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With all the goodness last week, I neglected to mention I was over at SheLoves Magazine last Thursday sharing about good apologies. I believe we need to be practice good apologies, so we are intentional in our home about what constitutes an apology. If you're interested, read more over at SheLoves Magazine!

What a privilege it's been to host this week, this time of reflecting on The Prophetic Imagination, on the words of Walter Brueggemann and on deeper things that trouble us and give us hope. Here are some highlights... Single Sentences: Do our poets speak in 140 character tweets? -- Russ Graeff I had to make a conscious decision to surround myself with the very pathos our empire pretends isn't a reality. -- D.L. Mayfield We are at the same time both…

There's just something about Emily. We met through a mutual friend on Twitter - really. But the first time I read her words I recognized the shine - she's a gem. Emily braids together intelligent commentary, unvarnished candor and a huge hunk of humor into her reflections. She feels like your best friend after one read, drawing you close as she tells her secrets out loud, making you feel less alone. Even talking about Walter Brueggemann - she got me…

Jenny and I met in London. She hosted conversations with TearFund, an NGO based in the UK, and we were invited as the leaders of Amahoro Africa. Only weeks later we'd meet up in Mombasa, Kenya for our annual Amahoro Gathering. In our times together I learned Jenny not only served TearFund, but was also a talented singer, actress and writer. She's passionate about her neighborhood, practicing radical and gracious hospitality. We share a penchant for incarnation, as evidenced in…

Luke is one of my Deeper Story friends. His story intrigued me, as a vet turned peacemaker. His candor and thoughtfulness always kept me reading. So through storytelling, theological reflection and twitter exchanges with our tribe, I came to appreciate how Luke dares to wrestle with the hard things. And what better friend to invite to respond to The Prophetic Imagination?   I’m telling this story in two parts. The first I’ll be sharing here today with Kelley, and the…

Ah, D.L. Mayfield. I read her words and ache at the goodness. She moves me with honest descriptions of life as we live it and the life underneath that often goes undetected, unarticulated. But when she writes what she sees my eyes open – often with tears. She reports from the edges of marginal communities with eloquence, empathy and personal vulnerability. In my dreams – I write like her. Totally true. Finding her this year ranks as a top blessing.…

Russ and I met in college - in Freshmen Composition, to be exact. Smart, witty, kind - he stood out in a quiet way that I admired. I remember him always thinking, often writing.    20+ years later, at The Justice Conference, we reconnected. We met up over cups of hot coffee sharing how we each forged connections with East Africa, ended up in ministry work and winded our way to a conference listening to Walter Brueggemann all these years…

We’ve arrived at the end of April. The final pages of The Prophetic Imagination taken in, maybe still sinking into deep pockets in our quenched spirits and pondering souls. Finishing a Brueggemann books always leaves me a bit breathless – equipped with a stronger vocabulary, culled out by the scalpel of Scripture in undeniably tender ways, exhilarated with possibilities and chock full of hope. The Prophetic Imagination remains Walter Brueggemann’s magnum opus – words leaping off the page like a…

[caption id="attachment_927" align="aligncenter" width="500"] [Photo Credit: Ellen Olive Photography][/caption]While I haven’t birthed my children, I’ve birthed their stories. In the early days our adoption tale felt legendary, laced with Spirit-whispered promises and just in a nick of time departures and a medical miracle for good measure. To tell these stories was to tell my story of deep formation during the adoptive arc, revealing my eventual status as an accidental mother of two Burundian babies only possible in the imagination of…

I hated tattoos. Then I turned 40. And a friend got his first tattoo, one he designed. It was like looking at truth burnished into his skin, an embodied story he wore regardless of the day’s weather or wardrobe. Four years later I sat in the black leather chair surrounded by crimson walls. I heard the snap of the latex gloves, the click of the machine and then, “You ready to join the f---in’ club?” Holy crap! As Carl started…