This was a blessing to read on a night when I said, “I just think I’m worn out from caring. Thank God He doesn’t tire of His love for us and sorrow over our actions.” Thank you for your words, Mrs. Mayfield.
Another day, another dollar, another crisis I should be caring about.
Another day, another post, another thought on downward mobility–how the term doesn’t work, how it isn’t good enough, how if we don’t have love . . .
Another day, another question. Not the ones I used to ask (Lord, send me. Let my heart be broken by the things that break your heart.) but the ones I don’t care to admit to anyone (have I done enough yet? Can I relax now? When is enough enough?)
I started a new job this week, it’s perfect for me in every way, down to the level of chaotic ambiguity that surrounds the classroom. I teach literacy to adults who may never have held a pencil in their lives before. We meet in a computer lab, a battered fooseball table for my desk. I don’t know all of the…
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