Forgive me Brussels sprouts. For I have misjudged you terribly. For years (more than 3 decades worth), I have scorned you. Mocked you. Avoided you. Belittled you. I thought I knew you. I thought I understood you. I thought my feelings were justified. I never pushed you on my children because I assumed they would feel
Important facts to know about me before reading this post: 1) I was raised in a southern Baptist church. While we would clap after solos, it was most definitely a controlled clap. An occasional "amen" could be heard during a rousing sermon. And I probably consumed my body weight in fried chicken and sweet tea
Although I have been writing now for the past five years, my formal training is in counseling. Specifically grief, or bereavement, counseling. I worked for several years as a grief counselor at a local Hospice in Pinellas county Florida, and while there attended a bereavement workshop hosted by a well known grief counselor named Alan
(This short story was inspired by a word picture our pastor, Brian Frost, painted last Sunday. It was a wonderful sermon from John chapter 8. Though I must confess that after he referred to Jesus standing up from His throne and exchanging His glory robe for a servant robe, I could think of nothing else.
"I don't wanna think I may never understand That my broken heart is a part of your plan When I try to pray All I've got is hurt and these four words Thy will be done..... I know you're good But this don't feel good right now And I know you think Of things I