It’s really easy for me to slip into believing that God barely tolerates me, because often I barely tolerate me. It’s easy to believe that voice in my head that tells me that I don’t measure up. But my mother’s song and my dad’s acts of service both tell a very different story. New post:
Early in my life, I noticed a pattern. Whenever I’d meet older adults, those in my parents’ demographic, our interactions would follow a predictable course. We’d exchange names, and then I’d look down, both because I was shy and because I knew what was coming next. They would start singing. At a conservative estimate, this …
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