Monthly Archives: November 2013
I don’t know if I’d say that I gave them hope, but I maybe helped them back to the path to realizing that there is some hope in life. At the very least, I eased their burden for a little while.
Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clement from Flight of the Conchords might be your favorite musical comedy act, but are they really the best?
I thought it might be interesting to write about the trip for this blog in two parts, the first now, roughly a month and a half before we depart, and the second after we return in January.
I have always had a profound aspiration to be extraordinary, and not just extraordinary in a way that puts me among the greatest people that have ever lived. I kind of want to be the greatest person that ever lived.
Because of these things, it is impossible for me to say that Calvin is an unaccepting place. However, I would never have felt safe being in a relationship with a woman while going to Calvin.
Undoubtedly, a few friends have told you to start a blog because you said something interesting once, right? And last time I checked, if your peers tell you to do something, you should always do it.
This post is an attempt to review the magazines that my wife Hope and I currently subscribe to, organized into categories. I wonder what this list says about us, if anything.
What marks a boy band most, though, is the lack of future success. Yeah, Justin Timberlake and Mark Wahlberg have made names for themselves, but they are the exceptions that prove the rule.
I was inexplicably tired, unable to focus, and uncertain how I would ever get everything done. I wondered, briefly, why I had chosen such a difficult path.
What is it about me that gives me my love of decoding Shakespearean poetry over decoding twentieth century poetry? Is it genetic? Is it learned? Is it based on the people I associate with?
I used to think libido was a car. One little misconception can change the way we understand things. It can change our perceptions, our preferences, and sometimes it can change the way we live completely.
As autumn fell, he started nudging me, gently striving to get my attention. Geneva, he whispered, you’ve been running in circles for months. We haven’t talked in a while.
Like the Bible story after which it is named, Bruegel’s painting seems to critique humanity’s thirst for power. The tower is unfinished and crumbling.
I could tell you my opinion about the intersection of homosexuality, Calvin, and the church. But I appreciate the simplicity and genuine goodwill of these stories, so I’ll let them speak unaccompanied.
The undead are not frightening; they amble around, moaning for brainsssss, while anyone with half a leg can just jump out of the way.
On the way out of the house, the thief’s bleeding hand had grabbed my Bible from where it lay on the floor. There’s a story inside it, one that I hope they read.
I really don’t like reviews. I learned through eight years of school newspaper contributions that I’m not particularly good at writing them (I lack the confidence that anyone really cares what I think about something), and I also am not a huge fan of reading...
I am learning to see God as my portion, but will I ever understand a life without air? The Lord’s favor is not an idyllic future, but a constant and inevitable, ineffable reality.
It’s for this reason, I think, that horror movies are so difficult to judge. How do you rate something that’s highest purpose is to make you double-check your closet at night, or think about leaving a light on?
The world became bigger. I keep asking, where do I build my life? Around a job or career? Passions, in general? A girl? How much do you sacrifice for someone, and at what point?
Perfect Ten, but every time this person talks, a stream of bubbles comes out of his or her mouth. Perfect Ten, but everywhere he/she goes, there is a possum within ten feet.
When I am tired of taking public transportation, I walk home from work. I follow a narrow sidewalk for one mile along a busy highway. Lately, I have begun fantasizing about driving—not of going anywhere per say, but of the familiar smell of a red Ford Taurus, the...
I can’t lump the car crash victim with an accidental pain killer addiction into the same category as a heroin junkie who pawns stolen TVs and old women’s jewelry.
I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that my faith has been saved by re-welcoming my imagination, integrating my creative and intellectual sides.
At the same time, though, I couldn’t help but wonder if we both terrified each other.
Given all of the intricacies of this brave new world, it’s somewhat surprising that I’m involved in (i.e., was even invited in the first place) a fantasy football league at all.
I have a confession: I love self-help books. It’s the subtitles that pull me in. Of course I want to let go of who I think I’m supposed to be and embrace who I am. I want to dare to live fully right where I am.