sermons were deep, but also highly logical, focusing often on analyzing a short text, which was great, and I learned a lot, but each tradition in Christ’s Body has its own set of strengths and weaknesses, hence our need for each other. Some traditions probably focus too much on mystery or use it as an excuse to not think, while others, like the one in which I grew up, tend to be safely cerebral, to the unintentional exclusion of mystery.
Fruitless. Late at night, the word attacks my mind and heart. Worse than failure, this word pierces my feminine soul. Worse than the proverbial feeling of insignificance in relationships or at work, I’m approaching thirty with no children.
Often, those things we love most, have to be destroyed.