Christ Animated

I used to be a youth minister. But God delivered me. I’m just joking, sort of. God led me into youth ministry — at age 17 (me, not God), I felt God telling me he was going to make me a minister to youth, but not forever, just for a time and he’d let me know when that time was up — and God led me out of youth ministry. At age 27, God told me he was shifting me to a different type of ministry — as a pastor.  I became a pastor for the first time at age 30. I’d served as an associate pastor in the interim there. I was at that church 6 years, 2.5 months. Then I became pastor of a different church in a different state, and stayed there 5 years and 3 months.  I’d been eager to pastor a church in an area I considered a “real mission field,” where I had the financial security of a full-time position but had the freedom and opportunity to reach the lost, including those who weren’t accepted by or didn’t f...

We were looking for a home we were supposed to photograph, my wife and I, and Google Maps was supposed to be helping us. It told me to take a left on the next street, but that was a one way street, going the wrong way. So I went down to the next left, joking to my wife that I was surprised Google didn't fuss at me for not following directions. Then it happened. That distinctive Google voice from my phone: "How can I help you if you won't do what I ask?" Whaaaaaaa???? I pulled over and sat with wide eyes and wider mouth as my wife convulsed with laughter. "What exactly did it say?" she asked. I repeated it and she repeated convulsing. "You just got sassed by Google!" I've had wives, children and pretty much everyone I've ever known question if I knew what I was doing. I thought the worst I'd get from a search engine would be "Did you mean 'free books online'?" when I'd accidentally typed "free vooks....

Phwift, phwift, phwift, phwift. You could hear me coming at least a block away. Pair my considerable childhood heft — as opposed to my very considerable adulthood heft — with the popularity and ready availability of corduroy pants in the 1970s, and there was no way I could ever sneak up on anyone. I’m not sure what size pants I wore, but they were never mistaken as my older, smaller brother’s pants. Maybe mistaken for his Cub Scout tent, but never as his pants. I do know that I was a bit surprised to find out there was a breed of dog called a Husky. I thought that was just the kind of pants I owned. If you’re not familiar with corduroy pants, do three things for me: 1.     Say a prayer of thanks to God. 2.     Google them. 3.     Ask someone who’s over the age of 40 if they ever got to wear them, and watch their eyes roll and listen to the groans escape as they respond wi...

Pray for her, right now. He heard the voice clearly, and knew immediately it was for his daughter. A young teenager, she was out riding her bicycle. He slipped from his seated spot on the couch older than the girl to a spot on his knees and put his head on his folded hands. Oh, God, help my daughter, he prayed earnestly. Whatever's going on, please keep her safe. While he was still praying, the carport door swung open and the girl walked in, cradling her arm. She'd ridden too close to the edge of the highway and took a spill into a concrete culvert. She thought her arm was broken, but was alright otherwise. Thank you, God, he prayed aloud.

Random thoughts: My sinus cavities in my face are full. How can that much stuff be inside my face? When you want hot pizza (or anything else very specific), nothing else is as good. Venison chili made by my wife is amazing. And her homemade cornbread? Yass! I collect too much stuff. Is it an addiction or problem when I read several books "at the same time"? I'm currently enjoying a spy novel, a historical account of privateering, The Chronicles of Narnia (yet again) and a book about C.S. Lewis and JRR Tolkien and the influence of World War I on their lives and writings. And that's just the ones I can think of at the moment. I need to stop starting so many new writing projects and just finish several of the ones I've already begun. I need to get paid for this kind of wisdom. I mean, people give their opinions on all kinds of stuff on YouTube and become millionaires. Millionaires! Should I go back to school and get my doctorate? Why or why not? I...

The creature sleeps. Dormant for days,  I can hear its rumbling snores, Smell its putrid breath Wafting outward from the rear of its cave. But today it creeps. I didn't hear the change in breathing, Didn't notice the scrape of its claws Or the dragging of its belly across cold shale Until it was upon me and I was too far gone to save. But it leeches itself to me. Teeth into my throat, Forked tongue licking my eyeball to taste my tears, If they dare come, Tail wrapped so my legs barely move to shuffle. Its weight is heavy but no one else feels it. Its shape is grotesque but no one shies away. My eyes are vacant yet people still engage me. Blood trickles from my mouth but no one comes to my aid. Do they bear invisible monsters, too? (C) abc, 10.05.17

Just like yours, each of my scars tells a story.  The one I notice most often is on the index finger of my left hand, a line running diagonally across the knuckle, with a lighter oddly-shaped scar behind it. The line came from the first pocket knife I bought with my own money. I bought it at Boy Scout camp along with a beginner woodcarving kit.  As I worked on the kit, my blade hit a knot in the wood and I didn’t even feel it cut my finger to the bone. But it healed quickly, and I never did finish that little wooden owl.  Several years later I face-planted in gravel and asphalt when I wrecked my bicycle going downhill. One of the many scars I bear from that wreck is the odd one on my finger near that slash mark.  Those scars are faded now, and I don’t notice them all the time. But when I do see them they remind me of what happened and that although I experienced a bit of pain and recovery, I survived.  I have other scars from a couple of life-th...