This summer has been…hard. And every time I sat down to write, bitterness poured out of my fingertips.
Conviction is a gift from the Holy Spirit. Conviction is that nagging sense that you are doing something that you know is wrong, but you keep doing it, and you keep justifying it, over and over and over and over again.
But my son can never remove his skin, and he never made the choice to be born Black. He didn’t choose to have people at our recent Freedom Festival parade skip over him for the second year in a row and not give him candy while the white kids on either side of him got handfuls handed to them.
Christianity has become a competition in suburban America, especially among women. It is no longer about real, bloody, nailed-to-a-tree-while-naked-and-ripped-to-shreds grace.
March 2, 1983. It was a Wednesday. Two of the boys in my second grade class celebrated their 8th birthday (it was a small Christian school; I thought it odd that TWO boys shared a birthday). I’m sure we had some sort of celebration, as was the custom in those days. After school, my mom… Continue reading March 2, 1983
In the book of Daniel, three men are about to be thrown into a fiery furnace. They have refused to bow down and worship a false god – an image made of gold. The king is doing everything in his power to get these men to worship the idol of the times. He is furious… Continue reading Daniel 3:18
We tried to sleep on our fold-out couch last night, the three of us. Little Man had coordinated a “party” for the us (board games, Wii games, root beer floats), and we crashed together in a “slumber party” to end the year. I made it until 4:27 am, when repeated kicks in the back and… Continue reading Welcome, 2016