Last Friday night, I called in an order at the local pizza place here in the small town where we live. Because I seldom have cash and I’m unsure whether their delivery guys can take my debit card, I usually go pick up the pizza. It’s less than a mile from our house anyway. Cindy… Continue reading A Truck Made with Forks?
I don’t recall a lot of things my dad taught me, but one I do remember is that in order to get someone to do what I want or to give me something, I first need to butter her up. I say her because the prospective giver was usually my mother. “Mom, you look so pretty today, and you wash those dishes so thoroughly. Do you think I could have a cookie?”
I wrote last week about my renewed view of the role of a pastor and how I am prioritizing pastoring my own family. Pastors aren’t the only ones who should pastor their families. All fathers are called to the role of shepherd, to the responsibility of shepherding our children, as well as our wives. A wonderful resource to help with this is Voddie Baucham Jr.’s “Family Shepherds.”
If you weren’t aware, October is Pastor Appreciation month. Many churchgoers might night know about this month-long opportunity to lavish praise and gratitude on their ministers, but most of us men and women of the cloth do. Very often we receive greeting cards of thanks and gift cards to area restaurants. Sometimes it may simply be a check, which for our family has on more than one occasion been a timely resource for an urgent need.
Anger is an intriguing emotion, involving a perceived need to defend someone or something. How I react to what is being attacked determines whether I sin in my anger or not. What it is I am defending will also aid in my evaluation of what is and isn’t sin. Therefore, when I become angry, I need to determine what it is I’m trying to defend. Is it worthy of defense? If so, how can I defend it properly?
When I was a kid, sometimes my siblings and I felt it necessary, even dire, to interrupt our parents’ alone time. There may have been popsicles involved. At age seven, I didn’t know what was going on behind their closed door on a Saturday afternoon, but my brothers and sister and I had this deal that we always discussed ambling down the hall toward their door. One of us would quickly say, “I knock. You talk.”
I wake up pretty early most days, before the sun has risen. When I begin to make my way down the stairs, our cat Leo is usually there to greet me. He meanders slightly ahead of me resting on every other step, dangerously hindering my path, until I prod him along.