Maybe you want to know something about the creator of this website. When I began it, I was middle-aged, single, a writer and search engine marketer, caregiver for my elderly grandmother (1911-2006). I got married in 2005, moved back to Texas in 2006, and had a son in 2007.  I’m fifth-generation Methodist, descendant of circuit riding preachers in West Virginia, though my family left the Methodist church when I was 17. Since then, I’ve been part of churches with labels such as: Southern Baptist, Nazarene, charismatic, apostolic, Anabaptist, Assembly of God, Church of Christ, and (shudder!) Presbyterian. Hypocrite is another label that has been applied to me. Some aspects of my life I would rather not talk about. But I’d rather be inconsistent with my beliefs than to stop believing them.

A couple of years ago, my youngest uncle moved back with my grandmother Elva, after her hip replacement surgery, having spent a decade driving to her house several times a day to check on her. It’s been hard to convince her that she could no longer live alone safely, but I think she understands it now. But, as a former worker in nursing homes (LVN), she never wants to live in one. She says she wants to live in her home until she “sprouts wings and flies away”.
Continue reading “Why I live with my grandmother”

In the 19th century, newspapers would sometimes flag articles “Important If True” when their information was potentially urgent but they didn’t have time to verify it before press-time. One wag wrote that churches should put the same sign over their doors.

Even when we don’t fully understand the truth about God and the world he created, even when we’re frustrated when we try to talk about these subjects (“No, that’s not it… what I meant to say was…”), we ought to know that truth really does exist. We might even find that it’s specific, practical, and relevant. And it’s not just important, it’s tantalizing, because it’s so different from the way we’ve been living all our lives. Is the Good News too good to be true? Not hardly.

Unlike most bloggers, I find myself constantly editing and re-editing my earlier posts, sharpening the point I want to make. We need to wake up. We’ve been dreaming.

Elva is what my grandmother’s Texan-German relatives call her – short for Evangeline. She is more than 90 years old, and remembers bouncing on her Civil War veteran grandfather’s knee before 1914, while he called her “My little elf” (in German). She’s fifth-generation Texan, but was raised in a farming community where everybody spoke German, so she didn’t learn English until she started to school. She raised eight children while working in nursing and food service, first in Houston and later in St. Louis.
Continue reading “About Elva”

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