i’d slept over at julie’s and so when her family woke up for church on sunday morning, i did too. we piled into their station wagon and drove to st. peter and paul’s. i pulled at the sleeves of the dress i borrowed, the dress i’d never wear and i dreaded the building that i
lent is a little tough for me. it can seem like a further cementing of the basic misunderstanding of god’s heart for relationship. that misunderstanding goes like this: if you give up the things you really like and settle for a life where you’re always wishing you were doing other things, denying yourself and being bored
internet. i’ll see you in forty days.
we are talking about fasting, she and i. we are smoking outside, drinking wine and talking about jesus on the eve of ash wednesday. “when you fail at fasting during lent,” i say, “that’s kind of the point.” i’ve never been impressed by the idea of the lenten season. “we try to give up something
The next day, when they came down from the mountain, a large crowd met him. A man in the crowd called out, “Teacher, I beg you to look at my son, for he is my only child. luke 9:37-38 Soon afterward, Jesus went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd
looking out the windows for something. something else. the unnameable, elusive place where there is complete satisfaction – happiness, restoration – a place without want. is there such a thing? such a place? this just around the corner, just around the bend longing in my soul – always waiting for the next, the next, the
rend your hearts and not your garments, and return to the lord, your god. – joel 2:12 judgement seats, i’ve learned, are very comfortable. plush and supportive, it is so easy to decree with our stolen knowledge, always lacking the whole story, from the throne room of our hearts. our hearts. god is obsessive and