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We’re starting a church in New York City and we’d like to start an account for all the money we have received, we told the bank teller. “Of course, how much would you like to transfer?” the woman behind the desk, inquired of our ‘growing’ church plant fund. To which we replied, Three hundred and
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I didn’t ask God for much. I wanted to get my Master’s degree in teaching, get married to a man who wasn’t a pastor, and have three kids by the time I was thirty. I wanted to live in suburbia till death do us part, and in close proximity to a Walmart. (I love a good Walmart.) Might
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God has a tendency of uprooting my life. Just when I feel like I can take a breath, make a friend or two, or even try to do something exceptionally nutty and try to have a baby or something, God decides to throw my eggs in the creek. Let me explain…
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When my life fell to pieces everyone disappeared. My 950 friends on Facebook, pointless. My blog, a mere platform for the curious. And the women I once regarded as ‘besties’ bolted, seemingly putting their priority elsewhere and not on helping me pick up the (broken) pieces of my life. Looking back, I needed someone to
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When I found out I was pregnant, they were sure I was having a miscarriage. But we prayed. We desperately begged the Lord for a miracle and clung to His promises believing, that God’s way is perfect, and we can trust everything He does. (Psalm 18:30, Psalm 33:4) I had written those two verses in the
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“My husband has been hiding an addiction to pornography,” she said, barely finishing her sentence before she began to cry into her hands in the dark corner of a coffee shop. I listened as my friend wrestled with the shock and the lies, the betrayal and the shame, while memories flooded back to when
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To be entirely honest, I wasn’t going to write this week. After traveling to England, Wales and the latest, Miami (…I know, random…) And after scrambling to finish an extreeeeemely vulnerable article for Newspring Church this week, I was certain I had ZERO energy or honesty left. But surprise, surprise… here I am. But to clarify,
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Confession: It’s hard for me to let my daughter play in the driveway, or allow her to let go of my hand in the grocery store without so palpably, believing something is going to go terribly wrong. I check the locks multiple times a night, and I can’t tell you the last time I spoke
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I always assumed the people – most obviously – following God, were the ones overflowing with compassion like Mother Teresa. Who were likely teaching a Sunday school class (or three) and could correctly recite at least ⅓ of the Bible from memory — and in the King James Version, of course. But following God isn’t always as
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I pride myself in my resilience, my unshakeable faith and my level-headed mind. But two years ago, I wasn’t any of those things. Two years ago, I was coming undone. I was reminded of that time, when something popped up in my newsfeed today. A Facebook status from the past, that stopped me dead in my tracks and
Krista Ortiz 