Lori Florida

There was a woman who spent her life hiding. She hid in her home; she hid in bravado; she hid in toxic relationships. The day Jesus went after her, she was hiding in plain sight. I wish I knew her name and could invite her to coffee. I want to hear more about the conversation she had with Jesus beside the well in Samaria. It must have been a doozy, because it sent her off into public with a loud message. Something profound changed in her heart, making her a person who wasn’t afraid to be seen and heard.  She suddenly spoke words with power. John 4: 39-42  tells what happened next: Many of the Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me everything I ever did.’ So when the Samaritans came to him, they urged him to stay with them, and he stayed two days. And because of his words many more became believers. They said to the woman, “We no longer believe  just because  of what you said; now we have heard for ourselves, and ...

I love old books. Maybe it’s the smell of history that rolls out with the crackly pages. Maybe it’s the tone of authority old-fashioned English gives to the words. Maybe it’s knowing the words are the only remaining living parts of the author. Certainly it’s the look and feel of a proper cloth binding. Hudson Taylor’s Spiritual Secret  is a skinny red book that grabbed my attention for all those reasons. It was printed by China Inland Mission in 1935 and bears the name of its previous owner in flowy script. It was written by Taylor’s son and daughter-in-law, who followed him as missionaries to China. To this day members of the Taylor family are continuing the work Hudson began in China. During his fifty-one years there, he recruited eight hundred missionaries to join him. They went to China trusting God to meet their physical needs without any fundraising. Hudson used unconventional means to gain entry into the hearts of the people. He adopted Chinese dress and many other...

One week of every summer deposits our family in the heart of Michigan's up north beauty. My husband speaks for one of the programs at Lake Ann Camp and I spend the week with no agenda, breathing deeply and soaking up beauty. Each day, my walks from our cabin to the dining hall take me past a lone picnic table in an out of the way location. With only the wind in the trees and scampering squirrels to interrupt my thoughts I find my mind wandering over the past 20 years of summertime memories I've collected here. That picnic table played host to a couple serious and emotional conversations with one of our students. The discussion pushed me as I tried to offer equal doses of grace and truth.  I have similar precious memories of a park bench in Brazil, a campground trail in New York, the front seat of our car, the backyard hammock, a conference center back hallway, a paddle boat in the middle of a lake, the darkness of the bunk room after lights out and around campfire ...

She was young, she was loud, and she made me sweat. This thirteen-year-old girl could get me more off my game than most. She wasn’t like the other girls in my group. Those girls nodded their heads while I talked and hid their nerves behind polite conversation. Not Britt. Every Wednesday I fought flutters in my belly as my mind settled on Britt. She had questions about everything and those questions felt like a bright spotlight on all the things I didn’t know.  Read more at The Glorious Table... Enter your email address: Delivered by FeedBurner

 I can imagine the face of the Samaritan woman in John 4. You would expect downcast eyes but I think bold, challenging eye contact was her armor. Her face bore the hardness of one unfair day after another. There was a forced beauty about her...evidence that she was an expert at trying hard. I wish I could know her name. I would love to friend her on facebook and then meet up for coffee. She knows secrets about how Jesus wakes up a dry, numb heart. Those are secrets that all of us who mentor and reach out to lives around us need to hear. The first words out of her mouth when Jesus asked her for a drink sound like echoes of the attitudes I've encountered over the years in my small group of high school girls. For every handful of soft, eager learners I always find a girl with a heart like a rock. A girl who makes even an innocent request for a drink a challenge. I imagine the Samaritan woman pointing her finger at Jesus and spitting out the cold, hard truth of her unworthiness be...

Her name is Tigist. So many things about us are the same. Although it's said in different languages, we share the title, Mom.  One of her sons is named Ts'aga which means "grace." I have a daughter who's middle name is Grace.  She squeezes her kids and smothers them with kisses. I squeeze my kids and smother them with kisses.  She dreams about her children's future. I dream too. We share many deep similarities but also some startling differences. She speaks Amharic. I speak English.  She lives in Ethiopia. I live in the United States.  She is a single mom. My husband comes home every night.  She walks everywhere she goes. I only walk for exercise or on vacation.  She works to survive. I have a savings account.  She carefully measures out food between her three children. I have leftovers to give to my dog. She is sick. I am healthy.   That difference is what made us sisters instead of birth, proximity or even adoption.  ...

The Clay Center is all about building relationships that allow for the spread of the Gospel and Biblical mentoring in young adults.  There seems to be a new openness to Christianity among this current generation and eagerness to learn healthy habits in family life and marriage.  The Fords and Comptons hope to use the Clay Center as a place to connect with University students through sports and English and then begin one on one mentoring.  Relationships like that start slow and begin with learning trust.  Many of our team activities were for the purpose of beginning to build trust in the name “Clay Center” and give the Fords and Comptons an open door to future ministry opportunities in a Buddhist culture. We spent 3 days doing just that in public schools.  Each day, we drove down a driveway under the dead of eyes of a Buddha who had fresh offerings of flowers and fruit laid out before him.  We unloaded trucks full of soccer balls, footballs, sports pinnie...