Locs, Heels, and the Bible

Exodus 3:13-15 What’s in a name? Some people have names that have a specific meaning. Others are family names that have been passed down over generations and have come to carry certain expectations.    Here in the Bible, we find many examples of names and their meanings. Some of these names are easy enough for our minds and mouths to manage. And some – not so much. Like the one in Genesis 41:45, and the one in Isaiah 8:1,3. There’s also that one in Judges 3:8-10. There are also numerous names that are changed to give new meaning to the name bearer. For example, God changed Abram to Abraham, Sarai to Sarah, Saul to Paul, etc. Names are important.   I've been thinking through some names for God and their meaning. The account about of the burning bush in the passage can be seen as a  theological conundrum and I love theological conundrums! Moses  is out of his depth and is looking for a way out. The task he is being given is so heavy that he knows that...

John 11:35... This week marks the anniversary of my son's passing. His absence is a void that persists in my heart, an ache I carry with me every single day. In addition to being Arleigh's mother, I also serve as pastor. However, the response to my child's death was not solely my own; it was scrutinized and questioned by some within the church community, who believed they had the right to shape my grief. That audacity still astounds me. Who, the hell, I wonder, granted them (anyone) such authority? As I reflect on this, I am reminded of the historical reluctance within the church to embrace the concept of a "wailing wall" or the act of lament. It's a reluctance that deeply troubles me. In her book, "Spirit and Trauma: A Theology of Remaining," Author Shelly Rambo* delves into the experiences of Holy Saturday, the space between Jesus's death and resurrection. Rambo articulates that if the crucifixion symbolizes acute trauma - the loss of a loved o...

Dear Grieving Mothers, My heart weighs heavy with the ache we carry. I, too, am a mother who has been thrust into the unimaginable reality of outliving my child. I am writing to offer encouragement and hope. We must acknowledge the reality of our anguish, embrace our grief, and find solace in the knowledge that we are not alone on this life-sucking journey. Your pain is valid—don't ever doubt that. It's real, it's raw, and it matters. Don't let the world silence your grief with its empty platitudes of "stay strong" or "find comfort in faith." Screw that. It is okay to crumble. It is okay to unleash the guttural screams, to drench your pillows in tears, and to rage against the cruel injustice of it all. There is no timetable for healing, and no magical roadmap to navigate this treacherous path. The bond between a mother and her child is eternal, and the void left in their absence cannot ever be measured. In this fickle world that often wants to ...