My only comfort

Beautiful, powerful words that remind me of why I am still a Follower of Jesus. It’s all about redemption, and I’m still holding out for the final chapter of that beautiful story.

And when we forget the real curse that is on the world, we turn Christianity into a weird ethical system that is all about homeschooling, courtship, virginity, tattoos and earrings and power plays and making sure women “know their place” and we forget that it is about redemption.

— Read on

Asking the tough questions | Trauma Tuesday

When I watched this yesterday, it deeply impacted me. Not exactly a sermon, it’s more an interview in which a woman tells her remarkable story of dealing with tragedy, suffering, and disability. Yes, the pastor had things to say — in a rather powerful mini-sermon that served as introduction — and her husband spoke as well, but it was her words I found especially compelling. 

If you’ve ever asked, “Why did God allow this to happen?” you might not find the exact answer to your question, but I think you will find hope.

Sex Trafficker? Me?

A simple but uncomfortable truth: even if the men in our lives never go to places like Pattaya, Thailand…even if they never hire the services of a prostitute…even if they never go to a strip club…even if they never pay for porn…if they use porn, even infrequently, they are contributing to and fueling the demand for sex trafficking.

That is a very uncomfortable fact. Husbands may try to pretend their use of porn “doesn’t hurt anyone” and that their wives are being overly sensitive and prudish. They may insist, “I only look once in a while! Every guy does!” They may try to blame their wives, make excuses, justify and defend…but it’s time wives stopped buying into the arguments of porn-using husbands, and time the husbands faced up to what it is that they are supporting and encouraging every time they log into a porn site.

Intentional Warriors

i sat on a comfortable chair in a very nice house as a pleasant breeze blew away the humidity of a humid late spring day and listened to tales upon tales of horror.

Good friends who have picked up their lives and their children to move to Southeast Asia and combat sex trafficking were telling about their work.  The situations they described were terrible:  young girls and boys kicked out of their homes, or abused while in their homes, living on the streets and selling themselves sexually in order to survive.  Men, traveling from all around the world to countries in Southeast Asia as a part of a disgusting, burgeoning industry called “sex tourism.”

Desolation. Despair. Poverty. Powerlessness. And the sort of glimpse into a reality on the other side of the world which made me simultaneously grateful, and embarrassed at my relative wealth and safety in the States.


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