They did not choose to leave their land. They were forced to. Violence pushed them out, and a search for survival pulled them forward.
In My Shoes
This is a column for perspectives from diverse voices that are less often heard in Christian Reformed forums.
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The better we know someone, the more we might be able to form our prayers and our support around what will bless them.
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Fellowship has been one of the best parts of my church experience.
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I have tried to look at my grief rationally.
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This most likely means that my whiteness gave me the disease, but my blackness has kept it in check.
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None of us pictured graduating in a pandemic, trying to navigate through an online world, or starting a career from home.
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For many years, I’ve tried to fit into other congregations, looking to serve as well as be served. I have cerebral palsy, which affects my movement and speech.
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This dual perspective—love for a country and the thought that I would never fit in—has served me well.
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I never experienced the God of rest until my junior year of college. I was sitting alongside the sandy shores of Lake Michigan and trying to not have an anxiety attack.
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As a person with cerebral palsy, I struggle daily with keeping up, fitting in, and pressing on.
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When my adoptive mother died, the process of mourning was short. In fact, half of the family, including me, didn’t even go to the lunch after the burial.
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Young people aren’t growing up in the same world their parents did.
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Tears flowed down his cheeks as he shared his efforts to hold on to faith even in the face of the unknown and seemingly impossible.
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“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” Frodo laments in The Fellowship of the Ring.
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A CRC pastor explains why the death of the Black Panther star hit many in the Black community so hard.