The first time my Uncle Mac invited me to listen in on one of his bluegrass jam sessions, I was just 11, and filled with fascination and awe.
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I was on my way to Colorado this past week, on my way to a retreat, when I stopped in La Veta, a small, southern Colorado town just off the northern border of New Mexico.
Things don’t always go as planned. You will be late. You will be early. You will be delayed. You will change your mind. You make plans and then something else happens.
The late author and pastor, Forrest Church, tells the story of Corinna Marsh who lived in a tiny cluttered room at the Marquis Hotel in Manhattan.
To talk of resurrection often feels like something limited to a theological orthodoxy, some reference to an ancient, traditional creed that doesn’t always feel resonant with 21st century thinking.
Humans didn’t always think in linear terms — point A has to somehow pass through B before you can get to point C. We didn’t always think in terms of Cause and Effect: don’t put the cart before the horse or else you’ll go nowhere.
It was an early April morning as we drove away from the “Last Chance Food and Gas Café.” The sky was brilliantly blue with only a couple of clouds hanging there.
A happy family? A good job? Nice home? Passionate, loving relationship? World Peace? Treasures in heaven? I found myself thinking about where our dreams and wishes tend to go when thinking about where our treasures lie and where our hearts might find themselves.
Diversity itself is the fundamental drive and goal and purpose — the ocean of God’s presence, the Kin-dom of God’s love. It’s deep and it’s wide.
We come into this life endowed by Love, inspired by Love. We belong. All belong. And the vote of 480 or so people at General Conference does not change any of that at FUMC Fort Worth.