When The Mop Bucket Spills

Yesterday, I spent a lot of time mopping the floors. They’ve been getting unusually dirty, trapped under a filmy, stubborn slime of sin, accusation and doubt. After each mopping, the residue created an even dirtier concoction of water in my tattered bucket. The murky liquid gave a nauseating stench of self-rejection. ” … [My dark…

The Process and Pain of (Mis)Understanding

Living in a foreign country has me feeling like a misunderstood teenager again. Since coming here, I developed a habit of haranguing heaven with “God, when will you let me understand why you’ve brought me to Spain? Why did you extract me from my element, country and place of comfort? How much longer until I…