I crashed out of my seat in the Barnes and Noble café. I fell straight to the ground, with such force that the wooden chair shot across the floor like a rocket. I had been, of course, checking out a hot, tall dude with curly hair. And let’s just say my little stunt didn’t go unnoticed – he asked me out 24 hours later, and the rest was history...Read More
September is my New Years. I’m thinking about a legit celebration this year – champagne, sparklers, the midnight kiss.
No matter my age, no matter how many years have passed since I was a student, I still mark time by the school year. And the fall still feels like the exciting beginning of a new rhythm. It’s all crisp and energetic, and it doesn’t have that weird let down of January 1st, where after a month-solid of eating and drinking, you step out, sluggish and pale, into the freezing cold sleepiness of mid-winter. It’s no wonder those resolutions fail.Read More
The wind was whipping the sails, whipping my hair, whipping the waves—whipping up a healthy dose of fear. I stood in front of a row of sailboats at the edge of the lake. Why!? Why would anyone in their right mind get into a sailboat captained by an 8 year-old? And why does it have to be so windy?
I walked a few feet out into the water and climbed aboard, sat where I was told. “If you start to tip, loosen to rope. Duck when he yells tacking.” she said.
And with a big shove, we were off.Read More
1. You expect every single aspect of the church experience to be catered to your unique needs, taste, and preferences. Of course we all see the world, and our churches, from our unique perspective of taste, past experience, and desires. Yet a church is made up of all kinds of people, and is also poised to engage with those who haven’t even shown up yet. Your church isn’t, and should be, catered to YOU specifically—and when each of us has this expectation, it becomes impossible for a pastor to ‘win’ or make anyone happy. What’s the big deal, you say? The phrase “death by a thousand paper cuts” comes to mind.Read More
Currently I’m packed into a little moving box squashed between beach bags, tennis rackets, golf clubs, suitcases, and my family. There’s also a basil plant sitting between my feet—but that’s a long story. We’ve listened to every song known to man, the swish of passing cars, and the hum of a snoring pug.
And we’re almost there.Read More
I leaned over to my husband, who had been at the church since early in the morning—we hadn’t talked yet, and gave him the look of “Oh my goodness … What happened?”
He whispered back, each word a wound to the heart. “Worst mass shooting… gay nightclub… loyal to ISIS… 50 dead... hostages…”
My heart felt like it would implode.
I was devastated—I was heartbroken.
But surprisingly, I wasn’t confused.
Guest Post: Carissa Woodwyk
That teeny, tiny little baby - born from the womb of a woman, by the seed of a man.
That teeny, tiny little baby - born from two people, connected to two people, displaced by two people.
That teeny, tiny little baby - born in her homeland country, so far away from the place she calls home.Read More