The other day, my two-year-old daughter was standing in the kitchen, randomly saying, “Jesus was born, Jesus was born!” So I said, “Jesus died. He rose again, He went to Heaven, and – guess what? He’s coming back to see us!” As soon as the phrase, “He’s coming back to see us” left my mouth, I winced, reflexively thinking, “I shouldn’t tell her that. She might actually expect Him to come visit sometime soon.”
How I Knew My Wife Was the One
My wife says our first date went well, despite the fact that I nervously interviewed her like I was Barbara Walters. On the other hand, our second date didn’t go so well because – um, how do I say this – after the concert I took her to a nice, little restaurant called – deep breath – okay, here I go – don’t-judge-me! – McDonald’s – yes, McDonald’s (I promise, there is a somewhat reasonable explanation).
Foolishly Hiding My Brokenness (Again)
There was a time when I was obsessed with obedience to God. I was neurotic, guilt-ridden, and completely self-centered. In time, that wore me out, and I eventually collapsed into the arms of Jesus and asked Him to save me from my sins – and my wacked-out understanding of salvation. In no time at all, I was swerving to the other side of the road and developed a carelessness about the need for holiness in the Christian life. Spiritual disciplines? Those were for modern-day Pharisees. Sanctification? That was God’s work, not mine.
I Need to Confess Something
There was a time in my adult life when I thought we were only supposed to confess our sins to God. I based it on scriptures like, “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us of all unrighteousness.” (1 John 1:9). But at some point, I ran across a more intimidating verse: “Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed.” (James 5:16) (emphasis added).
Held Hostage by Unforgiveness
This post is a continuation of “The Thrill of Dishonoring My Father.” I tried to confront my dad about his failures one time when I was a sophomore in college. It didn’t go well. We were getting to know each other again after being estranged for three years. Because he lived 12 hours away, we talked over the phone, building an awkward, on-and-off, long-distance relationship.
The Thrill of Dishonoring my Father
The story about my dad and the police car chase was the one that always got people’s attention. “That’s crazy,” they would say. I would suppress a smile and gin up some spiritual-sounding reason for bringing it up.
Held Hostage by Unforgiveness
I tried to confront my dad about his failures one time when I was a sophomore in college. It didn’t go well. We were getting to know each other again after being estranged for three years. Because he lived 12 hours away, we talked over the phone, building an awkward, on-and-off, long-distance relationship.
In Search of Church
My wife and I recently moved to another state, and we’re on the hunt for a new church community. It’s an odd experience — before we moved here, we had been in the same church since we got engaged. Now we’re going from being well-known to being thankful when people talk to us.
So Thankful God Said No
A few years ago, God answered a prayer of mine and finally said yes to my request for the Big Thing. It doesn’t really matter what the Big Thing was — maybe it was healing, a financial breakthrough, a spouse, a job, or some other change in circumstance. Regardless, I’m sure you can relate to needing something, then praying, waiting, and nothing happening. It leaves you feeling like God is either ignoring you or punishing you for wanting it too badly.
Needlessly Falling Down
My mother-in-law stood at the top of the stairs holding my daughter’s hand. Before they could come down, I said, “Hold up, let me tell you what happened the other day.” I jogged up the stairs and began explaining how my daughter had almost slipped down the stairs two weeks before. But I wasn’t content to just tell the story – no, I needed to re-enact it.
Driving a Moving Truck on the Water
I thought I’d learned to trust God, that I was over worrying, that I had reached some peak in my spiritual walk. Then last Friday happened. All I had to do was drive a moving truck 269 miles and get it to our new home by 5:00 p.m. But then things went terribly wrong, due to a bad call by the moving company. We didn’t have a big enough truck to haul all of our things, and we ended up having to hitch a 12-foot trailer onto the back.
Thank God I Listened to My Wife Last Night
It’s 9:35 on Monday night, and tomorrow morning, I’m supposed to publish my next post on Spiritual Klutz. It’s already finished – a witty, sarcastic piece about a peculiar experience my wife and I recently had with a group of Christians we met for the first time.
To My Amazing Wife
Four years ago, you came down the aisle to meet me with a calm, glowing, otherworldly confidence. And although I didn’t know what I was getting into, I knew it was good – very good. I was right.
When God Doesn’t Heal
I had just met the elderly, heavy-set woman at the dinner party. Without any prompting from me, she told me I needed physical healing (I did; I had a long-running, chronic illness). She said the reason I hadn’t been healed was because I had allowed Satan to keep me in bondage, but if I started praying in faith, God would take my sickness away.
Caught Between Love and a Cigarette
I was a child when I started hating cigarettes. Blame my dad. His smoking habit clung to him like a dirty, old coat. He said he hated it, but the only thing that could stop him from puffing was dipping snuff. I found that equally disgusting. Over time, my disgust with dad’s smoking habit turned into a disgust with anyone who smoked cigarettes. It only got worse in college when I became a neurotic, Bible-thumping church cop who gratuitously looked for reasons to condemn people to hell.
Joshua Rogers 