Tonight, I was on my way upstairs to go to bed when I noticed a little army of ponies, dollhouse family members, and plastic toy accessories lined along the bottom step. One of my little girls had placed them there very deliberately, so I decided to leave them, rather than clean them up.
My youngest daughter, who is three, is affectionate, smart, and perceptive – but at the same time, she’s a major handful sometimes. She’s getting better, but over the course of her three years of life, she has been known to do things like . . .
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…
The other night at bedtime, I was about to pray for my youngest daughter, but I stopped myself.
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.
The other day, someone posted a rant on Facebook in which they laid down the law about certain people who have a particular lame habit, which I shall not name here. The point is, their rant totally applied to me, and I involuntarily felt defensive.
Three weeks ago, my family and I picked up and moved everything from the suburbs of Raleigh, North Carolina, to the busy streets of Washington, DC. I’m grateful for the chance to return to DC, but at the same time, everything about life feels upside down.
A significantly modified version of this post appeared at the Boundless Blog. You can find that here. (I like them both.) I was sitting in the church service when I heard the preacher say something that made me cringe: “If you can’t remember the day you gave your heart to Jesus, then you probably never were saved in the first place.”
It’s so hard for some of us to say no. But saying no is one of the most self-respecting things we can do. We can’t be available to everyone; we can’t say yes to every need; we can’t show up for every invitation.
My friends Cris and Sam had been planning their home purchase for months, and finally, after looking at several houses, they found a lovely home that seemed like the perfect fit. They negotiated with the seller, signed a contract, and began making settlement plans. But first, they had to do the inspection.
After two years of living in the quiet suburbs of Raleigh, North Carolina, my family and I are moving back to Washington, D.C. It wasn’t a total surprise, but when we first got the news, we had to make a mental adjustment.
Most of my childhood and teenage years, I grew up without a father. My dad left our family a handful of times, and even when he was home, he usually had a job as a truck driver, which meant he was on the road most of the time.
I’m currently waiting on some news that’s important to me, and it’s starting to get a little uncomfortable.
In his book Run With the Horses, Eugene Peterson tells a story of seeing an adult swallow teaching its chicks to fly. Three young swallows were perched on a dead branch that stretched over a lake, and what happened next must have been terrifying for the little chicks:
Joshua Rogers 