In naming that which is right before me, that which I'd otherwise miss, the invisible becomes visible.

Because nothing is greater and we have no greater need, God gives God.

If trust must be earned, hasn't God unequivocally earned our trust with the bark on the raw wounds, the thorns pressed into the brow, your name on the cracked lips.

Being in a hurry. Getting to the next thing without fully entering the thing in front of me. I cannot think of a single advantage I've ever gained from being in a hurry. But a thousand broken and missed things, tens of thousands, lie in the wake of all the rushing.... Through all that haste I thought I was making up time. It turns out I was throwing it away.

But, someone, please give me—who is born again but still so much in need of being born anew—give me the details of how to live in the waiting cocoon before the forever begins?

Every time I surrender to stress, aren’t I advertising the unreliability of God?

No one told me that it would all happen at the same hallowed time: Mothering is at once the hardest and the holiest and the happiest.