When I was 19 years old, I floated down the middle of Bourbon Street on Fat Tuesday. Ten months earlier, I wasn’t succeeding in class, wasn’t succeeding outside of class, felt disoriented in regards to my future and needed a structured incubator where I could find the pieces of myself that seemed scattered and in […]Read more "Ministry at Mardi Gras"
Reginald came into my life when I was in high school. His arms flailed around when he danced, he didn’t watch what he said for fear he’d say the wrong things, and if anyone made fun of his voice, a voice that could only be described as Kermit-esque, it never fazed him. I’m fairly certain […]Read more "Reginald & Me"
I’m halfway through being 35 and ever since the calendar turned the page to a new year, I’ve been thinking a lot about my age. A lot, a lot. Multiple times a day. I’m 35. Fully grown. I’m, like, totally an adult or something. But am I where I’m supposed to be? And to that […]Read more "I Don’t Know About You, but I’m (not) Feeling 35"
Each summer, our youth group joined other churches from our Super-Christian North Texas district for a week of camp that took place at a Pentecostally-sanctioned camp ground. It was a week of field-day games, non-coed swimming, sexually-repressed flirting with other sexually-repressed teenagers and no less than two hellfire and brimstone services each day. None of […]Read more "Summer Camp"
“Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” —Jesus This morning, I read yet another story about children being ripped from their parents’ arms as their parents were deported at the hands of United States immigration services. This is the […]Read more "Where is your Jesus?"
I used to know people’s phone numbers. I think I may still know my mother’s cell number, possibly my father’s, but I don’t know any of my friends’ numbers and if I found myself stranded somewhere without a phone, I wouldn’t be able to call my brother or sister because I’ve never known their […]Read more "Learning to Believe I Can Fly"
My youth group’s fine arts program was a robust organization. I’d been a part from its inception, proudly standing in the second row of the choir loft singing a song called “Sounds of Heaven,” a staple on Christian radio around that time. I felt grown and mature singing with the other teenagers, no longer a […]Read more "The Tiny Foxes"