End of school tyranny had us under its thumb. Finals, papers, concerts, and cramming rained down on the Man Cub and writing deadlines had me in their crosshairs, too. “I’m off to the grocery store,” I announced to my then 15-year-old son. He nodded and I breezed out the door. Time was short, my list
In college, my media law professor exacted a very strict on-time rule. If you weren’t on time, you weren’t present. And if you weren’t present you didn’t get credit for the day’s pop quizzes, exams or homework. We knew who the pushover profs were. And none of them were named Steve Helle. When graduation day
How we respond to life’s ubiquitous “it’s not fair” moments is a true measure of our maturity. This is why I decided against scratching a grown human being’s eyeballs out this week. Context probably matters right now. “Hi, Mom.” Two words, tone, and time of day told me everything I needed to know. The Man
I feel like one of you needs to see beauty come from a hard place today. You need to be reminded that God has a long résumé of making unattractive places fertile and unlikely people fruitful. You need to know He still releases prisoners from darkness, brings beauty from ashes, and causes palm trees to
It’s a good thing armadillos can’t see because my pants were at my ankles. Five hours earlier, the chilly air and sputtering campfire had enticed me toward the chocolatey liquid warmth of hot cocoa. But as 10 p.m. cups of hot cocoa at campsites do, this one woke me up at 3 a.m. with an
My first big break on the road to winning the imaginary Pulitzer that sits on my mantle came the day my Daily Illini editor tapped me to cover a presidential candidate’s wife’s press conference. Her name was Hillary Clinton. I grabbed my notepad, cruised across the University of Illinois campus on my snazzy red Honda
The entirety of the Christian experience hurtles toward this week. And I want to write today to those who feel like you’re missing it. Oh, this Easter Sunday, you’ll put a little extra poof in your hair, wear your Sunday best and smile at everyone you see – because if you’re not smiling on Easter
I’d like to thank my friends on social media for last weekend’s cinematic reconnaissance. No mascara, check. Tissues, check. Prepare to love Amy Grant more than I already do, check. But Oh. My. Goodness. By the time I saw “I Can Only Imagine” Sunday I was primed, but still unprepared. I paid $9.75 for a
I’m one of those weird breeds who reads four different books at a time. Anxiety came at me this week in three of them And one of them is fiction. Then my pastor touched on it Sunday. So I’m writing under protest this week. Anxiety is not a topic I wanted to explore. Even my
The story ends with an alpaca wool sweater, a $50 bribe and a cream pie coming toward my face. But like stories do, this one starts at the beginning. Or maybe in the middle, during the years of exquisite angst when having the right friends means everything and having the wrong clothes means everything. The
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