If you follow this blog on Facebook, you already know that this past weekend, I had a conversation with Mrs. Saucier, the inspiring fifth-grade teacher featured in my recent post, “If Jesus Were a Fifth Grade Teacher.” Here’s the story of how it happened (from the Facebook post) . . .
By the time I entered fifth grade, I was well-acquainted with the principal’s office. I mean, I wasn’t the kind of kid who started fires in the bathroom – I was just a helpless, talkative instigator.
Movie producer David Cronenberg gave an interview one time where he talked about the messed-up world of Hollywood and explained why so many celebrities are out-of-touch with reality.
“When I was 17 years old, I had sex on the first day of my senior year of high school and got pregnant.” If that were the first line of your story, could you tell it? This is, in fact, the story of my old friend, singer/songwriter Rachel Wilhelm, and she’s telling it here today on my blog. If you are wrestling with shame because you’ve conceived a child out of wedlock or you were conceived out of wedlock, please read this post. Thanks, Rachel, for your fearless vulnerability.
I think it’s childish, unkind, and pathetic for a man to raise his voice at his wife, but last week, in a moment of weakness, I let her (and myself) down. And in that ugly moment, God was there. My wife was very sick, so I had spent most of the day taking care of our daughters, ages one and two. I had gotten them dressed, made them breakfast and lunch, played with them, put them down for naps, played with them some more, and generally felt upbeat about it the whole time, despite the messy house.
I know my reaction to my brother’s homecoming today probably seems a little cold. He’s been gone for months, shows up halfway dead, and I crash his welcome home party. Let me assure you, there is more to the story.
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 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.
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.
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.
My father, David, was younger than me when his first wife left him for another man (note: my father’s first wife was not my mother). It was 1974, and the implosion of their marriage was messy, leaving him bitter and questioning his faith. Sitting in the passenger’s seat as his father drove down the highway, he vented his frustrations and eventually began railing against God.
Last week, I took my 16-month-old girl to a playground where we met another dad and his baby daughter. The girls played together nicely, and I chatted with the other dad, Justin, who seemed like a nice guy. Then things suddenly got awkward, thanks to my daughter.
Sometimes you run across a story that demonstrates God’s love in a way that a theological explanation never could. Today, I’m featuring one of those stories from guest writer Evan Bell. If God’s been nudging you to take a risk, to give more than you thought you had to give – read this article. You may just walk away with the courage to follow Him down a path that will change your life forever.
Last week was painful for my wife and me. In a span of 24 hours, life dealt us a couple of hard blows, and when it was over, we could hardly stand up. Although I normally ride the bus, on Thursday I asked my wife to take me to work. I felt stressed and wanted to spend a little more time with her and our baby. She agreed to do so, and I agreed to feed the baby in the back seat.
I was a poor law student living on $300 a month, and as soon as I saw the police cars down the road, I instinctively put my foot on the break. I couldn’t afford a ticket. It was just a police checkpoint though. I slowed down, stopped beside the officer, and handed him my driver’s license. He furrowed his brow. “You’re going to need to pull over. Your license is expired,” he said, writing me a $50 ticket.
Joshua Rogers 