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The Craziness of Faith

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 I realize people of Christian faith, people of other faith, and people of no particular faith, read this blog. And all are welcome here. Thing is, I sometimes ponder my own life of faith through an external-journalistic eye, and pronounce my own opinions of myself: Sarah, your faith is just crazy. Even in my prayers, I express this directly to the God I believe is there: "Lord, is this just a fanatical, pie-in-the-sky sentimental thing that I do - praying to You? I sometimes feel crazy trusting You this much ." Here I am, in those moments, asking God if He thinks I'm as crazy as I seem to think myself. Sometimes I trust God so wildly, so boldly, so almost-stupidly, that I think I'm more than a few cards short of a full-deck. And then I tell God what I think of my trusting Him so much - I analyze it and say, "There's a word for this in psychological terms: Magical thinking."  Lately I've been trying to wrap my head around this concept: magical thinki
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23 years and half my life

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 23 years ago today I woke up and felt miserable - I think I had vomitted in the night and I phoned Sam first thing in the morning. "I don't think I can get married today," I said. This was, of course, disheartening to him. But I gingerly drank some weak tea, handed my Dad a folded up plastic bag to keep in his pocket while he walked me down the aisle, and proceeded to prepare for our wedding later that day. It was Easter Sunday - a day full of hope, joy, and resurrection celebration. Maybe I was hoping that Easter would represent our marriage - the resurrection power of Christ infused into our union. Easter is a day of hope fulfilled, faith becoming sight, the unbelievable becoming real. That's essentially what I felt marriage was going to be.  And I don't intend to dampen the romantic notions I had but I must say, these were indeed, romantic sentiments. Marriage has turned out to be gritty, challenging, (rewarding, yes!), hard work, stretching, painful, on the n
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Radical Hospitality

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 I was about 15 when I first read the small tract-pamphlet, "My Heart, Christ's Home" and I'm not quite sure how I felt about the message it brought. I think I cringed a little. It felt like I was tempted to hide parts of myself from God, for fear or shame of what He must think of me. It evoked something contrary in me...something...amiss? I can't quite place words to describe my misgivings. Even so, it left a seed - a thought-seed - in me, to germinate, ponder, and dialogue in prayer, asking, "Lord, are You welcome in every crevice of my heart?" And I lay that before God and we explore together, even the darkest corners of my soul. I believe in the exploring there is grace. And discovery - not so much for God - surely, He knows what's there before I do.  Many years later, I discovered Theresa of Avila's Interior Castle. It harkened back to that germinating seed - is my heart Christ's home? Her writing drew me in differently somehow. I suppos
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