Deeper Story

What it Means to Not Judge

by Amber on January 26, 2012

in Deeper Story

I put my four boys to bed alone while my husband is away, and out of bad habit, I turn on my phone. I lay in bed in the dark, exhausted and a little defeated, and I go to Facebook for somewhere to zone out.

There I see where very dear ones to me have posted an illustration of a girl looking down at her tummy. She’s pregnant and thinking, “My mother’s going to kill me,” and then (somehow) the baby is thinking, too, “My mother is going to kill me.”

but that’s not even the point of my writing here.

… continue reading at Deeper Story.

If the Mayans Were Right

by Amber on December 28, 2011

in Deeper Story

If the Mayans were right, we have less than a year. Doesn’t that make you want to laugh? We’re Christians. We don’t believe the Mayans knew “the day or the hour.”

But secretly, I do not want to cross the Mississippi bridge next year on December 21. Just in case.

…continue reading at Deeper Story!

Blemish is Beauty

I had decided to keep my son’s sensory struggles to myself, the struggles that took me years to pinpoint: the love of beans for every meal, the bother of socks and shoes and sleeves, the brain scrambling some senses into a language none of us could understand, his battle to feel safe. I wanted to [...]

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A Church’s Best PR

We’ve all seen the billboards – the Church and its gimmicks, the three crosses with a catchy tagline and amazing graphics. The church in social media and advertising, they send fliers, too, with go-to names for God squeezed into what some may call trite clichés. So many Bodies claim relevancy. Websites show stock photos of [...]

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My Idolatry: on where I point my magnifying glass

Inside here, strong knee jerks rock my torso, this baby due in 13 weeks. And I’m back and forth and up and down about everything, in the hormone rush of motherhood, the way time moves wrong, a million questions, the future of mankind in my 4 sons. In quiet moments I think through my three [...]

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A Letter To My Freshman Roommate’s Catholic Mother

To My Freshman Roommate’s Catholic Mother: You taught me how to do my cat-eyes back then. The thick liquid liner, black. My eyes, green and sultry. You had to have known how hard we partied, and I knew you prayed for us, however it is you prayed. You were Catholic, did it all funny, unbelievably [...]

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