Invisible People
Once a week, my amazing husband watches the kids while I go out by myself for a few hours to run errands. I’m certainly blessed to have a husband who cares so much about me and enjoys helping with our kiddos.
Recently, on one of my excursions I decided to stop by our local Salvation Army. My goal was to get in and get out, and score a bunch of kid’s clothes for cheap. As I was perusing through old and dusty clothing, I heard right next to me, “Excuse me? Excuse me!”
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Carrot Christianity
Does behavior “A” always result in “B” – every time? Is Christianity just a cause and effect cycle? Does God keep the carrot of heaven’s hope or hell’s punishment out in front of our noses so that we behave properly? Does God say, “If you behave correctly, you’ll be safe and get what you want! So you better be a nice person, give money to the church, and not have sex before marriage!” Or is there something more?
To be honest, a lot of preaching in today’s culture resembles a man dangling a carrot in front of a donkey’s nose – “Just keep going – the carrot is your cause!”
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Losing My Voice
What would you do if you totally lost your voice? What if you could no longer sing, or even worse, no longer talk? To a singer, your voice is as dear as a pianist’s fingers or a soccer player’s legs. It’s part of our identity. What if those limbs and gifts were taken away in the blink of an eye?
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Hope for Every Slave
There once was a young slave named Samuel, who was owned from birth by a wicked, evil, abusive master. This master owned Samuel’s siblings, parents, grandparents, and even great grandparents, and made it his point to abuse them, misuse them, and work them literally to death. Every slave owned by this master died in bondage.
Half the property was covered with nameless gravesites. It seemed like there was absolutely no way of escape. No one ever had escaped on their own. Sure, some had tried. But no one ever succeeded.
Death was the end of every story.
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Snow-White Sin.
Not too long ago I was attempting to remove some of Hudson’s fancy “artwork” from the walls in our home. At first he wanted to “help Papa clean,” until he found out that I was trying to erase his “mountains…his big mountains” – yes, mountains of crayon, pencil, and unfortunately, ink.
“No big deal,” I thought to myself…
