by Wendy Widder | Dec 19, 2019 | Pain, Transitions
A troupe of builders was in and out of our house for much of this past fall. In the theater of our basement, they performed for a seven-week run—hammers, saws, and drills banging, humming, and buzzing in dissonant harmony, while a variety of radio stations blared out...
by Wendy Widder | Dec 12, 2019 | Christmas, Dad, Incarnation, Pain
Several years ago I took my parents on an expedition, at their request, to the cemetery where they will someday be buried. We stopped at the main building, found a map indicating the location of their plots, and drove to the site. I parked the car, and as they made...
by Wendy Widder | Jul 11, 2018 | Pain
Much of my world right now is midsummer green—a jungle of tomato plants, a row of towering sunflowers, a trellis overrun by cucumber vines, and chicken wire covered with sprouting beans and peas. There is the promise of fresh produce everywhere I look. The sun is...
by Wendy Widder | Jul 17, 2017 | Pain, Transitions
Two years ago this week, I drove across the country to a start a new life in an act of desperate faith that was probably more desperate than faith. My reason for moving was that it was the only door for change that God had left open, and I desperately needed a change....
by Wendy Widder | Oct 14, 2016 | Blessing, Pain, Singleness, Transitions
Tomorrow morning, I will enjoy the luxury of no alarm clock. It’s Saturday. At some sleepy point, I’ll hear one of the happiest wake-up calls in the world—the coffee maker. It will finish spewing and brewing, and my husband will head down the hall to get me a cupful...
by Wendy Widder | Sep 20, 2015 | Pain, Transitions, Tributes
Tomorrow I will attend my home church, as I typically do when I visit my parents for the weekend. With coffee cup in hand, I will make the rounds—hugging old (literally and metaphorically) friends and giving them the sweetened condensed version of how life presently...
Recent Comments