Kim Patton

During my first semester of college, I felt as if something was pulling at every corner of my brain. My classes probed me endlessly, introducing new ideas and thoughts that left me speechless. My faith was jostled and I was left wanting sure footing. I had so many questions. With every new piece of information floating in, I begged to know the reasons behind what I believed. For the first time, I struggled aggressively, combating doubt toward God and Christianity. I jotted down dozens of spiritual questions that burned in me and kept them on a turquoise cardstock. Then I brought this list to trusted friends for their direction. They answered my questions vaguely, often with a smile tugging at their lips. They knew my questions were common among doubters even though the list felt fresh and new to me. It was Christmas break and I was back home for a few weeks. I found myself wrestling with God. I fought His will, I rebelled inwardly, tossing and turning between faith and doubt. ...

Skydiving. Surfing. Bungee jumping. Scuba diving. Cliff diving.  Running of the Bulls. White water rafting.        I would never classify myself as a thrill-seeker who is willing to try anything. In fact, if I signed up for the events listed above, there would be a pretty good chance that I would chicken out before my time to shine arrived. However, I have an adventurous soul and am often tempted to wander off the beaten path to embrace a little danger. Tuesday September 5 th        I first heard about Hurricane Irma as I listened to worried customers mentioning the trending news to my co-worker. “It’s tracking to hit us over the weekend and they are saying it could pack a heavy punch.” I huddled in my small office, looking up news reports and seeing the white clouds hovering over the ocean. I closed out of the screen, passing off Irma like the other hurricanes last year that threatened our area. Schools shut down but all I e...

       I’ve written two separate drafts in the last few weeks, each chronicling the aches and pains of this past year. I wrote about my struggles financially, emotionally, relationally and others. I waxed poetic about suffering. I have always been an optimistic, “Life is good so let’s throw a party” kind of person. But this past year bore deep struggles that weighed heavy on my soul. I grasped onto hope nearly every day but when even hope let me down, life just felt impossible.       I deleted those drafts. The truth is that I am tired of feeling defeated. I am tired of being miserable and I am tired of letting my circumstances dictate my attitude. I have been bitter enough. So my cliché answer is to sift through these futile seconds of each day and rest my eyes on those few good morsels. I want to pinch them between my fingers, absorbing the sweetness into my veins. The negative will fall to the ground, never receiving my attention.   ...

       I walked briskly past Kevin’s home office toward my office, noticing his head down on the desk. The ceiling light blared loudly, bouncing rays off his green striped polo. His head is usually upright, eyes focused intently on his computer as he works. I paused in worry but continued to finish what I was doing. I thought to myself, “Maybe he is just tired.” These last few weeks had scraped painfully by, filled with financial stress, 40-50 hour work weeks for both of us, and heavy discussions on emotional situations in both of our lives. My husband and I were both worn out, and then on top of all of that, his dissertation loomed dark and scary in the background of our minds. His love for the ancient Greek language and its grammar was born in high school and fleshed out in college. He pursued education to the next level, earning accolades along the way. He tacked on Masters degrees to his growing academic resume, finishing with a Master’s of Divinity. In 2011, he ...

       It’s only fitting that today is a drizzly, dreary morning with no hope of sunshine. These are the days in movies where the main character trudges slowly, solemnly, to the gravesite. I step out of my car and peer over at the desolate landscape of grass that grows above soulless bodies. I hate that I am here, looking for someone that I love. I wrap my wool sweater around me, its presence a small comfort to shield the light rain. The canopy of trees covers me as I walk slowly into the cemetery.        The leaves under my flats are wilted and damp with rain. They make no sound as I gently walk over them. I am vaguely aware of where the tombstone stands, but not entirely certain. I have only been here once before, on the day of the funeral. I shudder when I remember the moment the dirt began to pile on top of the casket. It seemed cruel, rude even to shower dirt on such a beautiful wood casket. It seemed even crueler to hide the body in suc...