02 — An apology An overdue apology from organized religion. We lied. Those of us who work in organized religion lied to you. We also might have shamed you. Some members of the clergy might have even physically abused you. That these things happened is unconscionable. Unconscionable. We lied. We shamed. We abused. We hurt […]

  —   It opens up a bit of compassion to think of the people who are the hardest to like as needing the most love.   —   Love is unconditional positive regard. Its attributes are recognition, acceptance, understanding, and response.   —   Certainty means you are certain. Not that you are right.

Hello, beloved. Perhaps “Hello, beloved” is a lot to begin with. I considered, “Hello, friend” instead.  But, “Hello, friend” falls short of “hello, beloved” in a crucial way: the love part.   And, why bury the lead?  I want to make certain you get the message of this book. You are beloved.   —  

  “Something isn’t right,” I think as I type in BUR, the first three letters of my destination. The voice in my head ramps up: “They won’t have your reservation, just watch. Something is wrong. You can feel it in your gut, just now. You know I’m right. Something is wrong.” I select Burbank from

I am biking towards Annie’s school. She forgot her ring binder at home.  I remember being in middle school, frustrating my parents with my not-yet-adult frontal cortex and executive function. I forgot things all the time. As I bike past the construction site where the school ball-field is getting a redone, I realize, “I forgot a mask!”I can’t

I’m in College Station.Texas A&M country. For a wedding. It’s home of Kyle Field, the college’s stadium (capacity 110K), “Home of the 12th man.” The inherent sexism in that phrase doesn’t register with anyone I speak to here. — I ask the pastor, with whom I’ve just officiated, if the reading he did from Ephesians,

  MADE BELIEVE. Fabricated stories of Bat Boy do not make him real. And, the devil is no more real than Bat Boy. Jack Lewis and his brand of Christianity created the idea of the devil you have in your head. I want to wash that devil right out of your hair. — JESUS, C.S.

I indulge the dogs’ desire to sniff a dormant blueberry plant, as I’m trying to slow my pace. I want to be near Siddhar and Marilee’s stoop when they get there. Siddhar walks determinedly with the assistance of two walking sticks. The thin, yellow headband holds down his long, frizzed gray hair. A horizontal orange

  — Emmett is three. Annie is one. We are at the LA Zoo, making our way from the entrance to the animals. Years ago, the entrance was moved, for better parking. That made visitors, like us, pass through the main gates, climb a large hill, and walk about a quarter of a mile before

  Who’s Your Daddy? AUTHOR’S NOTE: The following essay details my thoughts about God’s genitalia. Some might find this shocking. And it very may be. However, I find the lack of disdain for the imagery of God to be perennially presented as male to be a crime much worse than my imagining the logical conclusion