Monthly Archives: July 2019
I arrived in the Benj by accident, and yet it has been maybe the thing I’ve missed most about moving away from Grand Rapids.
Despite the pictures we got in Sunday School, God is not some old white dude with a giant beard.
The South American gem grinned when I responded to her beautifully-accented English in Spanish, and spoke again, “Digame si no me entiende. ¿Ok?”
I stepped forward, asking, “Llamas are the ones that spit, right?”
Critique matters because it sharpens our sense of beauty.
If the cost of spreading love is occasionally getting taken advantage of, I’m okay with that.
It was actually kind of a snap decision, I remember, that we would leave our DSLR cameras behind.
The most harrowing allusion in the painting is unavoidable—the train tracks.
Herb has long since retired. Where his barber pole once hung there’s now an upscale Vietnamese joint that does light lunches and dinners.
It’s incredible how quickly life can pivot from divine comedy to Nihilistic terror.
As much as you don’t want to admit it, there might be times when you honestly wonder what your life is worth if you don’t have someone to pass it on to.
Although my diet has, in some respects, shifted closer to the views I first formed in college, it has remained effectively the same.
This is my last post on the post calvin. Goodbye and thanks for reading.
Finding a local church is crucial. Shopping for one isn’t.
While the pace of change has slowed down, my identity is still catching up.
For the most part, Cedar Campus remains largely the same as when I was born, a fact many of us—who have grown from infants to adults, from adults to elders; who have gained families; who have lost loved ones—marvel at.
This is probably the only day I will ever respond positively to the question, “All right, are we ready to go for a run?”
This can become extremely funny because the network isn’t always that good at making stuff up, mostly because the English language is hard and also because a computer doesn’t have a brain.
He put his clippers down, walked around the chair, sat down on a bench facing me, and put his head in his hands.
I fell in love with this valley three years ago, in the summer.
Antiracism requires us to leave our comfort zone. It requires sacrifice.
After all, what could sound older than a harpsichord?
There was separation of church and state in the Town and Country.
Want to know about other types of spaces? Of course you don’t. I’m gonna tell you.
What I learned on this year’s Dover was how to sit in the disappointment with friends and then to race around joyfully on borrowed red bicycles.
Not veering off into an oncoming car is just a social contract.
This may be the last post I’ll write from Honduras.