by Emily Wierenga | Oct 23, 2013 | gospel, homeless, hungry, inner city, love, mission, poverty, prodigal magazine, street person
I can’t walk into a fast food restaurant bathroom anymore without seeing her legs, the way they stuck skinny beneath the door that day in old man pants, with white socks and black slippers. A little girl and her mother were in front of me and we all froze and I said... by Emily Wierenga | Jul 17, 2013 | #imperfectprose, blogging, camping, God, homeless, hungry, hurt, imperfect prose on thursdays, Jesus, pain, street people
Kasher is chanting on the top of Trent’s shoulders, and it sounds like a monk’s song. We’re camping at Snaring River where we tented back when I was 39 weeks with the same boy. There are no flush toilets here. No hot showers. Just the bare smell of nature,... by Emily Wierenga | Jul 31, 2012 | eating disorder, God, hungry, prodigal magazine, starving
Funny how being thin is so important until you realize it accomplishes nothing but hunger. I wish I’d known this before I tried to starve myself to death.I wish I could have known how good and beautiful I was in spite of my mushroom-cut and big-rimmed plastic glasses.... by Emily Wierenga | Jun 25, 2012 | a deeper story, children, crucifixion, death, Easter, God, hungry, hurting, Jesus, repentance, world
when i was a little girl in big plastic glasses and corduroy dresses, i would scrunch my eyes shut and imagine the crucifixion and try to feel the sadness i knew i was supposed to feel. i’d try to feel repentant but it was so much easier not to, because Jesus... by Emily Wierenga | May 30, 2012 | anorexia nervosa, art, book, chasing silhouettes, families, giveaway, hope, hungry, imperfect prose on thursdays, love, pre-order, starving
The nurses murmured to each other under fluorescent lighting as I lay shivering on the metal hospital bed, cold. Later, I would learn that they had marveled at my hypothermic, sixty-pound sack of bones, reasoning, “She should be dead.” I was a breach of science; a... by Emily Wierenga | Jan 18, 2012 | faith, God, homeless, hungry, hurting, streets
it seems as though winter is making up for lost time, lady frost seated in our windows, and i remember him. the man with the plastic beads around his neck, and i wonder if he is warm tonight. his sign was crammed with black ink. it asked for spare change, but then it...