We are all storytellers, though we don't usually identify that way. And we all love stories, stories of deep delight. Dinners, campfires, coffee shops. These are all great hosts for stories, but they aren't the most common, nor are they the most powerful. Every human being owns two soft spots where they host storytellers. I'm convinced that one such spot is after they've finished a presentation, the half-hour after a performance north of a trainwreck but south of a home run.
Perhaps the single conviction centering my life as a Jesus-follower is this: we are on a stage, and we are acting out God’s big drama to the world. As we lean on Jesus and improvise the next steps from his life, we begin to demonstrate to others—maybe mostly ourselves—of the next chapter God is writing in the world through Jesus and his followers. In our exceptional & ordinary love, our willingness to improvise agape love into the unsavory and unsatisfying stages of our life.
It only took two weeks to learn that I had been at a funeral all along. I never acknowledged it myself, probably because there was no afternoon where I dressed in black and ate cold ham sandwiches. But though I hadn’t attended a funeral, I still felt an inky blackness as though I had. My eyebrows were sore from thinking, staring into infinite puzzles. My mind was haggard from all theological dead ends, the ones that shook me to my core. My throat had a lump: I was afraid to s
There's a pain I've seen, so harsh that neither trite answers nor pointed questions give it the dignity it deserves. I saw it again Tuesday morning. A live report from two Virginia journalists, so ordinary you don't acknowledge it until it's interrupted. I don't know if you've seen the video, and I'm not sure if you ever would. They were shot and killed, captured by two cameras. There are layers to this that run deep in America's consciousness. The shooter was a black man, st
I’m that guy that looks at celebrities’ Wikipedia pages, goes straight down to their personal life, and looks for the nitty-gritty spiritual beliefs. I don’t know when or why the whole fascination with who’s in and who’s out happened. Growing up, my aunt cut the world in two. You got your believers on one side and your unbelievers on the other. At first, I didn’t care because I was seven, and when you’re seven you don’t give a rip about Jesus unless he happens to be a billion
Writing is a spiritual discipline for me. When I force myself to sit down and write, it’s like untangling thoughts into something you & I can experience together. I write so you’ll say, Life is like that, I hope God is like that, or, Maybe I don’t have to be a complete prick all the time. (OK, so sometimes I just write for myself.) The best part of being a writer, for me, is that I find that life’s a big, beautiful Story where God is at play, restoring all relationships to lo
I'm just trev.
I'm a 23-year old trying to make beauty out of life's raw stuff. I post stuff every Tuesday.