When Chris and I “went public” with our marital struggles, we discovered that people reacted to the truth of our brokenness in very different ways. Some withdrew, afraid that our brokenness was somehow akin to the Ebola virus and sure to be contagious. Others withdrew simply because they had no idea how to help, and the silence and pain was awkward. And yet others withdrew, because they had not left any space in their life for people who were hurting. Some came close, close enough to judge, condemn, and preach. Others came close to join the train-wreck party, and rejoiced in knowing that they were not alone. Then there were Corrie and Sarah.

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This weekend was hard. I found out that the little boy that played kick-the-can and hide-and-go-seek, rode his bike up and down the street, and explored the ins and outs of Elephant Rock with me when we were children passed away. The face in my memory with a big smile and huge dimples is not like the face labeled “fugitive” that is being flashed all over the media. The only label I’ve attached to the boy from my childhood is friend, and that’s the label I’ll choose to keep associated with him. Read More