1. You expect every single aspect of the church experience to be catered to your unique needs, taste, and preferences. Of course we all see the world, and our churches, from our unique perspective of taste, past experience, and desires. Yet a church is made up of all kinds of people, and is also poised to engage with those who haven’t even shown up yet. Your church isn’t, and should be, catered to YOU specifically—and each of us has this expectation, it becomes impossible for a pastor to ‘win’ or make anyone happy. What’s the big deal, you say? The phrase “death by a thousand paper cuts” sums it up.
Currently I’m packed into a little moving box squashed between beach bags, tennis rackets, golf clubs, suitcases, and my family. There’s also a basil plant sitting between my feet—but that’s a long story. We’ve listened to every song known to man, the swish of passing cars, and the hum of a snoring pug.
And we’re almost there.
I leaned over to my husband, who had been at the church since early in the morning—we hadn’t talked yet, and gave him the look of “Oh my goodness … What happened?”
He whispered back, each word a wound to the heart. “Worst mass shooting… gay nightclub… loyal to ISIS… 50 dead... hostages…”
My heart felt like it would implode.
I was devastated—I was heartbroken.
But surprisingly, I wasn’t confused.
I don’t often eat cake, but when I do, I like to eat it for breakfast. Nothing too sweet, no sugary frosting (I’m more of a butter girl). But if there’s an extra little slice leftover, I’m much more likely to enjoy it with an early morning cup of coffee than after a full dinner (isn’t that the worst time for dessert? We need to rethink this…)...
This spring is a mash up of eclectic and mainstream, poppy beats, and sunshiny lyrics. This playlist will make every moment feel magical, whether you’re making breakfast, running errands the windows down, or hanging with friends on the patio...
Is anyone else tired of hearing about Donald Trump? I mean the guy is EVERYWHERE. News stories, memes, FB posts, viral videos, tweets, and even my kids’ drawings—I can’t escape the guy. Clearly he has a knack for stealing the spotlight—not a bad thing when you’re running for president. The coverage is overwhelming, in part because for every avid Trump fan, there seems to be an equally avid Trump-hater. And no, I didn’t mean to say “Kasich supporter” or “democrat”—I quite literally mean a Trump-hater.
Let me just be honest: the entire premise of this post is based on a Tracy Jordan quote, so if that is going to bum you out, you know where to click.
Over the years, I’ve been a part of all kinds of different Christian churches. Big and small. Modern and traditional. Churches with big buildings and moving lights, and churches that meet in living rooms. There is one pattern though that remains unaffected by the style of church: there are certain holidays when people are more inclined to give church a chance — and when the regular attenders are sure to be in attendance. Christmas, definitely. Easter for sure. But you’ll notice that we don’t see this same phenomenon on Good Friday.
But I love these tiles because when I pop up and down the stairs they make me smile – they serve as a constant reminder that other people have come before us in this home. I’m not the first woman to raise a family here. We’re not the first family to pour into this house and neighborhood. It’s bittersweet though — because just as much as it’s a reminder of those who have come before us, it’s also a reminder that there are still those who are yet to come. And that our time, in this house, and on this earth, is fleeting...
Sin. Ugh, right? When we show up to church and "sin" is the topic, we usually know what we're going to hear. I'm not sure that I have ever, EVER, truly enjoyed a sermon on sin. Until this new series at my church. In much the same was as CS Lewis' The Problem of Pain overwhelmed me with God's love, this sermon, on sin, will stir something altogether separate deep in your heart.