subversive Jesus [a book review + giveaway]

I find myself encountering an increasing number of folks unfamiliar with our work, requiring me to put our lives into a thirty-second elevator pitch.

After an apparently not-so-great attempt, a new acquaintance, seeking clarification, asked, “So what is your primary focus, meeting needs or sharing the Gospel?”

To which I responded, “Yes.”


If Tattoos on the Heart is the “who” and “why” of incarnational ministry, Subversive Jesus, by Craig Greenfield, is the “what” and “where.” (And y’all know how I feel about Tattoos on the Heart.)

Subversive Jesus is the story of Craig and his wife Nay’s experiment in putting the most counter-cultural teachings of Jesus into practice. When Jesus said invite the poor for a meal, they welcomed homeless friends, local crack addicts, and women from the street corner over for dinner. When Jesus proclaimed freedom for the captive, they organized Pirates of Justice flash mobs to protest cruise ship exploitation. (Yes, what that said.)

Here’s what I really, really want you to hear me say about this book:

It is an anthem for those of us living and loving on the margins.
It is a gentle invitation to those of us still trying to figure it all out.

It’s both. Beautifully, gracefully, affirmingly, Yes.
(And for the record, we are most certainly, still trying to figure it all out.)

My personal experience with books in this genre is they are often peppered with judgement and condemnation, leaving many of us feeling as if our lives are “less than” or “not relevant” to the upside-down Kingdom Jesus speaks of. Subversive Jesus is not that book. Craig is loving in his reminder that “Jesus is wildly and prophetically subversive, because beyond our affluent comfortable suburbs, all is not right.”


He recognizes that “from place to place, even Christian to Christian, a radical welcome (i.e. hospitality) will look different” as he encourages us to “widen our embrace.”

Craig explores the idea that Jesus’ teachings represented not just a ticket to heaven but a subversive plan for heaven to come here on earth and gives practical suggestions for how we can overlap our lives with those on the margins, without having to move into the slums. (Although for some of us, that is the subversive plan for our lives.)

Craig is not soft on his belief (which is also mine) that “as Jesus showed us, healing and transformation flow out of relationship – not the delivery of services.”

Yet, he gives room for each of us to discover what this can look like in our own lives, giving us stories and scriptures as we “search for the deepest inclination of our heart and follow it to where it meets the suffering of the world.”

What is the deepest inclination of your heart Friend? Follow it, and there you will find our subversive Jesus, turning the world upside down with radical hospitality, eroding the margins and closing the gap between charity and community, and inviting you to join him.

There, as Mother Teresa says, you will find your own Calcutta.


I’m excited to give a copy of Subversive Jesus to one of YOU.
The giveaway will run until 12:00am EST Friday, May 13th.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

(If you don’t win, I hope you’ll purchase Craig’s book. It’s important to note all author profits will go to support the work of Alongsiders in reaching out to the world’s most vulnerable children. Learn more about Alongsiders here.)

*I did receive a copy of this book for review, but the content of this post are my 100% authentic unbiased reflections. Ok, slightly biased because Craig is my people.

one is enough

Most days, my life is relatively quiet. Ok, actually, I have five kids. My days are never quiet. Most days, my life is relatively simple, straight-forward. I wake up, run or read or write, school my kids, do laundry, walk to the library, watch a bunch of kids ride bikes, read a book, drink some tea, and go to bed. (There’s a lot of preparing and eating food in there too.)


Other days however, the sheer volume of people and needs in our neighborhood bring me to my knees. Days when there are more people than I can count. Days when culture shock rings deafening in my ears. Days when Satan pounces and tries to steal the meaning of it all.

Days when I hear his “Did God really say… ?” lies.

Did God really say he would use you here? Do you really think you can make a difference? Can’t you see the darkness? Really, all these people and only a few of you? Nah, there’s not much you can do around here…

And I start to believe it. I start to question what we’re actually accomplishing and how it will ever amount to anything and what difference will it make in a sea of poverty and oppression and injustice?


In Luke chapter 15, Jesus tells three parables back to back to back. You’re likely familiar with all three: the story of the lost sheep, the story of the lost coin, and lastly, the one that prompts visions of felt boards, the “Parable of the Lost Son.”

There are obvious take-aways from this triad; something was lost, it was found, there was a celebration. As I studied these passages I couldn’t help but notice what often isn’t preached: the one that is enough.

