I don’t like doing things badly. I don’t like doing things badly in front of other people. I really don’t like doing things badly with a bathing suit on in front of other people. This was the set of parameters I had to work with for my Annual Discernment of Kit’s Lenten Practice this year.
My mom is a retired high school English teacher, and in her retirement, she works part-time at a well-established location of a pretty popular Texas-specific chain of market/gas station for highway travelers.
Last Sunday I had to bat cleanup after my own sermon. Sometime during the Nicene Creed, I realized that I’d left something out. It was an important point with significant pastoral implications.
Last week, I was in the doctor’s office with a sick kid. My son had a HIGH fever, so he was not acting like himself. I knew he was sick because he was cuddled up in my lap as opposed to exploring everything around us. With his fever-flushed head on my chest, I found myself singing to him.
Every year my sermon for Ash Wednesday comes down to one thing: this business of smearing ashes on our faces? It’s for us, not for God.
During a women’s bible study in which I recently took part, we were given the simple task of inserting our names into a certain key verse, John 3:16.
Despite my best attempts, we struggle committing to a formal Christian education time or daily devotion in our house of chaos. I couldn’t quite put my finger on exactly why, but it was likely the four busy, beautiful daughters I call my own.
Due to procrastination and a lack of communication I was anxious and alone on an otherwise serene night. The anxiety became anger and then in my anger, I sinned.
During a recent children’s time in church, one of our priests gave each child a slip of four star foil stickers – the ones that typically accompany a good grade on a worksheet from school – colored red, silver, gold, green, and blue.
Sitting around the breakfast table last year, I read through the story of the Annunciation with my children. We paused at the illustration and took in the details. Dirt floor. No windows. I asked, “Does this look like a poor person’s house or a rich person’s house?