Maybe only after you feel yourself fully submerged in the flood of fear, can you understand what people will do, not to drown.
Fear is a really lousy religion.
You look scared, Donald. We are too.
To be a deeply feeling person in a time when empathy has become a middle-index, partisan slur doesn’t seem sustainable.
Maybe hope isn’t in the sky. Maybe it’s in the mirror.
Steady yourself, lift your head skyward—and save what you can.
The moral flexibility has been astounding.
They say the LORD works in mysterious ways, so why not a cotton/poly blend and some glitter paint?
I’d hate to see you procrastinate away living for another time—when this is the living time.
I believe that following Jesus should leave me more compassionate, not less. It’s really that simple.
The death of a person you shared your life with immediately places you in a very specific community: you become a survivor.
This is a pivot point for our shared story, the greatest national fracture of our lifetimes.
When you lose someone you love, you forever realize the singular, irreplaceable gift that time with them was.
This isn’t a new performance we’re witnessing, it’s a terrible rerun.
And the thing is, I even love them enough to see how terrified they are.
This has nothing to do with a political victory.