his name is James

His name is James.

I am in a restless, frustrating struggle to know how to help. How to be the Mommy these guys need,


but then the huge call to be something to the millions of child slaves in the US and oversesas. And to hold hands and advocate for these beautiful artisans struggling for a future.

We are always telling our kids, usually after a whiney “can’t,” do what you CAN do. So, I can pray.  And I can love. And we say yes to be pen-pals.

Then today, I see him in my in-box.


Hello, James. We are sending you our love, letters, and all the life we can pray for you.

You know, I tend to beat myself up about not doing enough. But a beaten woman is a captive woman. And I am free. {I tell myself  over and over.} Free to be loved. And free to love. So the mess that I am-curly head to unpolished toe-gets to exercise this divine inheritance and experience more of what I’m intended to be.

A few days ago I posted this from James 1 because I’ve caught a glimpse of the free life. And am a woman of action. Also, a few days before that, I began studying the book of James with my freinds. It’s almost like Someone is saying, “You lovely woman. Stop beating yourself up. Do what you CAN do. Even your weakness is strong with Me on your side.”

I’m going to listen to that voice more. Want to listen with me?




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