Dear Mom, The other day, someone came into my office and asked me why I have an old typewriter in there. I said, “My mom gave me that for my birthday back when I was in the sixth grade. She said I was a writer, so she wanted me to have a typewriter to help me do it right. I always appreciated it because it showed me how much she believed in me.”
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.
I am not known for raising my voice in frustration – at least not by my coworkers and friends. Apparently, it’s a different story with my family.
Yesterday, my two-year-old daughter and I walked to our neighborhood Walmart, which is a block and a half from our home in Washington, D.C. While we were in the meat department, Renee noticed an elderly lady in an automated wheelchair, but the woman didn’t see us because we were behind her.
I had someone whom I refused to forgive for years. The odd thing was that I was sure I had forgiven them. I had prayed about the hurt they caused, told others I had let it go, and even made a point to build a relationship with them.
We’re in the middle of packing our things to move to Washington, DC, and as you can imagine, doing that with a two and four-year-old is pretty challenging. But yesterday, a lady whom I only know as “Miss Anne” made life a whole lot easier for us and the kids.
My wife and I are in the process of moving to Washington, DC, right now, and I’ve got to tell you, one of the most freeing things about moving is purging.
One of the sure signs I’m not in a good place with Jesus is when I feel myself becoming an angry driver – I’m serious.
This week, my dad is visiting my brother and me, and I was a little concerned that it would take a while for my daughters to get comfortable with him – I mean, they very rarely get to see him, so he’s not familiar to them. However, the minute my dad walked into the room, my most bashful daughter went straight to him, and they started playing together.
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.”
One time when I was in seventh grade, there was a solar eclipse and my friend Wade and I decided to use it as an opportunity to crank call the local TV station (to the millenials: “crank calling” is something you used to be able to easily do before the miraculous advent of “caller ID.”)
Yesterday, I was leaving for work when I noticed that my two-year-old daughter wouldn’t look at me when I said goodbye. “Is everything okay?” I asked. She just looked at the floor.
This weekend, my family and I were at a restaurant when my four-year-old started having a meltdown at the table because she couldn’t cut her sausage. I recognized that it had the potential of becoming a prolonged cry-fest, so I went over, picked her up, and took her over by the bar, where there were fewer people.
Dear Honey, I know it’s a little weird when people fawn all over their spouses on social media – it’s like, what are they trying to prove? But hey, I can’t judge – Lord knows I’ve done my share of Facebook declarations of love for you, so why stop now?
This morning, I was washing dishes and had my back turned to my four-year-old, who was coloring. “Daddy, I can make a ‘V,’” she said.
Joshua Rogers 