Identity Theft

Life after a suicide is confusing. The truth gets distorted, partly by the imprecise power of our memories. It can also be twisted by people looking to make themselves feel better. Suicide is a big, messy subject. It doesn’t fit well into our comfortably westernized lives. We

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Faith Over Fear

On Sept. 11, 2001 I lived in Arlington, Va., a few miles from the Pentagon. When terrorists slammed a jetliner into the famed fortress, I was riding the subway to work, temporarily unaware that my city and my country were under attack. At work I huddled with

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When a Mom Dies Young

Amanda* is dying from breast cancer. In her early 40s with several young children, she recently told her husband that after she’s gone, she’d like him to remarry. Cancer drugs have sustained her life but stolen her hair. She takes them now to prevent her softening bones

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Unqualified

When my first child was born, I was unqualified for the job. If there were a test, I would’ve failed. Knowing my ineptitude, doctors and nurses would’ve snatched Noah and shooed me out of the hospital. A hormonal haze clouded me into thinking I did fail. What

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Turning 4

My son turns 4 years old today. So do I. Noah’s birth was my rebirth. I awakened to the glorious, to the awful. To the sweeping power of a God who saves, redeems, loves. For awhile I mourned the death of my old self. Had life gone

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An Icon of the True

Last week I attended the Writing for the Soul (WftS) conference in Colorado Springs, Colo. Every year Jerry B. Jenkins and his Christian Writers Guild convene a group of writers, from the very accomplished to beginners. The point is to educate, encourage and empower writers who are

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‘A Broken Leading Edge’

Generation X is sometimes dubbed ‘The Divorce Generation.’ We were children of an era plagued by divorce. A new report on divorce’s impact on faith says Gen X children of divorce “form a kind of broken leading edge, with spiritual stories quite often characterized by loss or

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The Not-So-Great Divorce

My parents divorced when I was 9 years old. Most of my memories of them together involve quarreling. Pointless squabbles peppered with mean words and pulsing forehead veins. Their unnecessary war made me feel unsafe. I wasn’t sure where the enemy lines were drawn. Nor did I

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