So there’s an image I’ve wanted to explore for a while. (It’s not this one, though I like it…) I call the image “the fear box.” (Not that picture. The mental image I have. Clear on that?) It’s made of a type of protective, soft material, but very strong. We’re all raised in this sort of cage, and it’s
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I need a story about failure,” I said to Sheri and the girls as we sat down to a Saturday night dinner of take-out pizza. “Surely you can help me think of something,” I added, laughing. “Should be plenty of material.” But whether they knew something they didn’t want to share, or couldn’t think of anything, no one had an answer.
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“O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go,” George Matheson, Scotland 1882. Of this hymn, Matheson says, “My hymn was composed…when I was 40 years of age. I was alone in the manse at that time. It was the night of my sister’s marriage, and the rest of the family were staying overnight in Glasgow. Something happened to me, which
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Is longing enough? You don’t often believe so. And maybe too unbelieving, too afraid to admit, you strive to feel something you don’t, something real again of this living water, and a love for his life. Something that may not have happened exactly, though you do remember and it persists. Its truth seems to have expanded the bowl, beyond your
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I’m finally feeling like myself today after a full 10 days of the worst flu symptoms I’ve ever experienced—6 days of 102 temperature, complete fatigue, and every nasty thing that comes with it. We all caught it but finally have been smuggled through back to the land of the living. Charlotte never really got it and we realized she probably has natural immunity from
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