Every year our church had at least one evangelistic series, at least that’s what I recall. At least one. If not three. On some scale. And the best thing about them wasn’t that people were giving their lives to Jesus, although of course that’s a wonderful thing, but for me at age 7, the best thing about these evangelist series was the baptism at the end.
And I’m learning that to sit with grief (which is sometimes seemingly out of the reach of hope or any warm sentiments) is to honor our capacity to love. At some point the chest hurt eases but I’m not grabbing for that moment.
In case you need this reminder or first-time instruction… The Holy Spirit doesn’t guilt-trip us into submission or action. The Holy Spirit can work with us in our guilt-warped state. …
It’s Wednesday. Last week Monday, a member of my church died. She was our matriarch. In her honor, we had a time of singing and prayer instead of the usual …
As I got closer to my favorite coffee shop, I could tell it was full but I chose optimism, parked my car and went inside. The owner saw me, smiled, …
No. I’m not having a wee one. It’s that the days feel as unpredictable as newborn days, unpredictable except for the sleepless part. But replace sleepless with restless. I sleep …
Reflecting… Roughly two years ago, my church began hosting the Learning Hub. It would be a semester-long adventure of making sure area elementary school students had a safe place with …