Tag Archives: Ann Voskamp

Trust, Tenacity, and Letting Go of Fear

A Lesson In Trust My hands wring sweaty, clamped around the steering wheel, heart beating towards suffocation. A blanket of anxiety drapes over my shoulders, down my legs, as we drive over the Ravenel Bridge into Charleston. I turn to … Continue reading

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How to Find Mystery in the Ordinary

Grey clouds hover; shield the sun’s wake up call.  Water drips like a cranky faucet on the window ledge outside.  Droplets let go from eaves into palms of leafy-cupped hands.  I stretch horizontal under sheets; take freedom while H sleeps in Chicago. It’s … Continue reading

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When You Are Enough

For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God … Continue reading

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What Do You Really Want?

His question startles me from daydreams over the patterned carpet in the sanctuary and  ducks waddling under heavy rain just outside the low window. I sit on the padded seats in the front row between my kids, when H asks the audience, … Continue reading

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Kindness Beyond Obligation

Sitting in front of my computer, pondering the mystery of hesed in the book of Ruth, I get the call.  The one from my husband telling me my daughter is in a car accident, asking if I can get to … Continue reading

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When We Wonder

  Several times, in different cities, I brush shoulders with two women from Southeast Asia:  in crowded elevators, at honored dinners, in rooms of thousands. Observe them sitting on the front row in prayerful posture as they watch their husbands … Continue reading

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Oops, I Forgot!

  Five minutes until bedtime and he remembers the homework.  Pulls out the computer, his notebook and pencil, all with labored breath.  Turns around, looks at me with eyebrows pressed together and whines, “I have twenty math problems to do.”  It’s … Continue reading

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To Practice Hope

I ask him where he is from while he puts the pile of change in my hand.  “St. Louis,” he says. I tell him how I lived in St. Louis, was born there.  “Where, what part of the city,” he inquires.  … Continue reading

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