Every ending means a new beginning

An hour before church is set to begin, I find the pastor’s wife weeping in the church nursery. She’s huddled in the chair in the corner by the playpen, pressed deep into it, like a wild thing cornered. Over the last dozen years, she has sequestered herself often here during …

Why bother going to church?

  Some Sundays, I confess, I wonder why I bother attending church. Not because I don’t love God, like the people, or appreciate the pastor. Not even because it’s inconvenient to do so. I’ve spent most Sunday mornings of my life in a church pew. But I confess I’ve developed …