My thankfulness revolves around small and big things.
In My Shoes
This is a column for perspectives from diverse voices that are less often heard in Christian Reformed forums.
The synodical advisory committee handling the overtures asked me to share my story.
They did not choose to leave their land. They were forced to. Violence pushed them out, and a search for survival pulled them forward.
The better we know someone, the more we might be able to form our prayers and our support around what will bless them.
Fellowship has been one of the best parts of my church experience.
I have tried to look at my grief rationally.
This most likely means that my whiteness gave me the disease, but my blackness has kept it in check.
None of us pictured graduating in a pandemic, trying to navigate through an online world, or starting a career from home.
For many years, I’ve tried to fit into other congregations, looking to serve as well as be served. I have cerebral palsy, which affects my movement and speech.
This dual perspective—love for a country and the thought that I would never fit in—has served me well.
I never experienced the God of rest until my junior year of college. I was sitting alongside the sandy shores of Lake Michigan and trying to not have an anxiety attack.
As a person with cerebral palsy, I struggle daily with keeping up, fitting in, and pressing on.
When my adoptive mother died, the process of mourning was short. In fact, half of the family, including me, didn’t even go to the lunch after the burial.
Young people aren’t growing up in the same world their parents did.
Tears flowed down his cheeks as he shared his efforts to hold on to faith even in the face of the unknown and seemingly impossible.
“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” Frodo laments in The Fellowship of the Ring.
A CRC pastor explains why the death of the Black Panther star hit many in the Black community so hard.