It’s been a minute.

I love that phrase. I probably overuse it. And my repetitious use of it probably annoys those in my listening (or instant messaging) range.

Why did the tomato blush? He saw the salad dressing! Thank you for laughing. I appreciate it.

When you gotta go, you gotta go.

Our friends returned to the mission field last week. They had to go.

Lakes are pretty cool places. One might say that they're refreshing.

Months ago, we taught Silas how to count to twenty. Recently, he has been skipping six. Poor six.

I’m a huge fan of Os Guinness (and his ministry The Trinity Forum.) If you haven’t heard of him, go look him up on your favorite podcast app or on YouTube because he is a gazillion times more articulate than I am.

In the past ten months, I have had to hold fast to Hebrews 13:1-2a, “Let brotherly love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers.”

Hospitality to strangers is easy to neglect.

What do you think of when you hear, “when strivings cease?”

In the summer of 2007, in the sticks of San Diego county, Jeff and I met at Indian Hills Camp.

Oh Indian Hills Camp. So dusty. So Wild West-y. So can’t-ever-forget-that-camp-song-y.

I am a terrible movie watcher. I don’t cope well with plot holes. Everyone else will talk about the scenes they loved, the parts that captured their imaginations. I, however, will talk about plot holes and major oversights.

I live in suburban America. Here in suburbia, we have companies that come to our houses on a weekly basis and take our trash away. It’s wonderful. Until the week before Christmas, when the magic stopped. The garbage workers went on strike. Womp womp.

Last night, we ditched our Sunday night prayer meeting, packed up Silas, and drove 98 miles to see a commissioning service at Celebration Church. One of their pastors and his wife will be returning to Cambodia to share the good news of Jesus with the people of Cambodia who have not yet heard His name.