... because sometimes we ~ I ~ need reminding ...
by Hillary McFarland
he Word speaks: Let there be light.The earth crowns, the will of God who says let there be life, and we crown into light.
Fresh and new and shy, our baby hands clutch mama-skirts to hide when others look at us. But soon we run, we run around like wild things who worry not what others think; we climb trees while hair frizzes a golden halo and our cheeks blush like apples and our toes peek through sneakers. But we don't mind because we are six or nine and we sing at the top of our lungs that the hills are alive with the sound of music, and they are ...
Years collect like memories, like photographs; we grow fifteen and shy while hills grow quiet. Hearts blush like maples in fall, but every hair is in place and hands smooth our own skirts and we hide behind trees instead of perching in them.
We grow old in soul. Melody is memory as feet shuffle dust and we strain to hear and see the One who spoke the dark :: light, who breathed into lungs the light of life. We are tired and hungry; we ache, and our face is etched with the fine tip of years. Our heart is carved up and arms are weary and why do we even try?
We grow old in soul. Melody is memory as feet shuffle dust and we strain to hear and see the One who spoke the dark :: light, who breathed into lungs the light of life. We are tired and hungry; we ache, and our face is etched with the fine tip of years. Our heart is carved up and arms are weary and why do we even try?
or many daughters of patriarchy, God is an imposing figure. Why wouldn't He be? His name is the one attached to doctrines of men. He is the why behind many destructive religious lifestyle choices. From the earliest crusades unto today's authoritarian Christian family, some form of God's name, character, or command is mis-used and misapplied with devastating results.
don't sew much anymore, but when I was six years old, a thoughtful gift from my mom ~ a cookie tin stuffed with my very own red pincushion, thread, buttons, and delightful squares of fabric ~ launched several years of me curling up on my bed, trailing awkward stitches in whatever scraps of calico I could find. I spent hours at Wal-mart looking at rows of colorful cotton, imagining everything I could make with the materials. I loved to create things, to bring beauty and joy using ribbon and satin, rosettes and yarn, muslin and batiste. 
haven't been writing as prolifically here at Quivering Daughters the past few months. Sometimes I click on my link and just stare, asking in silence,"Do You have anything for me, Lord?" And with my main topics, at least, there hasn't been much in the way of newness or inspiration. I remember when it wouldn't stop coming, flowing out, and I had dozens of sticky notes scattered across my desk with hasty phrases and references scrawled across so I wouldn't forget an idea or a point or something I believed God wanted me to share. 
ave you ever had this Scripture quoted at you? With ominous emphasis on last days and disobedience to parents? I have.
So it’s strange that some well-meaning devotional writers tell us that spiritual brokenness is something we should aspire to, an attitude that we should constantly maintain. The doctrine has it that God uses suffering to break us spiritually, forcing us to depend on Him and making us willing to serve Him.
e sat in prison. Tomorrow, or perhaps a few days from now, he'd be headless. Some called him a wild man and others a prophet, but now he was only condemned. His life had always been a strange one...strange, like his stories. Not the least of which his mother liked to tell, the one about how he danced in her womb when God drew near. When he was young he'd shrug and duck a little when she repeated it again and again. “Come on, mom,” he'd say, and she'd light up and rough his hair and then gaze deep in his eyes, hands locked on his shoulders. “But it's the truth,” she insisted, fervent and strong. “Truth, John.” Timeless and full of fire, her eyes never seemed to age even as raven locks faded and her grip loosened over the years.