We’ve heard about repentance and the lost coming home. We’ve heard about the faithful Father, but we aren’t often encouraged that the one is enough.

The one is enough to go after.
The one is enough to search for.
The one is enough to celebrate.

Luke 15:1 says, “a lot of men and women of doubtful reputation were hanging around Jesus, listening intently.”  He was speaking to the outcast and marginalized, the ones who had been told they were unworthy and unlovely. Jesus shared this message of the one being enough with the one’s society had deemed “not enough.

Jesus spoke a message of enough over them because He was on a mission to do whatever it took to bring the one home. He put on flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood for the one. He wanted them to know the search for the one is warranted because of their immense value to Him.

The never stopping, never giving up, always and forever love of Jesus will move heaven and earth for the one.


Maybe you need to hear that you, Dear One, are enough. His unstoppable love flows all the way to your broken heart and offers healing. He is seeking your wholeness and will stop at nothing to reveal it to you.

Maybe you’re living in a place busting at the seams with need. Maybe you’re surrounded by the very people Jesus spoke to in these stories, only problem, you ain’t Jesus. You are finite. Your love has boundaries. Your body grows weak and your heart is approaching its limit.

Good news: one is enough.

The one he’s placed in front of you? That one is enough. No need to save the masses friend, that was never your job. That is Jesus’ thing. Your thing is the one.

Go after the one.
Do whatever it takes to bring the one Home.
Throw down for the one.

Because one is enough.



Cars raced down the street last night as our kids and their friends ran through the neighbor’s yard, dodging a myriad of rusty vehicles, wielding sticks as swords and pretending to be pirate warrior beasts, or something like that.

Six months ago we made our 1,100 mile descent; left home for home. Driving away from my parent’s house as the sunlight spilled onto the rolling bluegrass, I stopped to wipe tears from my glasses and snap a few photos, sobbing for the first thirty miles or so.

The skyline brought every memory from adult life into focus.


I could feel the hot and humid summer air hitting my 19-year-old face, whipping my hair around as my sister and I drove over the Ohio River for our illustrious lifeguard jobs.

I could see the crisp autumn leaves crushed beneath our tires as my husband and I rode our bikes down the streets, newly engaged, free of responsibility that would soon come.

It was a life-flashing-before-my-eyes kind of experience, not because I was loosing my life, but choosing to give it away. I realize the sound of that can hum towards prideful, and truth be told there’s a hint of it there, but mostly it’s something I white knuckled over to Jesus with each passing mile.

People often ask, “Do you like Miami?” and I’m more unsure of how to answer than anything else I’m unsure of, which is quite a lot things.


I turned thirty-five in January, two days after finally moving into our house. I had plans to write a witty “Thoughts on Thirty-five” post; instead I ugly cried in public about a dog and overflowing toilets and a defunct washing machine and missing boxes and culture shock. I didn’t like much of anything that day, or many days following that one.

One thing I would’ve written in that post about turning thirty-five is, I’m coming to find out very little in this life is black or white, right or wrong, good or bad. 

There’s simply a lot of gray. The lines of life are blurrier than most of us are comfortable with. We can’t pinpoint a God who speaks oceans into being and breathes life into the dust of our lives. We can’t nail down Love that buys back his prostitute wife or nails his son to a cross.

We can’t corner Light that shines on streets where bullets fly, we simply can’t. 

So we do our best to rhyme with the majestic vastness of God, as Father G says, and it can’t be defined by mere words.

Do I like it here? I suppose I do, in a gray sort of way. One thing I am sure of, God is here, in these blurrier-than-we-are-comfortable-with-spaces, carrying exactly what we hand him with each passing mile.


’til the wheels fall off

/// This the the fourth and final post in our LBF:Book Club series on Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion by Father Greg Boyle. See the first three posts here and here and here. ///

til the wheels fall off 1

Mother Teresa says it like this: If we have no peace, it’s because we have forgotten we belong to each other. I think it safe to say, most the world, Christians included, have indeed forgotten we belong to each other.

We draw lines, build fences, pray for hedges and shrink our circles. We stay in our Christian bubbles and keep our kids there with us. We read about war and famine and bombings and ISIS and through up a prayer for “those people.”

A quick scroll through my Facebook feed is all I need to glimpse a world of people who have forgotten we belong to each other.

