Separated

To separate yolk from white
My mother used half the shell
Like a little cup.

Sometimes she used a device
That safely nestled the yolk
While the white overflowed
Into bottomless crevasses
And ultimately into a waiting receptacle

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Faithful ‘Til the Finish Line

Editor’s Note: Today, we lost a faithful man. Eugene Peterson was a beloved clergyman, scholar, and author—two of his most notable contributions being The Message paraphrase and A Long Obedience in the Same Direction. This piece was originally published on Bailey Gillespie’s website, so we thought it would be appropriate to resurrect today in honor of him.

When was the last time you felt like giving up?

I think we’d all agree that, more often than not, doing the right thing is synonymous with doing the long thing. And that can be pretty maddening. Although faithfulness is a fruit of the spirit, it’s a less popular one because you can’t always tell when it’s in action. There aren’t any outward signs. And yet, God says on that final day, he will look at us and say, “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matt. 25:23).

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Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!

Editors note: This series was first published at Biblical Counseling Through Song. It is our hope that sharing this journey of heartache and worship with Tom Murphy will be an encouragement to our readers who find themselves in similar situations.

Mayday got its start as an international distress call in 1923. It was made official in 1948. It was an idea of Frederick Mockford, who was a senior radio officer at Croydon Airport in London. He came up with the idea for “mayday” because it sounded like the French word m’aider, which means “help me”. Thank God for the French.

On this first of May—Mayday— I am crying out, “Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Help!

I need help.

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A Blue You Can Wear

I sat alone, for a few minutes at least, in the unlit and uncovered atrium of a church just south of Nashville. I was tired. Exhausted. Worn out in the way that only those introverts who have spent a long day in the welcoming company of dear friends can understand.

I was at a conference with several other Foundling House editors and writers. We had started the day together by leading a panel discussion on the importance and difficulties of being part of a creative community group. Eager faces looked up at us as we started. Pens were poised over notepads, waiting for us to give a simple, easy-to-follow formula that would generate the community we so desperately crave—a community that I also crave. I only wish it was so simple.

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WONDER

In your name everything makes sense. That is an awesome wonder. You created a way for life to work like a well-oiled machine. You intricately designed all the detailed parts to work predictably when operated with the proper fuel. For every misplaced thought, there is a reason. For every curious instance, there is an explanation. I could never understand your mastery, but when I think I’ve grasped a glimpse, my logical brain goes crazy for you.

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