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By way of an update to last week’s rant about Aslan and his newly released Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth, The Economist published a damning review of the book; and The Chronicle of Higher Education marshaled responses by a number of New Testament scholars to Aslan’s main claim that Jesus was essentially…

This weekend is my 20th year high school reunion. Yup. You read that correctly. I’m still in denial about it. And I do have a good excuse for not joining my former classmates in some hotel ballroom in Los Angeles, California to relive our glory days of teenaged acne, awkwardness and 80’s music, by drinking…

Maybe it’s because at 2 am last night my daughter woke me up and never went back to sleep. Or because at 2:05 am we discovered a bat flying around in the upstairs bedroom, having rather mysteriously snuck in from some where. (As I write this, the bat is still flying around in the upstairs…

In Italy I saw this shirt or some version of it all over the place, usually worn by young people. When I pointed it out to my husband (whose area of study frequently takes him to Italy), he explained that much of the time Italians will wear T-shirts with logos or expressions whose meaning they…

Something about good food, wine, art and the charm of the Italian people here in Tuscany has kept me from writing the last two weeks. For that I am a bit sorry– but admittedly not very much. In the last two weeks, while my husband teaches a summer program in Montepulciano, I have had the…

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Yesterday the dog trainer with the Atlanta Humane Society came to start a spate of in-home training sessions with our dog Roosevelt— this after Roosevelt had bitten a couple of neighbors, snapped at a child through our front fence and viciously attacked our other now geriatric dog Carter…

Today is momentous because I sent off the manuscript for GRACE STICKS to my editor. Another big note of thanks to fellow saint and sinner Michael Frost for his gracious foreword which he managed to muster seemingly effortlessly under short notice. In addition to being a lovely person, he is a gifted writer. If you…

…a town called “Fucking,” and the town is in Austria. The etymology of the name dates back to the sixth century when “Focko,” a Bavarian nobleman, named the town after himself. (I’ve always wondered about people who name towns after themselves. That’s a bit like writing a book and then dedicating it to yourself. Since…

This week my son has been teaching me about the importance of being transparent about our questions about God and life. I mentioned he was scared. He still is. The source of his fear, a giant foot on a rampage belonging to nobody but itself, has now morphed into Chuckie. (Remember the movies back in…

Early this morning, I was just drifting off into the halcyon waters of deep sleep REM when my son woke me up to say he was scared. I was non-plussed on a third consecutive night of one or another or both of my children waking me up to tell me of their fear. Mustering up…
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