It makes no difference how "in love with Jesus" we are,  if we continually disparage His Church, we are missing a large part of what it means to love Jesus. That is not to say that there is no room for healthy critique of the Church and the individual Christian's behavior within a church. It's arguably needed. In Christianity, Christ is calling His Bride to Himself. How are we to be apart of His vision if we can't stand His people? Can we love Christ well, when we don't love His Bride? Can we truly love God but ignore the ways we fall short of loving people? Does it even occur to us that a Christian's mandate to love people means loving God's people, whom we are purportedly now in familial relationship? Are we a part of His Body in a healthy way if we are unable to be in healthy relationship with other believers and talk about the things of God? It starts with imagining what loving the family of God might look and feel like. Loving the Church might mean confronting individuals, exposing lies, being gracious in discipleship, asking meaningful questions, and waiting patiently. These are things that are on my mind of late. ​

I am reading to be a better parent and am discovering that I have lost some resiliency of my own. Here’s to recovering it. ​

“[People] who manage their feelings well have emotional resiliency. They won’t be afraid to laugh and cry with people. Depression, stress, and anxiety won’t overwhelm them typically or last as long. They won’t all ow themselves to be defined by negative experiences or interactions. Resiliency is strong protection against mental health struggles.” 

• Kathy Koch, PhD, Resilient Kids: Raising Them to Embrace Life with Confidence

​One of the hardest aspects of grief is the collateral damage of a significant loss. In addition to the person who died, some people lose cursory relationships such as mutual friends of your loved one, couple friends that don’t know how to move on with only you and not your spouse, the widow of the parent you lost, or even whole groups of, what I call, “club friends”.  These may be acquaintances that you run into frequently simply because you have children in the same grade or always talk to before church. Club friends often have no idea how to include you or check on you while you're still sad. That’s ok, though shallow and often unhelpful in any real sense. These periphery losses can affect the way you grieve and whether the process is overall healthy. While this is simply a reflection of personal observations, it acknowledges the non-linear messiness of grief. This is not a way to stoke the embers of grief to keep it alive, as if to wallow in the pain and define oneself by sadness. It’s an acknowledgment; a virtual nod of real experience, a lingering look, and a decided exhale before stepping on down the path, a warm glow of sunset on the back. 

​The Conversion of Saint Paul, Caravaggio, 1600

Nancy Pearcey's characteristically distinguished research integrity doesn't fail to deliver. She demonstrates through our Western literary history of changing public attitudes that led us to the current culture war between the sexes. Tracing the evidence from a dramatic shift brought on by the Industrial Revolution to the damaging ideas of Darwinism, a clear pathway is revealed to have had detrimental impact on our relationships today. Pearcey illustrates that the goal doesn't have to be in focusing on the power struggles to address the conflict and inequality but by acknowledging God's original design for equity and partnership between men and women. The idea that both are made in the image of God pushes back against the current constructed narrative to reconcile us for the common good. As a mother of two young boys, Pearcey's book offers a clear and positive approach to address toxic masculinity in our society. She is presenting a book as resolute and affirmative fuel for mothers and fathers to unite in rejecting the dominate culture's toxic message to our sons that they are doomed to be toxic themselves. I couldn't put it down. ​

Make no mistake: if He rose at all
it was as His body;
if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules
reknit, the amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,
each soft Spring recurrent;
it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled
eyes of the eleven apostles;
it was as His flesh: ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes,
the same valved heart
that–pierced–died, withered, paused, and then
regathered out of enduring Might
new strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,
analogy, sidestepping, transcendence;
making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the
faded credulity of earlier ages:
let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not papier-mâché,
not a stone in a story,
but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow
grinding of time will eclipse for each of us
the wide light of day.

And if we will have an angel at the tomb,
make it a real angel,
weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair,
opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen
spun on a definite loom.

Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,
for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are
embarrassed by the miracle,
and crushed by remonstrance.

Years ago, I ran across this website for mail order pecans from Koinonia Farm. In exploring the website, I realized that this grower’s co-op has a much richer history than I was aware of. I have bought and sent pecans, chocolate, and coffee from the farm for years now whenever I needed a gift idea with a richer story. 
 
I even found a frisbee-like, woven disc made by the Maya of Guatemala on their store website. Not only is this toy creatively beautiful, I use it in my Franklin Method body work to lend visual aid on the function of the hip bone rhythms while walking. A participant can see the pattern rotating and connect to something familiar in how our femur moves within the hip socket while walking, etc.