There are seasons in life where our emotions become a jumble, and we feel as though we are being tossed around in violent rapids–drowning for want of breath.
One of the things I’ve discovered over the years is the call to pastoring means spending a great deal of time in the maelstrom we call, “grief.”
Next month will mark the eighteenth anniversary of my first Sunday at Central Baptist. Looking back over the years I’ve been here I can see how much has changed. I’m not the same person I was back in 2003, and neither is this church. In a lot of ways Central and I have grown together–pushing…
This past weekend I had my first experience with a “natural burial.” It was a transformative experience.
Oscar glanced across the room, where his mother was sitting by herself.
This is the weirdest Holy Week I have ever experienced.