Holy

Holy By Elisa Morgan As I stand in church in December and sing "O Holy Night, " I am pulled into reflecting on the utter holiness of God. Then I connect this holy time to the other great hymn: "Holy, Holy, Holy." It's not a Christmas Carol, so to speak. But it tells the story of the season in traditional rhyme, beat and meaning. I love the harmony. Rich baritone. Brave soprano and tenor. Edgy alto. I love the words. Complicated, fancy God-words that beckon me up to a world that's better. But perhaps best of all, I love what happens in my heart when these words are sung repetitively. They take on a trinity of meanings that weave the Christmas story through my soul. First of course, is holy. H

Truly Seeing

Do you truly "see" others? Read on as Sarah Shin challenges our vision, as we view others around us. Elisa Truly Seeing By Sarah Shin "I've raised my children to be colorblind," said my friend's mother with pride as she looked at her son John across the dinner table. I had just met her that night, and at this moment I was in a bit of a conundrum. From my experience, John wasn't colorblind. He was one of the most intentionally welcoming white men I knew. He had purposefully built friendships with people of different ethnicities in the U.S. as well as abroad. He and his wife were aware of racial dynamics of injustices affecting this country and others; he knew our experiences differ based on o

Closed Fists ... Open Hands

All of us face some moments when we want what we want, more than what God wants. Friend Donna Fagerstrom shares an image that helped her move forward to embrace what God has ... even when she doesn't want to. Elisa Closed Fists ... Open Hands By Donna Fagerstrom Recently I was pondering how I approach God. Do I go to him with an open hand or a clenched fist? That word picture made me think of the sport of boxing. Before boxing gloves were invented, opponents would face each other with leather straps on tightfisted bare hands. I confess, at times, my opponent has been God. I have been guilty of lifting my fists as if I were boxing with God. And while my fist flayed in the air, it was really m

© Elisa Morgan 2019

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