If you ever thought women were powerless, you need to think again. The question is whether our power results in good or evil.
I woke up feeling worse than blah. Defeated, like a wannabe who’ll never make it.
Then I discovered my external hard drive, which had rescued my business when my computer started to crash, was in the death throes itself. Waves of discouragement rolled over me as it hit me that my book was on there…and my graphic design stuff…and all those pictures since the twins were born. All John’s baby pictures. So much work. Gone. Years of it.
I searched for the expected syrupy fluff you’d expect of story set in the age of hoop skirts and Queen Victoria.
Instead I got women shedding their hoops to sneak into a filthy factory. Or hiking their skirts up to [gasp] their ankles to climb aboard a camel and trek across the Sinai.
These are my kinda girls!
What am I holding onto for dear life, certain that this one thing is going to get me wherever it is I’m going? Is it my writing? My art? My marriage? My parenthood? My home? My friends? My dorky humor?
I have a feeling whatever it is has the potential to become the very thing I’m afraid of.
In the hand of a master storyteller like Dr. Bob Petterson, this heartbreaker’s heartbreaking story can teach us a lesson about how we need never die alone and unloved, thanks to the One who died alone in our stead two thousand years ago, was buried, and according to Scripture rose again three days later to give us life and love.
Just goes to show we all need grace. Even in old age. Even the leaders of the leaders. We’re all standing in the need of prayer. Especially the leaders.
“Quit crying about slavery! It’s been gone 150 years!”
The other side:
“Quit crying about the Confederacy! It’s been gone 150 years!”
Maybe as we look up as light and dark collide, we’ll also listen.
My breath came in gasps. “Lord, it’s okay if people don’t like me. You are the only thing good about me. Everything good about me is because of You. I accept that I’m weak and foolish and nothing.”
I first fell in love with the writing of Angela Hunt as a child when I read her classic, The Tale of the Three Trees. Recently when she shared her expertise as a guest on the Jerry Jenkins Writers Guild, I found I had more in common with her than I could’ve dreamed.