In Gennesaret

SCOFF (verb): to speak to someone or about something in a scornfully derisive or mocking way If you’ve read this blog much at all, you’re probably aware of how much I love words. Here’s a fun one: “scoff”. Say it with a British accent and an offended look on your face. Think Professor McGonagall. Or Dame Judi Dench. It came to mind during a recent interaction when I felt someone was scoffing at me. Being scoffed at is NOT pleasant. It is insulting. Yet it seems that scoffing has become a new American pastime. Our favorite celebrities and political figures and social media personalities . . . they’re generally the folks who have witty one-liners to slam the people we disagree with. All the memes we pass around gleefully . . . they’re bursting with contempt and mockery. We saturate ourselves in it every day. It’s no wonder it starts flowing out of our own mouths without our even realizing it. Scornful derision. Mocking. Let’s be honest: it’s terribly unattractive. I mean, it’s a...

So, I have some breaking news for my Christian friends after a divisive year and a difficult election season: the Church will not be destroyed. It will survive. This is a certainty. Read the end of the story (which we’ve got in our hot little hands – either in print or on your Bible app). We have it on good authority from the church’s very own founder and maintainer: “ the gates of hell will not prevail against it. ” Which means the government of the United States will not prevail against it either. And neither will the secular culture. Nor the Religious Right. The Church will survive. No doubt about it. The way some folks are talking and acting these days, you’d think that was in question. There’s a whole lot of panicking going on. Ohhh, the transgender folk . . . ohhhh, the MAGA idiots . . . . ohhhh, the socialists . . .  there’s folks out there marryin’ people that shouldn’t be married . . . destroyin’ the planet with their sinful carbon emissions . . . makin’ us get shots...

Audacious (adj.): willing to take bold risks This is one of my middle schoolers’ vocabulary words this quarter, and they had an assignment yesterday to discuss with one of their parents an audacious goal they want to set for themselves for the end of 2022. I was kind of proud of that assignment – forcing them to use the new word in the context of their own real lives and to have a meaningful conversation with a parent. Win-win. But then I realized that I shouldn’t ask my students to do something I’m not willing or able to do myself. Sigh . . . I don’t remember who coined the term “BHAG” (Big, Hairy, Audacious Goal), but it’s a term I like. I mean, I like it because I like words and I like audacity and, in a theoretical sense, I like the idea behind a BHAG. I just have a hard time coming up with one for myself. The major changes in my life in the last couple years (single again, kids out of the house) have prompted people to ask me what I’m going to do with myself now. And t...

So, a couple of significant things happened this past Tuesday. First, there was a midterm election that will have a huge impact on the direction of our country for the next couple years. And second, I went to the hospital and came home without a uterus. The first event affects the entire nation. The second affects me and a bunch of people around me. The first has filled me for weeks with intense frustration and profound discouragement about the state of our world and even of the church. The second is reminding me that God is still there and still good and so are his people. It’s only been a couple days, but I seem to be healing well. Once the doctor actually got inside me, she found more bad stuff in there than we were aware of, so it was a good thing we didn’t put this off like I was seriously considering. A God thing. People messaged me all day Tuesday and have kept messaging me with prayers for a safe procedure and a smooth recovery. My two sisters and two daughters...

My eldest daughter was born eleven days after her due date, on the day we had already scheduled to have her induced if she continued to be stubborn about making an appearance. Eleven days overdue. The rest of you mothers are feeling my pain here. At one point in those eleven days, I settled myself in a full tub of bathwater to get some relief from the weight I was carrying. I sat there naked and wet (a vulnerable position to be in) with ridiculous levels of hormones swirling through my systems (again, Mamas, you know ). Nibbling at some of my homemade caramel popcorn, I stared at my swollen belly and sobbed for at least an hour. Not for the discomfort and frustration of that present moment . . . not for the pain I knew was coming during delivery . . . but for the pain I was suddenly, out of nowhere, imagining in my precious child’s future. I pictured my beautiful girl in darling pigtails and a sweet little dress skipping away to play with other kiddos on a playground . . . and ru...

  I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit, he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. (John 15:1-2) When I'm walking through the forest by my house, I am forever fascinated by the trees. The tippy tops where the sunlight hits have green leaves reaching for the sky. But at the bottom of the trunks where I am walking, there's nothing but dead branches, so gray they almost look like ash. And they speak to my heart somehow. They remind me of a summer morning at our old house in town about eight years ago. In a moment completely uncharacteristic of me, I decided to get out the ladder and trim a few dead branches I saw in one of our live oaks. Once up there, I noticed more and more dead branches. Then I glanced to another set of trees at the side of the yard and saw work to be done there, too, so I dragged the ladder to that spot and started snipping some more. And more. And m...

My college roommate Christine was a wailer. When she was upset or things went wrong, she would plop herself down on the bed, close her eyes, turn the corners of her mouth down pathetically, and let out a long, medium-pitched, mournful wa-a-a-illlll . . . usually for intentional comedic effect. And that was generally the effect it had. I laughed. Anyone else in the room laughed. We would go wrap our arms around her, gushing melodramatic words of sympathy and comfort. And eventually we’d all be rolling on the bed together, giggling. It wasn’t until I tried this trick myself that I realized what a genius this girl was. Once, in a sudden moment of my own great exasperation and distress, I erupted into a "Christine", scrunching up my face with a dramatic wail of at least twenty seconds. And lo and behold . . . I genuinely felt better! The tension in my body relaxed. The screaming in my brain quieted for a moment. Suddenly, I felt capable of handling the situation. It was quit...