The one possible exception to this relational norm is marriage. You may be thinking marriage is different from other relationships we have, and it’s true, it is. Biblical marriage is a covenant, or promise, between three people: two spouses, one God.

On our wedding day we boldly proclaim:

I take you Fellow Sinner,
to be my partner in life,
to have and to cuddle,
from this day to forever,
for good and for hard,
for consistent paychecks
and for overdrawn bank accounts,
in cancer wings and in CrossFit gyms,
to love and to cherish-ish,
till death takes us apart.
We belong to each other.

Basically, I am in your corner ’til the wheels fall off. 

But I wonder, what would happen if we declared this to one another? If we spoke it over those we’ve labeled as “other“?

I’m not suggesting we lower the relational bar for marriage, but I am asking us to explore what it would look like to make a similar commitment to our fellow human beings. Because, as Father G says, kinship is what happens when we live like we belong to each other.

You stand with the least likely to succeed until success is succeeded by something more valuable: kinship. – Father G, Tattoos on the Heart

What would happen if we show up for people when they can’t show up for themselves? If we “see in homies what they don’t see in themselves… until they do.”

Jesus is very clear on his most important mandates to us as his followers:

Love God.
Love people.

He doesn’t leave room for debate here. The disciples can’t argue what Jesus means by “love.” (Possibly the way we “love” when he turns water into wine? What do you think guys?)

Jesus spells it out clearly: love people, as yourself.


John Piper describes the second commandment as seeming, “to demand that I tear the skin off my body and wrap it around another person so that I feel that I am that other person; and all the longings that I have for my own safety and health and success and happiness I now feel for that other person as though he were me.”


Intense right?


I think it was meant to be. When we truly love another as we long ourselves, we come face-to-face with God in them and God in us and the walls of hostility and oppression and injustice crumble. The veil is torn and the Kingdom comes just a little bit closer to earth.


Can we commit to being people who are for our fellow humans? Can we stand in awe, instead of against or apathetic to, each others burdens? Can we commit to call forth the best in each other, to speak of the imago Dei in them, of God in them, despite how far below the ills of this world it is buried?


Can we remember we belong to each other?


I take you Fellow Sinner,
to be my kin in this life,
to belong to each,
from this day to forever,
for joy and for lament,
for when you show up
and when you don’t,
for when I sin against you
and you sin against me,
for smiles and hurt feelings,
for apologies and forgiveness…
’til the wheels fall off.

Are you reading along with us? What quote(s) impacted you? Was there a homie’s story that brought you to tears or made you laugh out loud? What themes from the book have lodged themselves in your heart? Leave your words in the comments OR meet us tonight on Facebook at 8:30pm EST.

slow work

/// This the the third post in our LBF:Book Club series on Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion by Father Greg Boyle. See posts one and two here and here. ///


“How do you know when to move on?” My friend asks about one of our neighbors, only half expecting an answer, letting the question float into the steamy Miami atmosphere. It lodges in my heart, jagged and sideways, not sitting quite right.

Teilhard de Chardin wrote that we must “trust in the slow work of God.” Ours is a God who waits. Who are we not to?

It takes what it takes for the great turnaround. Wait for it.

I’ve come to realize I thought I was done with waiting. Our six-year international adoption is complete. Our sons were freed from foster care and are now legally ours. We made it to Miami. Seven years of waiting for monstrous life changes; over.

Only now, I find myself waiting for life change in others. This waiting rubs against my humanity, much in the same way my own waiting did. Waiting isn’t a posture of the human heart capable of muscle memory.

My friend’s question is valid, I suppose, when we think of our finite time and resources. When we consider successful outcomes and potential returns on investment.

But, I’m coming to realize, it takes what it takes. For healing. For wholeness. For the great turnaround. And when we wander into the jurisdiction of God, we’re reminded of the slow work of God, and our only response: to wait for it.


I think waiting and hoping are two sides of the same coin. One doesn’t wait without hope, and there is no hoping without the slow work of waiting.

When you’ve chosen to stand where Satan threatens to steal the meaning of it all, the challenge then is to make meaning of it, even in the midst of waiting. To live in the already-not-yet of the Kingdom is to hope when hope feels futile from within and looks foolish from outside. It is a slow, often misunderstood, work.

Like Pedro, my hope can only come from being intoxicated by the dream that light is better than darkness. And when we are drunk on light, we encounter a God who waits. For us. For our neighbors. For the whole broken world.

