justice

The Day I Became A Protester

I was scared to go, and I didn’t have the faintest idea how to be a protester. As my patient husband can attest, I’ve certainly ranted and raved at home about issues. But the most radical political act I’ve committed up until this week was to vote. Except for maybe when I adopted a Black…Read more The Day I Became A Protester

Invisible Chains

Please consider my good friend Bonnie’s invitation and read her story, written from the front lines of human trafficking…

In Joyful Awe

Hello my fellow travelers.  Tonight I’m writing with a dark invitation.

But first, please forgive my long, long silence.  It has been a season of “overwhelmed” for me, but that is not necessarily a bad state… for a season.  There are lessons to be learned in every state and season, and I pray for the wisdom to be an attentive student.  One of the good aspects of my season of overwhelmed was lots and lots of work at the office. And while that work is, in itself, quite ordinary writing, design work and other such tasks, it is done in support of a little band a brave people who are on the front lines of freeing victims of human trafficking.

Which brings me to that invitation…

We hear a lot these days about sex trafficking.  It is unimaginably horrific, and I rejoice that many of my colleagues in other cities…

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Injustice

I hope that the writing of Bonnie Wellensiek will challenge and inspire you as much as it does me. She is currently serving in South Asia with International Justice Mission: http://www.ijm.org.

In Joyful Awe

I was ticked.  Flat-out mad.  And just a little freaked-out.

It wasn’t the money – that was little enough.  It was the…the injustice of it!

Finding an auto-rickshaw to take me home after work was a nightly challenge.   The neighborhood where I was staying until recently was not far from the office, but just far enough that those auto drivers who would stop at all after dark sometimes flatly said “no” and drove off, and those who agreed to take me generally charged nearly double what they would during the day.  Honestly, even the special “you’re-obviously-not-from-around-here” price (about 100 rupees) was still less than $2 and I was eager to get off the street and safely home, so I often agreed without argument.

That night I was relieved when an auto finally stopped.  I explained, with my rudimentary language skills, where I was going, and he told me it would…

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Let It Be Me – Response to Terrorism in Kenya

Horror still clutches my heart like an apparition from beyond the grave. “It is over,” Kenyan President Kenyatta assured the world on Tuesday. Some of the perpetrators are dead. Hopefully the rest are amongst eleven people detained in a sweep of Kenya’s exit points. And yet the echoes of their evil acts reverberate long after they…Read more Let It Be Me – Response to Terrorism in Kenya

Offering – Pondering the Lives of Mother Teresa Sisters

Kenya, 2001 (somewhere near Nairobi's second largest slum) Blinking in the transition from blazing equatorial sunlight to sacred shadows, we hesitate in the foyer. The sanctuary stretches before us, an ordination service for new Sisters already in progress. Rows of simple benches packed to capacity march along concrete floors. I spot an open space in…Read more Offering – Pondering the Lives of Mother Teresa Sisters

A Secret Garden That Changed My Life (In Vietnam)

We explore a silky summer evening, airbrushed with cool mountain air and golden sinking light. Newly arrived in Steamboat Springs, we wander west. The river is gift enough, flowing like laughter between us. One of those rare series of moments when you feel so alive, so present to where you are, so thankful to love…Read more A Secret Garden That Changed My Life (In Vietnam)

A Tale of Two Drowning Kids

The waters first lapped at my son’s feet when he was five years-old. I pulled our “twins” (by adoption - they are six weeks apart) from pre-school mid-year when we traveled to Kenya to adopt my daughter, never imagining they would miss the entire second semester. As days melted into weeks, I imposed structure on our nomad existence with…Read more A Tale of Two Drowning Kids