Journeys of a Wandering Wordsmith
Journey with me on my blog!
After Helene: And the Leaf Still Holds
Walking out your front door, you rarely consider how different life will be when you return home. When you walk back through that door. Like a portal, you leave one home behind ... and return to another altogether. On September 21, I left Asheville for a road trip to visit family and friends across Pennsylvania. On October 2, I returned home to a hellscape like nothing I'd ever seen.
That Time I Stood Up to a Homophobic, Transphobic Bully – Also, a Pastor
A storyteller I follow refers to his growth in the numerical unit of past iterations of himself. "That was eight Robs ago," he'd say of himself, back when he used to believe one thing or behave a totally different way. I've started viewing my own growth in this vein, thinking about all the Toms that have existed in this singular Tom, particularly with regard to this active-passive dynamic. My passivity has run especially true in matters of relational conflict. Given the option to fight a conflict or flight a conflict (please excuse my incorrect usage of a noun as a verb in the name of symmetry), I will flight nine times out of ten. Ah, but then there's always that one instance...
Beyond the Rot of This River
I've become more justice-minded in this year of isolation - to do something with this faith of mine. To borrow a vivid example from Ronald Rolheiser's "The Holy Longing": to not just retrieve dead bodies from the river, but to go upstream and find the source of all this death.
The Problem of Ravi Zacharias
Hiding begets hiding; darkness begets darkness. The problem of Ravi Zacharias is the problem of pastors and ministry leaders the world over. They struggle, too. We all do. And this idolatry of certain Christians needs to stop.God, I pray it stops.
I (Still) Love You, Camp Ridgecrest
I'm only twenty miles away from Camp Ridgecrest, but it might as well be twenty dimensions. A bunch of foggy memories along with a million unformed, never-to-be ones. It's a fog I can't shake, follows my footsteps within and beyond the Blue Ridge. Am I crazy? Obsessed? Why does a camp have such a grip on me after all these years? It was one summer. One effing brutal beautiful summer. Why do I feel so much? Why do I hurt with a longing for what was and what wasn't? And why do a bunch of entitled white southern Gen X Christian moms rake me to the core?
Break the Silent Madness
Sometimes the blogs come easily; sometimes they do not. Sometimes I feel as if I've nothing to say; other times, I have too much material to choose from. Sometimes it's all safe stuff; sometimes it's riskier. Take politics, for one. Oh the riskiness. Is that shudder from the wind or within? I'm finding it increasingly difficult these days to remain silent about politics while the insanity rages.
Prisoner of Hope
Oh, the freedom to no longer hope in anything far off. To forget the future and, perhaps, attain a greater ability to live in this present. It hurts to hope, I've been learning (groaning) through adulthood. It hurts to hope for things, only to see them fall flat – or, worse, fall further.
40 Days of Ashes
Forty days ago, I sought to burn my psalms for Lent. Writing one in the back of my journal before bed each night, then ripping out the page, entering my closet and closing the door behind me, and setting fire to my words in an old toolbox. It was a different sort of Lenten season this year, for many reasons, and I have three main thoughts.
He is Still For You
May we rest in this comfort: that we are cosmically not alone in our loneliness. The One who forged heaven and earth walked a harrowing road with nowhere to lay His head. He is with us. He is for us. All these centuries later. In times of peace. In times of famine. Even still.
Thank You for Being Brave
I'm writing this blog from home. And I never blog from home. Like ever. I have no other choice. Nothing is open. No late-night coffee shops and no early-night coffee shops either, for that matter. Coronavirus has violently disrupted every facet of normalcy. Society's. My own. Normal Monday evenings aren't normal Monday evenings anymore. And for God only knows how much longer.
Broken Belonging
Looking back on the last 16 years, I see that "takes too much effort" excuse as an easy out. Digging deeper, I see something else blocking my pursuit of church membership: my self-worth. Surprise, surprise; it's my single biggest struggle. Am I worthy of church membership? What do I even have to offer the church?
Ponder Anew
It can be easy for Christians to believe, almost robotically, that God can do anything. That's what makes God God, right? So, what does it mean to "ponder anew" what God can do? How does one ponder anew the already established notion that an all-powerful God can do — does — all-powerful things?
God's Love is Still Reckless
When "Reckless Love" first came out in 2017, I, like many others in Christian worshipdom, fell out of my seat. For the last year and a half, though, as many songs just do, it faded. Back at church, the electric guitar strings belted a familiar intro. One I'd not heard in a church setting for many, many months. "Reckless Love" returned to my life. And I couldn't skip it this time.
I'm Tired.
I just attended the second Revoice conference in St. Louis. Several of my fellow authors from Your Other Brothers also attended, and we'll have a full recap/conversation coming to our site next week. But for now, I wanted to shed some more personal thoughts on the conference and my life-on-the-road at large. The main one being: I'm tired.
Oops, My Readers Are My Friends Now
It's been a wonderful thing, and it's been a debilitating thing, all these Internet friends. On the one hand, the Internet has filtered out "real life," so to speak, connecting me with the people I deeply want to connect with. People with common interests, common sexualities, common faiths, common cross-sections of all these things. And on the other hand, the Internet has totally spoiled "real life." Real life relationships — or the hapless pursuit of them.
End of Year Emo Blizzard
As 2018 winds down, I find myself in my most emotionally raw, volatile state of the year, probably ever. The North Carolina skies opened with a blizzard this week, and how I wanted this snowy downpour to cleanse it all away.
Jesus Loves Me. This I Know?
Yes, Jesus loves me. For the Bible tells me so. But does he like me? Does he find me enjoyable? Why? Does he only "have" to love and like me because he's Jesus? Furthermore, does his Church love me? Do they like me? Because so often I feel that they do not. That they just don't have time for me. For my struggles and emotions.
Death and Death and the Coming Tide of Death
Today I learned that my church died. Not my current church. Not my previous church. Not even a church I've attended in four years. But the first church that felt something like home.
