Patience and Temper Tantrums

Patience is like a bad visit to the dentist. Just hearing the word makes people cringe or roll their eyes. Here we go again, the same spiel about patience…we watch the minute hand on the clock move slowly, hoping it’s over quickly. Honestly, I’m even dreading typing this post. The problem with patience is it’s a heart issue. Or rather impatience stems from a heart of expectation, pride, and obsession. It’s easiest to see impatience in a toddler – A favorite toy disappears into a drawer or the bowl of oatmeal is empty more quickly than he’d like. This moment
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Gospel of God

I notice more and more the religion so many churches preach is the gospel of me. God loves me. God is all about me. God is committed to me. God creates his will and commands around me. God wants me to be happy. God wants me to be free. The risk in holding fast to these statements is that we forget the basics of who God is, himself. While God does love us, we tend to focus the gospel solely on ourselves, and somewhere along the line start to believe this idea – God exists to love and please me. While many of us
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2015 – The List

Since I posted my “Hopes for 2015” post, I’ve had at least three people ask me if I would be willing to post the whole list. Initially, I refused. It’s too personal. While I do put myself out there a lot on my blog, posting a list like this names things I hope will happen. What if they don’t, what happens? Will people think I’m a failure if I don’t succeed in all of my aspirations? Will I feel like naming them aloud, making them public, will change them from hopes to resolutions? These are the types of questions I
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Hopes for 2015

Earlier tonight, while getting Martin to bed, I was contemplating the year. Not just 2014 or 2015, but the idea of the year. I’m about to head into my last year of my 20’s, which seems young to some but quite old to others. I was thinking how when I was in elementary school, anything over 18 seemed old. Once I was 18, anything over 55 seemed old, and here I am, almost 30, and 55 doesn’t seem quite as ancient as it used to. In fact, my parents are over 55, and they don’t seem old to me most of
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Broken Words and Weeks

My words are spent. I am speechless and empty. At least that’s how I often feel. I’m realizing that in this season of life, I often have no words. I don’t mean words in the everyday kind of sense. I don’t have a hard time saying, “Please clean up your room,” or “How was your day?” I don’t have a hard time jabbering without really saying anything. I apologize if I’ve done that to you. I can’t think. I can’t write. I methodically put one foot in front of the other day by day. I have plenty of ideas, but
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