whitney dziurawiec

The morning sun poured in through the windshield, and the purity of the winter morning kept us silent as the minivan drove through Iowa's highways. We sat reluctantly, depressingly, unwillingly. I felt my soul lift up silly prayers about this church we were driving two hours to visit. We reviewed our presentation but it was the same as last time. I watched as the country houses slid by us, still adorned with cheeky Christmas décor, staring suspiciously at us city folk. I felt myself desperate to be known by their inhabitants. Will you know our lives? That we are packed up once again? That we are defined by a percentage? That our apartment is empty and lifeless and its thermostat is set at 55 degrees because we won't be back? But the houses kept sliding by us, uncaring. Snow powdered in the fields in the distance but lay lifelessly in the ditches beside us. It was the old, gray snow. My husband was singing to himself. Some things you do for money, And some ...

Because I'm the exact opposite of a hipster (unlike my husband, who claims he wore moccasins before they were cool) and so in lieu of just downloading TriviaCrack, I thought I'd jump on the Christian cultural bandwagon of naming my year ahead in faith and prayer. Last year, I was the recipient of lavish generosity, on behalf of parents, in-laws, friends, strangers, and the Church in general. Though support raising is hard, it thrust us into the delight of receiving radical and beautiful generosity flooded into our hearts, homes, and yes, bank account. And this year (now that our income is no longer poverty-level), I long to be on the giving end of that. The one flooding. Because possessions grip me hard and invite me to trust in them rather than my All-Satisfier. Don't you feel it too, when you go to the mall and this appetite roars inside you with a hunger you didn't feel until you stepped inside? It's a mosquito bite disguised as an attractive J. Crew model fo...

I welcomed 2015 in bed while my tender-hearted husband tried getting sweetly sentimental on me about New Years. I lay there listening and nodding and smiling but feeling absolutely none of the same sentiments. And I sit here tonight while candles flicker and the holiday dust settles and I'm just not feeling this new year. 2014 is not on my list of favorite years. Too many hours with a seatbelt strapped around me, too many days with a Faraway uniform on, too many nights in brothers' beds, too many months wondering how we will pay those bills, too much of the year we've spent living elsewhere than our apartment. I've been blatantly ignored multiple times (instead of just saying "No thank you we aren't interested in hearing about your ministry"). The Sundays I've dreaded going to church because of all the people there we "couldn't get a hold of". The clothes/accessories/money/gift cards we've lost amidst all the moves. The hundreds of ...