You never really can go back. You can rekindle friendships that still fit like a good pair of jeans. You can retrace contours of familiar country roads. You can even pull the flyers on a few for-sale homes just for fun. But you never really can go back. I spent seven years in my 20s and
I don’t even know how to process this day. In the morning, I watched news coverage of fire sparked by human depravity. In the afternoon, I watched news coverage of fire sparked by human ingenuity. I’ve never seen fire look so different. Last night, protestors and agitators threw Molotov cocktails that set America’s streets on fire.
“Your faith might feel shaky this Easter. But Jesus would rather you limp through the door than keep Him at arm’s length. And he knows a thing – or two – about arm’s length.” I wrote that two years ago, back when church doors were open. Back when we said the church wasn’t a building
This is the flower of a night-blooming cereus, a type of cactus whose twisted tangle of spines is ordinarily nothing more than a spindly eyesore. She blooms only when temps soar to triple digits and the desert floor cracks open with thirst. But, oh does she bloom. Her fragrant, palm-sized flower is called Queen of
Deep breath, everyone. How are we doing? Is perfect love reigning in our hearts? On our shopping lists? In our social media posts? Because this is our time to shine. This is our time to play show-and-tell with peace.
Maybe it’s time to dust off your dream. Think it’s too late? Think you’re too old? Past your prime? Here’s a little 411: Julia Child enrolled in cooking school at age 36. Madeleine Albright started her diplomatic career at age 40. Nora Ephron (who started as a mail girl when Newsweek told her they didn’t