On Sundays, here at the blog, my heart is bent toward the ones who have been bruised up. The ones who’ve been a little disillusioned, perhaps, by Christianity or the church but who still have a faint glimmer of interest in Jesus and who are willing to come to Him, but with reservations. Is He real? Is He good? Does He care? Plenty of folks have been battered by life and by religion and it’s especially hard to overcome, I think, if you’re a sensitive person. I don’t know about you, but I walk around in life feeling just about everything. It’s easy for me to feel overwhelmed as I enter into another person’s joy and pain. I don’t really know any other way. I know what it is to feel torn between the tension within. On the one hand, I am so deeply impacted by beauty and live[...]

I have this prayer I pray about 12 to 20 times a day. It's not like an intentional purposeful prayer. It just spews right out of my mouth every time I get this certain feeling in my chest, so in that way it's an incredibly honest prayer, though I wouldn't call it a very spiritual one. You wanna know what my most prayed prayer is? It's this, "God. Please help me stop being an idiot." Are you laughing yet? Because when I pray it, I'm not at all laughing. I'm dead serious. It's a very telling prayer. It's revealing of the way I think about myself most often or the fears I have of what others are probably thinking about me. It usually comes with a memory of something I've done or said and before I know it, I'm begging God again, "Um. God? Please. Please make me be not an idiot." [...]

There was this rugged desert dude in the Bible who turned out to be quite the preacher man. He had some earthy clothes made out of camel's hair. And an awesome beard, I'm sure. And probably some dreads because I don't think they made hair brushes in the desert back then. Though, he might have brushed his hair with a cactus. But, probably not, seeing as that's a bad idea. He ate gnarly food. Like crunchy grasshoppers. Which he most likely dipped in honey so they wouldn't taste so grasshopperly. This rugged desert dude's name was John, and he believed the whole point of his earthly existence was to point people to Jesus. (He very much believed Jesus was the remedy for the human condition.) So, everyday, after his grasshopper and wild honey breakfast, John would stand out there in t[...]

When you're little, it's hard to find people who will let you be the boss of them. It seems like everyone else just wants to be the boss of you. And you might get tired of that. You might begin to think that you have nothing really going for you. No room to call your own. No crayons to break just for the breaking. No walls to write on. No carpet to smear raisins in. No one to say to, "Hey! I have an idea! Why don't we do everything I want to do today!" And your life might get pretty depressing, I suppose....unless of course, you could find a way to make friends with a kitty. Now, making friends with a cat can be very tricky. Felines don't exactly trust humans, fully, I don't think. So, it's better to approach them before they're older and more enlightened to the ways of w[...]

On Sundays, I write to the badly broken. Those who have been bashed to pieces with the Bible and spiritually abused by the church. (Lord, please give me bread for my friends. Tend to their hearts. Bind up their wounds. Somehow use these words to nourish them. Let them feel the tenderness of You, Jesus. In Your Name I ask. Amen.) Some of you have been battered by the super spiritual people. Maybe it was your pastor. Or the folks down at the church house. Maybe it was your Christian parents. Or a teacher. Either way, you’re a bit gun shy when it comes to religious things and you’re not to blame for it. I talked with a girl this week who was severely abused in so many ways by her momma and still is, though she’s all grown up and has a family of her own. Her momma took the Bible a[...]

When I was about four years old, I was in this foster home. See, my birth mom was a drug addict, an alcoholic and a prostitute and my birth dad was all those things, too. Well, minus the prostitute part. I don't think he got paid, but he had his porn magazines and I remember the hotel rooms and the other women. Anyways, me and my little brother were in and out of foster homes and I have this vivid memory of the first time I went to church. That foster momma must have been spiritual because she took us to church each Sunday and probably on Wednesday nights, too. There I was about three feet tall, standing in church when everybody else started singing. Only problem was I couldn't exactly read those words out of that song book yet, and I didn't know what I was supposed to be singing[...]

Hi, friend. So, I come to you on a Sunday full of sunlight. There's a ditch close by, adorned in Queen Ann's lace and chicory, the last bit of summer's glory, and I come wanting to nourish your soul. I'm very aware that I don't have everything figured out. I'm also aware that I've got these ways I fail--that I come up short. But, I've lived long enough to know that most of life is a bunch of struggling along and showing up and feeling like a dufus and then getting up the next day and trying again. The purpose of this Sunday blog is to share Jesus with those that are interested in Him, but have been wounded by the Church somehow. I want to talk to you because I know that you like Jesus but you despise religion. I get that. I don't have much, but I have a story. Sometimes a [...]

Today I went to Lowe's, to the garden section, to see which plants are on sale. Green growing things are like medicine for me, so at the end of the season, when stuff is cheap, I stock up. As I was pulling into the parking lot, I saw this lady on the side of the road in a wheelchair. She had a cast and a pitifully sad face and she was holding a sign that said she needed food and money. As I drove by and looked into her eyes, she stared back into mine and this skeptical part of me emerged. "How do I know you're for real?" I thought. So, I drove on up to Lowe's, but I couldn't stop thinking about her. I kept asking God what I should do or what she needed, but He wasn't exactly talking back loud enough for me to hear, so I just didn't do anything. Even if she was just fine, thou[...]