The limits of discipline {OR When God's love tastes like ice cream}
I was walking along the seawall, hands pulled up into my sleeves away from the chilly dusk air, arguing with God about a bowl of ice cream. I’d been reading…
Willing or willful?
“I’m willing,” I say to God. “I’m willing to write it. But I don’t have words.” I sit with my laptop waiting for the words to come. A question comes…