People had mentioned how great the ice cream is Young’s Jersey Dairy near Yellow Springs, but being a city boy, I wasn’t much interested in making the 45-60 minute drive east of Dayton to a dairy for a scoop of ice cream. I mean, a scoop of UDF is plenty good enough, and they bring it… Continue reading Those Tiny Ice Cream Tasting Spoons
This is the continuation of a series of posts: My Three Dads First Conversation in 30 Years Day at the Beach I’ve been wanting to close this short series, but I’ve been working on a number of projects and my bike keeps beckoning me to enjoy the summer weather. I could always write in the… Continue reading Still Searching
I have a hard time watching baseball teams like the Yankees and Red Sox, not just because they are evil AL East empires with vast (and unfair) payrolls, but because I never know who the players are, since they don’t imprint players’ names on the backs of their jerseys. In reading John’s gospel you’ll discover that he never mentions himself by name.
I wrote back in the spring about the seven churches I’ve been a part of. What I didn’t write then is that to varying degrees I was wounded at those churches. (I’m sure I did some wounding myself, but I tend not to remember that.) Looking back I realize now that I left each church with just a little more resentment towards my fellow saints. This continued to build until I could no longer ignore it.
Sometimes after bath time we allow Micah to go diaperless. He enjoys this freedom, the cool air caressing his baby booty and producing a fresh buoyancy. Without the constriction of a bulky diaper, he runs around aimlessly, not caring where he’s going as much as how long he can go for. At some point childlike innocence regresses into shame, like Adam and Eve when they discovered their nakedness. Consequently, many of us search our entire lives for the best fig leaves to cover ourselves, all the while growing in our self-consciousness. But worshiping Jesus consists of becoming less self-conscious and more aware of our Savior.
It was an open-and-shut case. A prosecutor’s dream. Plenty of witnesses to the actual crime, apparently. And an abundance of character witnesses—or rather, witnesses to lack of character. The criminal herself—I mean, alleged criminal bore the guilt on her face. A confession was imminent. But somehow the prosecution lost its case, as evidenced by one stone after another dropping to the ground, those rocks previously clutched by angry hands but released with the realization that self-righteousness is no righteousness at all.
On Monday, I touched somewhat briefly on how divorce has affected me. But I could write a series of posts on divorce and its effect on a child, at least from a personal view—anything more extensive sounds like a lot of work with a ton of research. So here I’ll just write from my own perspective and share some wonderful stories of how irreconcilable differences became reconcilable.