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SheLoves Magazine is a community of women committed to God’s imperatives of love and justice in the world led by Idelette McVicker. Back in the early days when the magazine had just made it’s on-line debut, Idelette invited me to write about spirituality. From there our friendship grew – and so did my role at SheLoves! Now we conspire together, and much of that can be seen on the pages and posts of SheLoves each month. What an amazing group of dangerous women!


{ Why Dangerous? }
Christendom often seemed like a safe camp. I, for one, grew up safe within its walls. Campfire songs, flannel graphs and water colored storybooks fanned my beginner’s belief with sweeping and salvific stories. As I matured into Study Bibles and adult services I found a sturdy faith anchored by creeds, sacraments and plenty of sermons–so many of them about how to be good, stay above the fray of sin and keep out of trouble. In retrospect, the catechism of the…
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{ On the Shore of the Great River }
Born into privilege, Pharaoh’s daughter was nursed on narratives of Egyptian greatness. She grew up among the elite, watching them parade through the palace with their curried favor and entourage of servants. She never lifted a finger and never knew any different. Life was good alongside the Great Nile River, which seemed to wind and bend to her father’s command. She’d often visit the various balconies of his household and observe the slow rise of the mighty pyramids. She marveled…
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{ Jerusalem, Jerusalem }
Each month SheLoves Magazine selects a theme for reflection. This month the word is GATHER. What stirred in my memory was Jesus saying he wanted to gather us like chicks under his mama-wings... Jesus wanted us huddled and pulled in close enough that we could be fed. But once I was in the thick of the text I noticed another gathering. Jesus alluded to The Great Gathering that all the prophets spoke of, that God dreamed of, people from every…
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{ This Advent, We Mourn }
Our streets tremble these days. They quake with so much wrong and woe. How can we think of green garlands and twinkle lights, or send carolers out on the streets still stained with the blood of our sons? Ashen mothers offer their call and response from one street corner to the next, a slow dirge then an anguished cry. They clutch graduation portraits to their chest. Stand in front of cameras testifying to the humanity of their children, the inhumane…
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{ I am the betrayer }
Often times personal lament and confession overlap. There are moments we see ourselves amid the ashes and we complain, confess, speak out our part in the wrongness of things. Reading the lament Diana offered, this one phrase haunted me relentlessly: “And sometimes, the betrayer is me.” I love my brown brothers and sisters. Yet as I scour my own upbringing, I see how my words and actions have betrayed otherwise. It is a systemic wrong, but also a personal one…
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{ ShePonders: Lost Things }
My sweet son is notorious for losing things – pens, socks, even his phone. Once something has gone missing, he moves right along without noticing most of the time. Losing and living skip along hand in hand for him. I’m the one reminding him to go to the lost and found at school to look for the left behind lunch box / water bottle / hoody. If it wasn’t for me hot on his little heels I doubt he’d go…
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{ ShePonders: Hear, O Israel }
I open my eyes. The morning light snuffs out the last embers of sleep. Hear, O Israel. I close my eyes. Lashes and lids become a wet blanket. Hear, O Israel. Each day bookended with these words, the final desire of the soul before death uttered in these words: “Hear, O Israel! The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your…
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{ShePonders: My Present Embarrassment}
I got heartbreaking news recently. I’d seen it coming for weeks, but the audible words still knocked the wind out of me. Disappointment came first, the sensation of stillbirth. My dream that I labored on for well over nine months was a casualty. I carried an almost immediate emptiness due to this incomplete creation, this conversation I’d not contribute to anytime soon. It’s sad to hold a dead dream in your hands. But I was unprepared for what came next…
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{ ShePonders: Women’s Work }
When I drop her off at school in the crisp morning, she turns to wave good-bye. She leaves me to my women’s work. I drive to the coffee shop. I pull out my journal and write, fountain pen on hyper-speed and still trailing my racing thoughts. I try to write my way to a better neighborhood, maybe an alley in the New City. I tell stories from Burundi where the Batwa move from cracked ground to fertile soil soaked with…
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{ ShePonders: Stations of the Cross }
We shuffled slowly into the sanctuary and between the pews. We, so young and squirrely, still uninitiated in hushed tones, moved in as much silence as we could muster from one station to the next. At each wood etching the somber procession would come to a stop. We’d look at the plaque, listen to the reflection given by the fresh-faced priest and then say a prayer more (but mostly less) together. We were learning to walk the Stations of the…
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