When we lay the soil of our hard lives open to the rain of grace and let joy penetrate our cracked and dry places, let joy soak into our broken skin and deep crevices, life grows. How can this not be the best thing for the world? For us?

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

Love doesn't necessarily mean bless or agree with, it means sacrifice for and suffer with.

Real joy is not found in having the best of everything but in trusting that God is making the best of everything.

If I had the perspective of the whole, perhaps I'd see it? That which seems evil, is it a cloud to bring rain, to bring a greater good to the whole of the world? Who would ever know the greater graces of comfort and perseverance, mercy and forgiveness, patience and courage, if no shadows fell over a life?

I only live the full life when I live fully in the moment.

The prayers we weave into the matching of socks, the stirring of oatmeal, the reading of stories, they survive fire.