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For those who have somehow missed it – the story is about a young woman who becomes fascinated with a wealthy man (named Christian!) who pulls her into a physical relationship that includes activities most married couples consider inappropriate. The details are graphic and the book is described as mommy porn. Its supporters say it is a love story that winds up with the couple getting married and having a family.
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There’s been a lot of celebrating going on this weekend. Folks are all in a tizzy about who said what while celebrating at the Grammys. I watched a little boy dig into his cake with both hands as his family celebrated his first birthday. An excited mom was telling everyone who would listen how her daughter received the Holy Ghost in church Sunday.
A whole lot of celebrating.
While I will still give away several books over the next few weeks, I just completed a short essay about Christmas that I thought some might appreciate. (Read about the free book giveaways here.)
I am reworking this blog to be a stronger voice for Apostolics and apostolic values. I hope when the option to sign-up for my email list pops up that you will do so. I promise never to spam or share your address, but only send occasional notes to inform you of new materials or posts.
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A legalist. No charge hits harder, no label sticks faster than to be judged a legalist. In our current Christian church culture, adulterers are embraced and elevated to worship leaders, but those deemed legalists? Whatever else they may be doesn’t matter. They are brushed aside like a bunch of children sent outside to play when the adults need to talk. But just as they have with baptism, most folks who like to use the term have it all wrong.
I spent a few minutes yesterday with a gentlemen who will soon be celebrating his 95th birthday. In a few days, our family will celebrate my father’s 80th. (He’s the guy in the picture with the light above his ear, talking to his older brother, Paul.) It wasn’t very long ago that I experienced the traditional “over-the-hill” ribbing that comes with accumulating fifty birthdays.
I’ve been thinking about that “over-the-hill” stuff. The joke behind the term is that you have spent your youth, that your strength has dwindled and your knowledge is outdated.
The recent events in suburban St. Louis have rekindled the always smoldering fire that accuses our nation’s police officers of being trigger-happy and looking for somebody to beat up on.
Is that an accurate picture? Are we victims who need to be leery of the very men and women who have sworn to protect and serve us?
While there are villains in every occupational group, including yours and mine, what do the facts say about our law enforcement officers in general?
Over the past few days, I’ve listened to some of the hearings Congress is holding regarding the IRS scandals, in particular, the one where the IRS targeted conservative groups, including religious organizations, slowing or denying them tax exempt status. As I watched some of the video replayed, I was shocked at the IRS Commissioner’s behavior. Completely ignoring the decorum and air of respect for Congress that are normally part of these proceedings, he interrupted speakers, belittled their statements, and did everything except answer their questions. And all the while, wearing a smug arrogant smile that told us all how proud he was of himself. I would have not been surprised if he were a young and inexperienced man, but he should know better.
At first, I wanted to reach through the internet and slap that smirk off his face. But late last night as I considered all of the day’s events, I found myself feeling sorry for Mr. Koskinen.
It has to be one of God’s greatest gifts to mankind. It rocks us to sleep, consoles us when we’re sad, announces our kings, rousts our patriotic pride, wings us through endless hours of work, connects us with eternity, and bridges every gulf between generations, races, and cultures. Music! What a wonderful gift.
It was on this day in 1941that the United States suffered one of its most disastrous losses in our nation’s history. Pearl Harbor. The day that will live in infamy. The day that thrust the Greatest Generation into the role of heroes; a role that they never sought and a status they refused to accept.
2013’s December seventh was cold and icy in west Tennessee. As I drove the slick roads around the small town of Halls, I ventured onto the ice-covered, time-worn concrete aprons of the old Arnold Field on the long-gone Dyersburg Air Base. It was in response to what occurred at Pearl Harbor that soldiers and airmen came to train at this big base beside a little town along the banks of the Mississippi River.
I’ve got a pretty good imagination, so it was easy for me to see planes and pilots filling the space as far as the eye could see. But on this cold day, rolls of cotton, some grown in fields that those bombers-in-training used for targets back in the forties, were all that stood at attention in the morning rain. The only noise was the splattering of raindrops on the bright plastic wraps that protected the cotton.