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I’m Standing With the Ones Who Wait

by Sallie Burroughs | Instagram: @salliekae Babies, it seems, are everywhere. I wish I could tell you that I am 100% happy and content in this current season with both of our careers, surrounded by family, and enjoying our freedom and independence. I wish I could tell you I didn't want kids just yet. But I can't. When my husband and I first moved back to the States after … [Read More]

Posts

Spreading Out Safety Nets

A friend of mine, we’ll call her Candice, has a 14-year-old daughter. Candice’s daughter has a friend we’ll call Susan. Susan lost her mother to cancer a couple of … [Read More]

Out Of the Garden

What they don’t tell you about faith is how often you will find yourself standing in your kitchen doing something supremely ordinary, while asking the most … [Read More]

Posts

In My Privilege, I Must Practice Listening

When I first began attending my church, over three years ago, I met a woman I instantly connected with. Our conversations rolled, one into the other. We both went to … [Read More]

The Red Couch: Welcoming the Stranger Discussion

It was a small bolt of red cloth that captured the world's attention. A tiny fragile body. Someone else's child. In that moment of seeing, the stranger on the … [Read More]

Featured Stories

RED COUCH: Welcoming the Stranger Introduction

My family history is one of skirting modern-day immigration regulations. On one branch, my ancestors arrived soon after the passengers on the Mayflower, helping to build the new Massachusetts Bay Colony. Others arrived pre-World War 1 and worked their way to … [Read More]

Learning to Hug My Inner Child

I was standing at the threshold of my home. My broken family had gathered. I hurt. I hurt with the pain that made me want to run from my body. The ache was so painful, I feared I would shatter into a million pieces. That was the first time in my life I knew I … [Read More]

Everyone’s a Heretic Sometimes

I was introduced to the word heretic on the Christian blogosphere. Much like a child learning a curse word on the school bus, I knew it was bad, but I didn’t know exactly what it meant. I knew it was a thing Christians called other Christians: heretic. I knew … [Read More]

The Importance of Uncomfortable Stories

by Rebecca D. Martin I was attending the first meeting of a multi-ethnic group that meets in my city. The facilitator asked, “What is something you appreciate about your culture?” That’s a difficult question for most white Americans to answer. I have … [Read More]

Finding Woman

Dress Up When I was young, I used to slip into my mom's high heels, clumsily put on her lipstick and wrap a towel around my head to pretend I had long hair. I’d stand on top of the treadmill and pretend to teach a classroom full of invisible … [Read More]

Showing Up When It Hurts

By Sarah Quezada | Twitter: @SarahQuezada When you're three years old and King of the Tree House, there's nothing better than slamming the trap door shut to keep out your big sister. I'm pretty sure that's what my son Isaac was doing when his finger got in … [Read More]

The Uncomfortable, But Necessary Cost of Solidarity

I was 22 when I read Sandra Cisneros’ The House on Mango Street. The book, told from the perspective of a young Latina girl, chronicles the hardships of growing up in a marginalized, impoverished family. The book was simple like a Zen garden is simple: … [Read More]

Until We Are All Free

There’s been this growing sentiment in the world of social media and online writing over the past couple years. There is a feeling that we lose whether we speak up or remain silent. If we are vocal about an issue outside of our social context we risk being … [Read More]

The Solidarity of Storytelling

We sat around a rectangular table. There were 12 of us, maybe 15. Our professor was the last one to join us at the start of each class and always came in with a tan file folder in one hand and an army green thermos in the other. Without fail, he greeted us … [Read More]

The Slant of Motherhood

As I loosely stare out the window water begins to bead up, heavy and ripe, upon the glass One droplet slides down the pane then another My eyes trace their path each sphere of water now forming a queue on the window sill below Collecting, dispersing, … [Read More]

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