On Sunday, I was taking my daughters downstairs to their Sunday School class when I passed a couple of women on their way up to the sanctuary. One of the two women was looking down; the other was holding her arm and whispering into her ear. It seemed odd to me, but I was most concerned that the visitors feel comfortable; and I just assumed that the woman looking down had a disability or something. She didn’t.
It was my senior year of college, and I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with my life. So I began asking for advice from trusted mentors, and one suggested that I go to law school. Although I initially balked at the idea, after I did some research, law seemed like a good fit for me — I had a knack for writing, analysis and oral argument (just ask my mother). But the problem was that I had originally planned to become a missionary after college, so I felt uneasy with the idea of pursuing a career that would…
I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but I’m a fast eater. Regardless of whether it’s a garden salad or a filet mignon, once I get my hands on my utensils, I start cutting, sticking, and scooping up food at a steady pace. I politely shove it into my mouth and swallow, and then I either move onto the next bite or start multitasking.
The other night at bedtime, I was about to pray for my youngest daughter, but I stopped myself.
Back in 2008, I followed the advice of a dear friend and interviewed a few people about the impact my life had on them. The interview questions were designed to illicit mostly negative responses, and boy, did they ever.
The other day, I had a phone conversation with a priest who serves an extremely impoverished population. He also has a ministry in which he teaches people how to be more aware of themselves and God during their daily lives. The way we ended up on the phone is so random that it’s not even worth it to explain, but what stood out to me was how joyful, sharp, and engaged he was – especially as he talked about the Holy Spirit. I admire people who can concretely talk about the Holy Spirit; because although He feels closer than my skin sometimes, at other…
The other morning, I sprinted three blocks in a suit and dress shoes to catch my bus and just barely made it before the bus pulled away. As I walked down the aisle breathing heavily, I passed a young, striking, African-American woman, who spoke in a high, Disney princess-like voice and asked, “How is your day going, sir?” I walked past her and bluntly said, “Not too well.”
You don’t have to look far in the church to find your fair share of male loners who struggle to have authentic friendships with other men. They know how to be in the same room with other men, and they know how to do things with them — but emotional transparency is off-limits.
Last week, I posted a status update on my Facebook page asking the readers of the blog to pray for a miracle for Wanda Harrison, the wife of my friend Kevin. She had unexpectedly suffered a brain bleed that left her in a coma and without much hope for surviving. I concluded the status update by saying, I know that it’s hard to figure out how to respond to status updates like this one. Nobody wants to ‘like’ bad news. So here’s an idea: if you will join me in a simple prayer for God to do a wild miracle…
One time when I was six years old, my dad shut the car door on my hand. He didn’t see what he had done until the teeth of the clasp had already closed on my fingers and it was too late. But for some reason, I just froze up and didn’t cry at all.
I have some dear Christian friends whose eight-year-old son profoundly struggles with doubting God. Although my heart aches for them as they parent him through unbelief, I’m not worried about him.
A couple of days ago, I was getting on the Metro when I saw a young woman did something that caught my eye. She noticed that her beau was on our train, and she plowed through the people on the train to get to him.
Recently, I wrote a post on Boundless in which I compared marriage to being a new homeowner and reminded single readers that marriage is a process that involves a lot of hard work. I still stand by everything I said, but some of our readers responded and made a good point: Married Christians have a nasty habit of providing endless know-it-all warnings about the various reasons marriage is going to be way harder than single folks can imagine. One reader commented that, actually, it’s easy for her to imagine all the things that could go wrong with marriage; she preferred to…
The other night, I was a block away from my house when I saw an older, heavy-set, white female with a cane stumbling down the sidewalk, trying unsuccessfully to hold onto three bags of groceries. I rolled down my window and asked her if she needed a ride. “Oh, yes, yes,” she said with a New Jersey accent, slurring her words and almost crying. Her dyed, jet black hair was wrapped in a scarf; and her eyes peered out from behind thick, black mascara. She appeared to be seriously drunk.
My wife has gone Craigslist crazy lately and is finding all these great deals on furniture for our new home, which is great, but picking up the furniture can get complicated. The other day, she told me she wanted to get this armoire from a moving sale, and I resisted. Well, anyway, I lost that battle, and the next thing I knew, I was setting Google Maps to find a gated home in the boonies of Maryland. This was the beginning of what will go down as one of the roughest Craigslist purchases in history.
Joshua Rogers 