Preacher’s Kid: Smoking with the Boys

Me and my brother, 1977/1978

I never saw the 1984 classic Footloose. The premise turned me off—a rigid and closed-minded preacher, out of fear of a sinful world, convinces a small town to ban rock music and dancing, but salvation comes when a hot-headed, big city teenager moves in and opens everyone’s fearfully ignorant mind while falling for the preacher’s kid, who is rebellious and loose with boys. It was a little too cliché for me. Continue reading “Preacher’s Kid: Smoking with the Boys”

Brokenness

Over the weekend we had a plumbing event-catastrophe would be a better way to describe it. I’ve almost caught up with the laundry and the carpets are now clean, but my shoulders are still sore from plunging the downstairs toilet for an hour and a half. To be honest, I’m not sure plunging the toilet that long did anything other than give me something to do in the height of crisis, but there is value in that. The best news is, by Saturday evening the water stopped leaking through the walls into the garage, and we were all reminded of an important life lesson: If you’re gonna laugh about it later, you might as well laugh about it now.

This is all to say that things have been a little hectic around here, and I’m still working on the follow up to last Thursday’s Preacher’s Kid post. It’s coming. I promise.

In the meantime, I thought I’d repost something from the early days of the blog (a-hem, December) for those of you who have just recently started reading along.

I hope you find it encouraging.

forty-one ten

You and I are broken people—disappointed, rejected, lonely, grieving. It is nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone we meet is broken.

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Faith in the Wilderness

Photo: Mount Nebo by Mira Pavlakovic

Last night I tried writing down some things I’ve been thinking regarding suffering and faithfulness to God during our times of spiritual wilderness, Continue reading “Faith in the Wilderness”

All Shall Be Well

I don’t know when I first read these lines from St. Teresa of Avila but since then I’ve repeated them so many times that I have committed them to memory. I hope you find them as great a source of comfort as I have. Each time I say them I am then reminded of the words of St. Julian of Norwich: “All Shall Be Well.” Continue reading “All Shall Be Well”

On Laughter and the Time My Father Fell Into a Grave

After last week’s post On Faux Pas and Grace I received several requests to tell the story of the time my father fell into a grave. Continue reading “On Laughter and the Time My Father Fell Into a Grave”