It takes what it takes.

Wait for it.

What we ought to believe.

Not much in my life makes sense outside of God. Certainly, a place like Homeboy Industries is all folly and bad business unless the core of the endeavor seeks to imitate the kind of God one ought to believe in. In the end, I am helpless to explain why anyone would accompany those on the margins were it not for some anchored belief that the Ground of all Being thought this was a good idea. – Gregory Boyle, Tattoos on the Heart

Before we lived here, I didn’t understand this quote.



I first read Tattoos on the Heart last summer. We were in the thick of packing up our earthly belongings to move across the country. We used adjectives like “at-risk” and “under resourced” and “poor” to describe the neighborhood we were joining.

That was before we lived here.

Now, I agree with Father Boyle; not much in my life makes sense outside of God.

We left our hometown with five little people and nowhere to land.
We live on a street where bullets fly. 
I home school my 23-year-old neighbor.

It’s all foolish and poor financial planning to live on the gifts of others. It’s reckless choose this neighborhood. It’s absurd to be stubborn about hope.




Unless the core of it all is to imitate the God we ought to believe in.

But can I let you in on a little secret? Sometimes it’d be easier not to believe.

This God says we’re standing in the right place if we’re with the poor. With those who mourn. The hungry and thirsty. He says if we are persecuted and lied about and pushed around; we’re in the right place.

There’s not a one of those things the world can make sense of. Stand with the poor? Move into someone’s broken heart? Join the parched and the weary? You’ll know you’re with me when you’re lied about? Pushed around? Really Jesus?


The God we ought to believe in, He hasn’t so much promised the things this world counts as important. Or wise. Our even just a decent enough idea. Imitating Him is swimming upstream the whole dang way.

That bit about being helpless to explain these choices? I get that part now too.

tats3 tats5


Last summer, one of my friends who lives among the marginalized in London told me this is her favorite quote from the book.

I secretly thought maybe she was a little cruel. Like somehow she had been a mean girl in high school and hid it really well as an adult, or maybe my judge of character had started to slip.

Yes, yes, in some Church circles choosing to stand with the marginalized is sexy business. Until you do it. Until it isn’t.



I was recently interviewed for a podcast and, of course, the host asked me about safety in our neighborhood. I gave the standard Christian answer, you probably know the one, something about the center of God’s will being the safest place to be.

Here’s the thing: I have lots of thoughts on the topics of safety and wisdom and privilege and laying down our lives, but at the end of the day, I’m helpless to explain it outside of God thinking this is a good idea.



Are you reading along with us? What quote(s) impacted you? Was there a homie’s story that brought you to tears or made you laugh out loud? Leave your words in the comments OR meet us tonight on Facebook at 8:30pm EST. If you’re a blogger, you can link up your own post below as well.


When souls shake.

I sat in church when I got the text: several shots fired outside our house. Then another text. And another. Everyone ok. No one hit. The house shook. The house shook. I never thought about gunshots shaking a house. I imagined they could shake a soul but I no longer imagine it. The images of violence in our nation are no longer part of my imagination. Because I chose it. We chose it. And I wonder, why, again, did we chose this? Here where bullets fly on streets as children play? Our children and our children because, remember, there are no other people’s children.


It’s enough to shake your soul.

I sat in church when I got the text, not for a sermon, no, for Joseph and his amazing technicolor coat. My big boys sandwiched me, eyes open wide as the lights dim low.


I closed my eyes, drew back the curtain
To see for certain what I thought I knew
Far far away, someone was weeping
But the world was sleeping
Any dream will do


I tried to enjoy it. Tried to be present. I tried not to think about the fact that for the first time since moving here, I didn’t want to go home.


I wore my coat, with golden lining
Bright colors shining, wonderful and new
And in the east, the dawn was breaking
And the world was waking
Any dream will do


The concession stand ran out of pizza two people too soon. We inhaled our Cheetos and candy bars before the lights laid low again, and all I could think was how my husband said he “laid low” with our three kids at home when he saw the muzzle flash. What the hell is muzzle flash?

We slipped back into our seats for Act II of Joseph’s story.


A crash of drums, a flash of light
My golden coat flew out of sight
The colors faded into darkness
I was left alone


The lump in my throat grew as we approached the corner where the shots were fired just a couple of hours earlier. I expected it to look different from when we left. It didn’t.

