Happy Birthday Mom
My mother’s birthday is a few days after mine on the 30th, so we’ve always been birthday buddies—though she’s usually pretty happy to let me take the spotlight for myself.
My mother’s birthday is a few days after mine on the 30th, so we’ve always been birthday buddies—though she’s usually pretty happy to let me take the spotlight for myself.
If I met some of my longtime friends today, would they like who I am now? Would I even be me now without the parts of me that are them?
Are you sitting at home searching for where to go for your next weekend get-away? Where to have a memorable bachelorette party? Where to find an affordable swim-up-bar?
Looking back on those lesson plans, I want to bury my head in a ditch.
The time: 9:30 a.m.
The setting: my living room.
The characters: a 26 year old young lady with a broken laptop, an age unknown FedEx delivery person named Kevin.
I couldn’t even wait for the whole square of chocolate to melt before crunching what was left of it.
I’m one guy. I can’t singlehandedly excise the many poisonous ideas that have tainted the Christian faith down to its deepest roots.
So life is like a verb. It’s like acting, like moving, like being, like wanting, like connecting, like paying attention, like loving. It’s none of these things and all of them.
I spy it crossing a bridge on a bus back into the city from the east; I climb a nearby mountain and it dominates the skyline; I walk to work and am pleasantly surprised to see the spire peeking over the tops of the trees at Da’an Park.