I recently looked up, on a whim, whether or not it was possible to get copies of the Bible where all of God’s pronouns had been replaced with “She.”
Short answer, no it isn’t possible, although there is an Inclusive Translation that leaves out pronouns altogether, thereby avoiding God’s gender in the first place.
When I realized it wasn’t possible to obtain such a copy, I was disappointed. My disappointment surprised me.
Why would I go on such a wild goose chase? To be frank, I still don’t know. I was raised to believe that God must be referred to…
When I was a girl, we had the portrait of a boy from Malawi taped to our fridge.
I knew his name and how old he was, and I knew that we gave him money every month so he wouldn’t “starve to death.”
It was a common method of caring for the underprivileged and it still is. World Vision, Save the Children, and Compassion International are only a few of the organizations that allow you to give a dollar a day to turn a child’s life around. Sponsorship grants them access to clean water, food, and medical care. …
I recently went to see Joker.
It’s a bit of a controversial film at the moment. Some are calling it “entertaining” others are calling it “violent.” I found it neither entertaining nor a celebration of violence. I found it to be an Art House film that made me think deeply about lost members of society.
An early scene struck me especially. Happy (the Joker) is told by his social worker that funding has been cut. He will no longer have a therapist, and he no longer has a direct way to get his meds.
(Things spiral from there.)
How wonderful, how uplifting it is to meet a Christian speaker.
In the American Church, our Christian Speakers are our saints. We read their books. We follow their twitter feed. We aggressively quote Timothy Keller and Francis Chan and all the rest of them. They’re our modern day apostles.
These men have insight. They’ve bottled it up. They’ve neatly arranged it. They’ve sold it under glossy covers and stood on huge stages, broadcasting their views to millions through YouTube.
This — this is the highest good. To reach the maximum number of people with a good idea. That’s…
They are darkened in their understanding and separated from the life of God. (Eph. 4:18.)
Think for a minute about your favorite film.
Got it? Okay, good. Mull over the plot for a second. Why is that movie your favorite movie? What gets your heart racing? Why does that movie make you feel something?
As a writer, I’ve noticed something weird about films, and this is how I’d try to sum it up:
As humans, we have an instinctive sense of who we’re supposed to be.
Films reflect a deeper truth: when it comes to human nature, there’s an unspoken…
If you’re thinking of home schooling your children, or if you’ve always wondered — it seems kinda weird… is it really a good idea?— then I want you to know: as someone who was home schooled from preschool to senior year, I wish I’d never been home schooled.
Do I stand before you as the victim of homeschool-horror? Did I suffer:
No Chance to Meet Boys,
No Summer Vacation,
No Social Life?
On the contrary. I loved being home schooled. I was immensely proud of it. I’ll be the first to acknowledge that homeschooling can be a mixed…
I have not been attending liturgical churches for long.
Last week was my very first Ash Wednesday. I was excited to receive the smear of ash on my forehead — I’ve always been a sucker for rituals.
I was not prepared, however, for just how healing the service would be.
It shouldn’t have been healing. It should have been weird. It should have even been offensive. I’ve been told my whole life to be positive. So who were all these earnest-faced people, kneeling down, wearing black and gray?
Who were these people, murmuring in approval, when told they were dust?
For what feels like decades, I have been trying to find my tribe.
My soul aches for community. I long for people who “get” me. I long to fit in. I long to be a part of a community that understands the lesser-understood parts of me.
I long to find my people.
As I go through life, I line others up for inspection. Will she do? Will he?
Are they my tribe?
That group, there. They’re dirty hippies. They check off several boxes on my list: artistic, non-judgmental, obsessed with plants. Ooh, except… I don’t smoke weed. …
When I was growing up, I didn’t understand the parable of the sower.
It didn’t make sense to me.
If you’re a Christian, you’re probably familiar with it. Jesus tells it this way in Matthew 13:3–9:
“A farmer went out to sow his seed. As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had…
It’s kind of weird.
Picture a man singing as he holds a gory razor, slashing the throats of unsuspecting gentlemen. Picture a flock of hungry Londoners greedily eating their fellow man (in the form of pies.)
People usually find catharsis in finger-painting, yoga, or a good cry.
But a musical about butchering people and turning them into pies provides me with psychological relief. When I listen to the soundtrack, my soul kicks off its work shoes and says, “Ah. That’s the stuff.”
At first I found this catharsis perplexing, but I know now that Sweeney Todd isn’t stroking…
Millennial, Christian, Exvangelical, Stormchaser.