He loved me, to be sure, but in a very nondescript, emotionally detached way, which is the way my grandfather loved him.

A twelve-year-old girl stomped out of the room and slammed her bedroom door. Her two parents sat at the table completely befuddled. They had been trying to lead her to grace, to forgiveness, to a remembering that she was loved.

In divorce God married me to the cross. I didn’t want it; indeed, I hated it. But upon my shoulders God laid it. The ring of nails. The veil of darkness. The kiss of death. When we are stripped of all the good we think we are and have, we come face to face with the evil within. We fight and wrestle and gasp and die and become nothing.

The Son that He is sending into this world will need more than a mother; He needs a father.

My daughter’s honest, pointed question of “Why?” not only desired an answer; it deserved and demanded the “dreadful beauty” of an honest response.

A little magic goes a long way. The kingdom of God is a kingdom of magic. Magic, hidden in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ.

It was by listening closely to Dr. Rosenbladt's words and watching his quiet actions that one could learn many things about being a dad.

We like to define ourselves, and to have others see us and talk about us, based upon our accomplishments.

Every year, when this day rolls around, I turn over the stones of remembrance that litter my mind, to see what lurks beneath.

But what does it mean to love someone or something more than we love Jesus? It means that they who were formed as a gift we transform into a god.

From you, Dad, I learned that a man is truly a man when, as Ecclesiastes says, whatever his hand finds to do, he does it with all his might (9:10).

How will they reach this magical moment, this milestone on the journey of life? Perhaps by chasing their dreams, pursuing their passions with a heart wholly devoted to the attainment of whatever goals they set for themselves in life?