The best thing about journaling is you can write anyway you want. All the tools and rules are yours to use at will or to ignore with abandon.

No kid dreams of selling credit cards for a living.

The BRMC show I saw on Saturday may have ruined me. Just can’t imagine seeing anything that profound again. I told my buddy Sean after the show, “All these other bands are just playing at the edges of reality. This was the real thing.”

My wife is hot. No, really, we have trouble getting our air in our home just right this time of year.

What if we’ve got it wrong. Almost all of our music in Christendom is easy listening. What if it’s supposed to have all the blunt force trauma of real life and all the bloody mess of emergency surgery? What if we’re supposed to hear drums pounding against our chest cavity and kicking into the darkness? What if we’re supposed to have our ears ring with guitars like electric saws cutting out all that vies against the kingdom? Almost all of our music is needle point when we worship the One of nails and hammers and thorns and blood.

My two favorite times of the week are communion on Sunday and making breakfast for the family on Saturday morning.

Thinking about a Kickstarter campaign to fill my meat drawer with bacon.

Theory: our desire to use the buzzwords of the day keeps us from talking about the things that matter. We use these buzzwords innocently enough in the beginning. But then, they become the litmus test for evaluating others. If they do not like those buzzwords, we judge them based on this. And then we find ourselves not able to talk about the things that matter.

This past weekend, The Cards won repeatedly, I ate a lot of bacon, had free steak tacos and saw Black Rebel Motorcycle Club in concert. That’s like winning the lottery.

We’re paying a lot of money for entertainment when the night sky is free.

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