by Emily Wierenga | May 9, 2012 | beauty, children, God, imperfect prose on thursdays, love, mirror, sheep, springtime
i tuck kasher under my chin on the kitchen linoleum and we dance while the tea kettle boils. outside my window i see an old man in a plaid shirt limping along the winding road. he’s so frail, i can almost see his heart pulsing through the plaid and i tuck kasher... by Emily Wierenga | May 7, 2012 | God, hardship, hope, ice, jasper, kids, marriage, prayer, snowboarding
“The earth is my shoe,” Trent says.He’s walking barefoot from the hot tub to the cabin. “For most people, every step is the same. For me, it’s all new. One step is smooth. Another, pokey, another, rough… every step is an adventure.”The sun seems brighter here in... by Emily Wierenga | May 2, 2012 | belly buttons, children, church, community, family, God, humanity, imperfect prose on thursdays, Jesus, mothers
(guest host today: tara pohlkotte)”mama, why do we have these?” my son asks lifting his shirt and running a fingerover his belly button.i explained that through it mama was able to keep him fed, keep him growing,sustained life deep within.”but why do... by Emily Wierenga | Apr 27, 2012 | bible, children, chocolate, Christ, feature posts, God, imperfect prose on thursdays, Jesus, love
sometimes it tastes like a hot cup of coffee while the boys watch backyardigans in ninja turtle pajamas. for my husband, love tastes like lime chips and homemade salsa, and for kasher, it tastes like breast-milk. but he is being weaned and so love will soon taste... by Emily Wierenga | Apr 22, 2012 | belief, buds, emily dickinson, faith, family, flowers, God, heaven, hope, Jesus, katie davis, springtime, waiting
the birds have descended. flocking to fields filled with water, and when they rise their wings sound like hundreds of blankets being aired out in the breeze. they glint in the sun, these trumpet swans and mallards and pintail ducks and snowbirds, like guitar strings,... by Emily Wierenga | Apr 18, 2012 | brian miller, death, God, grieving, imperfect prose on thursdays, life, loss, religion, students, virginia tech shooting, waystation one
Distraction. Pain. Confusion. Anxiety. Wave after wave, with no idea where it is coming from—I sit at my desk fighting it for what seems like hours but the clock tells me thirty minutes.’I am sorry. I have to leave. I can’t tell you why, because I...