Jesus in skin, receiving the needy, a line of humanity bedraggled stretching before him.  There, the woman bent with an issue of blood that had kept her weak.  Behind her,

I recalled the message we’d gotten just days before.  “Did you hear the bad news?  He was killed.”  I felt again the shock, the disbelief.  “Oh, no.  Not him.”

We’d called my mother to say, “Happy birthday.”  Boy Two (aka Kid Kaboom) was singing a seriously goofy, nasal-ly version on a phone upstairs; I was cackling into the phone

In reality, it was a blessing for the Hoodlum Mentioned Above.  It was a redemption of sorts for him.  You see, the first year we ever got a tree, he

I stop.  And think.  In a split second, this-this-and-that rush through my mind, things that aren’t finished yet or tied neatly with a bow. I stop and think and then

That’s what it said on the box that held the onion rings.  Sitting there at the local Dairy Queen last night post Boy Three’s Christmas program, I laughed.  Reading it

She must’ve been at my house.  Or peeked in the windows, at least.  Surely, surely she’s had kids of her own, and that’s how she was able to write it.

Tangle, huh?  While I regularly “untangle” there in that place with the aroma of fresh-ground beans, the lights in greenery twining, and Christmas music tinkling in the air, I knew

It was a mission trip to the Dominican Republic this summer that impacted his life.  He’d loved the country, loved the people, loved living on the edge and having new