Two neighbors stood outside, their porcelain smiles bright across ebony skin, a light in the dark evening sky. A couple of kids rode croggy on a bike.

I sent the big boys off for jammies and teeth brushing. My husband gave me a brief rundown of the night’s events. “What kind of gun shakes a house?” I ask, not because I don’t already know the answer, but because I don’t want to know it.


May I return to the beginning
The light is dimming, and the dream is too
The world and I, we are still waiting
Still hesitating
Any dream will do


The crashing waves of violence-prayer-violence-prayer-violence-prayer are as familiar to our team as the waves of the Atlantic. The push and pull of Light and darkness is ever-present here. A couple of years ago, as a battle raged on the streets and in the heavenlies, one of our neighbors smashed his semi-automatic with a sledgehammer on the sidewalk. An outward expression of inward heart change.

It is in prophetic moments like that one my hope to dream is renewed. After all, it was God himself who said Light would shine out of darkness. 

And when you dare to dream, you bear witness to the Light.
When you dare to dream, families are made whole.
When you dare to dream, weapons are laid low.

And when weapons are laid laid low at the foot of the cross, that majestic and scandalous place where the last are first, where the poor inherit the Kingdom and where boundless compassion swallows our fear? That’s when the shalom of Heaven touches Earth and the Kingdom come is here and now. That’s when the beatitudes break through like the scorching Miami sun.

When we dare to dream that the God of the Bible really is who He says He is and actually is already doing what He says He will do, our souls shake for an altogether different reason. We get to participate in Kingdom work we would never even be able to see otherwise.

Courage is our nature in Christ friends, may we not allow fear to stand in the way of walking in it. 



If you’d like to explore this idea of boundless compassion, I invite you to join me in the first ever Light Breaks Forth Book Club! Starting next month, we will be walking through Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion, written by Father Greg Boyle. Father Boyle has lived among gang members in LA for over twenty years, showing them the boundless compassion of Christ. This book is one I continually come back to in my quest for loving others unconditionally and with joy. All the details can be found here and the book is on SALE on Amazon for less than ten bucks!!! I hope you’ll join us!





encounters with cancer

I wasn’t prepared for my first encounter with cancer; I suppose no one is. I didn’t know the emptiness that fills you in the cancer wing of a hospital. I didn’t know the asphyxiation of an oncologist’s exam room. I hadn’t contemplated life as a 29-year-old widow. I didn’t know the danger of Google.

Encounters with Cancer

One subversively sunny day I sat in front of our neighborhood coffee shop, borrowing some wi-fi, when I stumbled upon the blog of a woman with the same type of cancer as my husband. Her posts were hopeful, detailing her surgeries, treatments, thoughts, and plans. This wasn’t my normal medical journal, mortality rate reading, no, this was a real live person with a real live life. Until it wasn’t. Because she stopped posting. Because she died.

That’s when I realized in a real live way, my husband could die too.

He didn’t.

But then my step-mom did.

Seven months into his surgeries and treatments, she was diagnosed with cancer. Brain cancer to be exact. Eighteen days later, she was gone. A few weeks had passed when my daughter, who was 11 months old at the time, fell out of her high chair and a CT revealed calcifications on her brain.

Last month a friend asked how that season of life effected my view of God as Healer. He healed my husband – who is now cancer free, he healed my daughter – the calcifications disappeared, but my step-mom is gone. He didn’t heal her. He could have, but he didn’t.

What do I think of God as healer? I don’t know.

I wasn’t prepared for my second encounter with cancer, I suppose no one is. But this time, I knew the emptiness inside the cancer wing. I knew exam rooms were short on oxygen. I’d contemplated life without someone I deeply loved. And I knew about Google.

I told my dad to stay away and took all the brain cancer research onto myself. I read medical journals and learned about the latest treatment options. I made notes and questioned neurosurgeons and oncologists. I waded through hard answers. I went to every appointment. I watched a woman I love burst into tears when her prognosis was finally given to her straight.

But I have kids, she said.

I’m her kid, I thought as the doctors and my father glanced toward me.

My husband was still fighting his own battle and the rogue cells in his body begun to rob him of joy and purpose and any semblance of the man I married. I couldn’t control that. I couldn’t control anything. But I could Google. I could collect information.

