A girl in her mid-teens sprints past me on the sidewalk where I load a bed frame into a truck outside my house in Oakland, California. She isn’t out for a jog; she runs like her life depends on it.
Imagine a kindergartener looking solemnly at a plate of broccoli. Now imagine hearing a father’s instructing voice, “In our family, we do things we don’t like.”
I love the fall harvest season. The farmer’s market turns into a veritable cornucopia of fruits and vegetables, cheese, honey, baked goods, and homespun yarns. There’s a celebratory feeling in the air.
I grew up in church, faithfully attended youth group, and was pretty serious about my faith throughout high school. So when I came to college, I knew I had a choice to make.
