How My Marriage Destroyed My Shame

For years, my life was marked by shame and fear. It’s true for most victims of childhood sexual assault. I feared turning into my abuser, or realizing I was gay. I was terrified Lindsey would discover just how screwed up I actually am, and decide I was not enough. As irrational as it is, I would have rather died than face my shame.

Little did I know, my wife would be the tangible grace of God to me. Continue reading How My Marriage Destroyed My Shame

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Trusting Through the Suck

Sometimes trusting God isn’t triumphant or glorious. Sometimes trusting God isn’t even a desire. It’s a stubbornness that cries in the middle of the night, but attaches firmly to my faith. Sometimes trusting God isn’t a praise song with the full band on a Sunday morning, but rather it’s a stick-to-it-ness that says I know there is something deeper than my pain and a Power higher than anything I can rationalize, so I’ll give this another shot tomorrow. Continue reading Trusting Through the Suck

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You ARE Making a Difference

Sometimes as a parent, we feel like we’re doing it all wrong. Too much t.v., too many carbs, too much screaming, and not enough patience and love.

But you know what? As parents we are also reading Bible stories every night and say evening prayers. We are exposing our children to weekly corporate worship. They see us pray for people, they see us wrestle with hard things and struggle as we remain faithful. Continue reading You ARE Making a Difference

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Dingy Socks and Panic Attacks

Anxiety is no lightweight. A friend of mine once said, “It’s not your Grandma’s kind of worry.” Punches are thrown to the righteous and the unrighteous alike, and I’ve taken plenty of blows to the chin. If anything, my experience with anxiety is even more tumultuous when I question it from a Christian perspective. I am constantly trying to be faithful, to do all the right things, and still I walk around with that tightness that envelopes the back of my throat. Scripture promises a garment of praise for a spirit of heaviness. I think I’d like to cash in that particular promise right about now. Continue reading Dingy Socks and Panic Attacks

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