The fracture of the garden seemed to be hunting down everyone I loved and I didn’t know who might be next. Would the next scan reveal metastasis in husband’s body? The next blood test a genetic condition in my daughter’s brain? The ripple effects of Eve’s disobedience were threatening to drown me and everyone I knew.

You might think someone of faith would go into a season of deep prayer and calling out to God. I probably did. I think I did. But I don’t much remember now.


My step-mom was the Birkenstocks Queen. When she died, I took on the responsibility of cleaning out her closet. It seemed helpful at the time but in hindsight, mostly insensitive. What do you do with a dead persons boxed up wedding dress? There seems to be no right answer.

I collected information until the information did us no good. Until it was useless crap taking up space in my brain formerly occupied by things far less somber than mortality rates. I could purge material possessions because they were right in front of me. The woman who raised me wasn’t.

I’d never lost someone so close and I didn’t know how to grieve. Cleaning and purging I could do. So I did. I suppose it was therapeutic, but I don’t much remember now.

She had boxes and boxes of brand new, never opened Birks stacked in the corner of her closet. I tried on a couple pairs, five years ago in my parents hollow bedroom. They didn’t fit.


I’ve learned grief happens one sliver at a time, at least mine does. Some days it slides by nearly unnoticed. Memories hide in bottles of Yellow Tail Shiraz on the grocery store shelf, disguise themselves as a craving for her world famous Stromboli, sneak into my pocket via the keychain I use for neighborhood strolls, and take me by surprise when I look down at my feet. These are the tiny moments woven into life when my lungs refuse oxygen and all I feel is lack.
Encounters with Cancer encounters_with_cancer_1
What do I think about God as healer? I don’t know. I’m not sure I ever will, but you can ask again in five years.

LBF Book Club ::: Tattoos on the Heart

Back in December I had this crazy idea to start an online book club. The next week we painted an entire house, moved cross-culturally, attempted to organize all earthly possessions for seven people, and jumped head first into living among and loving our neighbors.

So it’s March, and the book club is coming alive!

book club_tattoos_on_the_heart

I’m excited to launch the LBF book club as an extension of this online space AND as a way of joining together with YOU, as we seek to move closer to the heart of God.

Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion is the first book we’ll unpack together, and one of the most incredible pieces of art I’ve had the privilege of reading. The author, Father Greg Boyle, has an extraordinary gift of communicating the universal human experience through themes of redemption, shame, compassion, success and love that knows no bounds.

I promise you – no matter who you are, where you are – this book will touch you deeply and teach you things about yourself you don’t even know you need to learn.

Right now, Tattoos on the Heart is on SALE on Amazon for only $9.40! (And now it’s dropped to $9.25!!!) Don’t wait, head over and purchase your copy now! You might be a loyal library patron, as am I, but trust me when I say, you want to own a copy of this book.

DEETS: To make it easy for you to participate, the “club” part of the book club will take place in three places:

First, Right here! Each Monday in April I’ll share thoughts from the chapters we’ve read in the previous week and you can join in the conversation in the comments. For you writer types, there will also be a link up for you to share a post from your own space!

Second, Join the Light Breaks Forth Book Club Facebook Group! Monday evenings at 8:30 pm EST we’ll “meet” to discuss the book. From the comfort of your own home (and pajamas), you can sip your favorite beverage while we dig into the themes of the book and how they are shaping us. If Monday evenings aren’t good for you, feel free to join in any way – Facebook is loose like that and allows for communication anytime night or day, which in this case is awesome.

Third, I’ll be using the hashtag #lbfbookclub on Instagram to share pieces of how the book is impacting me throughout the week.

SCHEDULE: We will discuss chapters one and two on April 4th, chapters three and four on April 11th, chapters five – seven on April 18th, and chapters eight and nine on April 25th.


Is not this the fast that I choose:
to loose the bonds of wickedness,
to undo the straps of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke?
Is it not to share your bread with the hungry
and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover him,
and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?
Then shall your light break forth like the dawn,
and your healing shall spring up speedily;
your righteousness shall go before you;
the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.
~ Isaiah 58:6-8

This verse is the riverbank against which all my writing flows. The books chosen for the book club will focus on moving these commands forward in our own lives. I hope you’ll join me!

Questions? Plan on joining? Have you read Tattoos on the Heart? Wanna read it again? Let me know in the comments! 

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