The Fog

Picture 23

It was extremely foggy driving into work the other morning.  I had to drive much slower since visibility was almost zero.  I felt myself slowing down in the uncertain areas and speeding up in the more familiar ones.  Headlights and traffic lights couldn’t be seen until you were almost on top of them.  As I pulled into the steel plant where I work, the sun began to peek through.  I knew the fog would dissipate quickly now.   Heading towards my office, on the road that runs parallel to the Detroit River, the fog began to clear and I could see the crazy walleye fishermen in their boats along the shoreline, Canada directly across the river, the Renaissance Center in the distance and the road in front of me lined with piles of scrap metal and steel rolls.  Pulling into my parking spot, it suddenly dawned on me how my drive into work was a great analogy of how (at least in my life) God calls me to trust Him, especially through the tough times.

Let’s face it – most of the time we aren’t given a blueprint on how the circumstances in our lives will play out.  Where He is calling us to go – What He is calling us to do.  I’m lucky if I even know in which direction I should take that first step. To be honest, I feel pretty clueless much of the time.  But through years of following Him, closely and not so closely, one thing I’ve realized is, even if you aren’t sure of the direction, God just asks for movement.  One step in the fog.  He will clear the way a bit for the next step.  And then the next step.  Slower through the uncertain areas, a bit faster through the familiar ones.  Drawing closer to Him, it gets brighter. The fog lifts and the Son shines.   In that Light, you may still find some ugly scrap piles but then again, you may just find that amazing view of the Detroit skyline that you love so much.


It’s the worst shooting in U.S history.  My mind just can’t comprehend the violence.  I can’t even begin to imagine the terror when the gunshots were fired.  I read about the victims.  I see the bodies carried out covered in white sheets.  I think about the families that are waiting expectantly for their loved ones to be identified, the families that have already gotten confirmation, received news that is every parent’s nightmare.   As I read the survivors accounts of the destruction and devastation my heart breaks.  Just so much violence. How do you even process this?

And then it begins.  The hate speak.   All Muslims are evil…well if they weren’t at a gay club… it’s the guns…no it’s the people…close the borders, etc.  The social media chatter is endless.  I have never been directly impacted by this type of violence and I don’t pretend to have all the answers.  But does more hatred help? Does instigating more violence help with healing?  And yes, discussion (reasonable) is necessary, but does it need to happen right now?  Is this the right time? When the bodies haven’t even been identified? When the families haven’t even had a chance to process their grief? People are so quick to jump on their platforms.  I’m so weary of agendas.

I would imagine there will be plenty that disagree with this blog.  And that’s okay.  But I’ve had enough and just needed to voice that.  Enough of the hatred, the bigotry, the judgment, the fear, enough of the heartache, the violence, the complacency, enough of the lack of love.  The true, genuine, putting others above ourselves, kind of love.

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.”   MLK Jr.

Let us love above all.

Praying for Orlando. 


“I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?”

This quote from the movie Stand By Me has been floating around my brain for the last week or so.  I was recently in Savannah GA on a girls’ getaway with my good friend.   We wandered through the city, spent some time at Tybee Island, toured Bonaventure Cemetery (unreal) and visited the Civil Rights’ Museum (heartbreaking).  We laughed often and ate much.  We walked and walked.   And talked and talked.  And ate more.  We browsed an overstuffed bookstore, walked the riverfront and never trusted our GPS. We visited the 1st African American church in Savannah and wished we could stay for service.  We were daring enough to eat South African food, well maybe one of us was.  Searched gas stations and grocery stores for unsweetened iced tea.  CVS saved my life! Craved chips and salsa and margaritas and managed to get directions to the only Mexican restaurant in Savannah that was closed down.  So we ate salt and vinegar chips and queso dip and tortillas.  And that was okay.

And we met Joseph. “I just knew you knew the Lord.”  

We shared struggles and silence and trials and trust.

“I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?”

Yes I do and her name is Missy.