So blinded for so long, I choose light
Even when people I love fight against it, I choose light. As I dare to go with God where fear, obligation and guilt forbid, I find hope and joy. I choose life.
Even when people I love fight against it, I choose light. As I dare to go with God where fear, obligation and guilt forbid, I find hope and joy. I choose life.
Today, I need to stand in the shadow of something taller than me - something sturdy and living, deep-rooted and lasting, that whispers timeless secrets as the wind passes through.
In the very act of seeing what is brown, murky and decidedly unsafe, there’s movement. There’s life. And the light is breaking through.
How could I write about rest, in a season where rest seemed to have permanently fled?
"White men are not the secret weapon (to dismantling injustice in the church and beyond) ... but Jesus is."
Bringing forth a viable book - or any other work that is living, breathing and life-giving - requires waiting and cooperating with God through the whole gestation period, however long he designates it to be.
In a very real way, I was there when my great-great-grandfather Lorenzo Whitaker survived the Civil War, and more specifically, the Battle of Gettysburg.
The day I finished a book about the life of Esther, that was 20 years in the making.
One weekend in March 2012, I met with a small group eager to seek what God wanted to show us through Elijah’s life and times. None of us has been…
God gave me an impossible task, a delightful task, and he went before me to make the way.