It’s a pitiful, endearing, and slightly Dickensian image: two pale, scrawny siblings with oversized guitar cases strapped to their backs, walking slowly along a quiet street
Miracles are rare and precious, and the one I’ve begged and pleaded and soaked my pillow with tears and snot for hasn’t come in nearly three years—and counting.
What if there is something more important than the church’s survival?
My friend had just described a hypothetical scenario of someone living in direct opposition to the laws of the church, and there I was, right beside him, living that life, deserving of reprimand.
You sit inside the dedicated four walls that purportedly house the holy body, but your own body feels bad because you’ve been led to believe you can’t feel anything else.
As a woman, I was late to the scene, and as a hopelessly asexual person, the scene did nothing for me.
We can be lamentably blind to the blood on our hands
Lesson learned: don’t castrate yourself for God or all of your friends might find out.
When I first heard of the Billy Graham Rule as a teenager, it sounded commendable.
She never condemns or criticizes anyone for their own unique experiences.